Chapter 12
CONNOR
Despite the temptation to check on her, I leave Mildred alone for the rest of the afternoon.
She agreed to move in without an actual fight, and she even brought all her friends over—though probably as a safety measure, and so they could see for themselves that she wasn’t being treated like the captive I said she was.
But it made Meems deliriously happy. And it felt nice to be part of something, even if it isn’t real.
I knock on her door at dinnertime, but get no answer. I try the library, but it’s empty, so I resort to texting.
Connor
Dinner is usually served at six.
Mildred
Thanks. I’m with Meems in the living room.
Of course she’s hanging out with my grandmother.
I find the two of them playing Connect Four.
“I haven’t played this since you and your sisters were young. I’d forgotten how much I loved it,” Meems says, motioning to the seat next to Mildred.
“I was maybe six when I played my first game of Connect Four,” Mildred replies, dropping another red circle in. “One of my foster families loved board games. We played them all the time. That was the home I stayed at the longest.”
“How long were you there?” Meems asks.
“Almost nine months. Before them I only lasted a few months in any one place, if that. The foster parents in that home were great, Darryl and Mindy.” She smiles fondly. “They were so patient with me and Hector. Especially Hector. He could be a real hellion.”
That means for three years after her parents died, she was shuffled from home to home.
And the longest she’d ever stayed in one place was less than a year?
She’d just get settled, and then it would end.
It must have been impossible to feel secure, to form attachments.
“What happened that you had to leave that place?” I ask.
“Mindy got pregnant. They wanted to be able to focus on their baby.” She drops in another red chip.
“I’m so sorry,” Meems face falls.
“Don’t be. It was an amazing nine months. They were great foster parents, and they deserved to have a baby of their own.”
Ethel appears. “Dinner is served when you’re ready.”
“Perfect timing.” Mildred drops another chip in. “Connect Four.”
She stands and offers Meems a hand.
I spend dinner watching her with Meems, unable to take my eyes off her. She’s the definition of a miracle. By all rights, she should have followed in her parents’ footsteps, but here she is, a beautiful gift.
“You grew up in Toronto, right?” Mildred asks Meems as we eat.
“I did. My father was a contractor.”
“Did he build this place?”
She shakes her head. “No. This was a wedding present from my husband.”
“He built you this house?”
Meems nods. “He was very much about grand gestures. And he wanted to find a way to make me happy.”
“How old were you when you got married?” Mildred asks.
“I was barely eighteen,” Meems replies with a faraway smile.
“I can’t even imagine being married at eighteen.” Mildred laughs.
“Neither could I.” Meems chuckles. “But it was a marriage meant to strengthen our families.”
Like my parents’ marriage.
Mildred’s expression changes. “Did you love him?”
She laughs. “At first no, but I learned to.”
I was young when my grandfather passed. I didn’t know him well. He was sometimes cold and remote, like my father. But everything about him changed whenever Meems walked into a room. “He adored you,” I blurt.
“He learned to.” Her smile is impish and full of secrets.
She turns her attention back to Mildred.
“My husband was a businessman, and marrying me was an opportunity for our families to grow. I don’t think he ever meant to fall in love with me, and I surely never meant to fall in love with him. But it happened anyway.”
Mildred slips her hand into mine, just like she did at lunch.
I love it and hate it.
It’s not real affection. It’s a show for Meems. But her deep approval makes it worth it. So I don’t pull away, even if eating with one hand is a challenge. It means cutting my chicken with a fork like a toddler with no table manners.
After dinner, Meems heads back to the guesthouse, leaving me and Mildred alone.
“Thank you for spending time with Meems,” I tell her.
“Board games are my happy place.” She shrugs. “And I’ve never had a grandmother—not one I had a chance to know, anyway. Lucy is an incredible woman. It’s not a hardship to spend time with her.”
I want to say something nice, like it’s not a hardship to spend time with Mildred, either, but the words get stuck in my throat. As if a compliment from me will mean anything. “I hope she makes this easier for you.”
“She’s a joy to be around.” We climb the stairs to the second floor, and Mildred says, “My step count is about to go through the roof.”
“You’ll get used to it after a while,” I assure her.
“It’s never been safe for me to get used to nice things,” she admits. “The past few years, since Flip moved into the apartment across the hall from me, have been the most stable of my life.”
“Because of how you grew up.” This risks digging at her wounds, but I want to understand her.
“My whole life was transient. Before I went to university, I’d never stayed anywhere for more than a handful of months at a time.
And the first few years of my life weren’t good.
I’m grateful that I have very few memories of the time before my parents died, because the ones I do have are…
not worth remembering.” She stops outside her bedroom door and looks up, her soft, dark eyes meeting mine.
“I’m a different kind of broken, Connor. ”
I’m usually the one putting up walls, but tonight Mildred has beat me to it. I can’t tell if it’s a warning, her fear, or both. “What happened to you?”
The saddest smile tips the corner of her mouth. “I survived when I probably shouldn’t have.” She disappears into her room, the door closing with a quiet snick.
That’s just what I was thinking earlier. I want to follow her inside and learn more about her life. I want to hold her. To hug her. To offer to keep her safe.
But I’m a contract she’s fulfilling, not the love of her life.
I grew up in a home of affluence and excess, with a father who expected perfection and obedience and a mother who desperately wanted to fit into the role assigned to her.
My sisters and I were Grace children, and our lives were not our own to live.
I wanted for nothing materially, but things don’t replace love or acceptance.
But to have neither? How bad were Mildred’s first few formative years?
She’s used to struggling. To instability. To suffering. Maybe that’s why this arrangement works for her. Because she already knows what the end will look like, and it’s better than the unknown.
I slip into the bedroom reserved for me since childhood. I stayed here on occasion when my parents went away without me and my sisters. Everything is dark wood finishes, draped in dark blue velvet. I’m accustomed to the beautiful excess, but I try to see it through Mildred’s eyes.
I check my phone for the first time in hours.
Mother
I’ve arranged a venue walk-through for you and Mildred. A tux has been sent over in an appropriate color. I expect you to wear it and not embarrass me or enrage your father with another outlandish suit.
If it isn’t black, white, or beige, it’s considered outlandish.
I fight the wave of guilt over what my mother must endure on my behalf.
“Why can’t you just do what you’re asked for once, Connor?
Why do you always have to make your father angry?
Why can’t you just be good?” But it’s a choice to be the person my father pushes around, just like it’s my choice to lean into the bad reputation I’ve earned and wallow in it.
Mother
Please ensure that your fiancée is dressed appropriately as well. Your father was not happy about the photos from the engagement party. He said Mildred looked like a harlot and none of those photos were acceptable for a media release, let alone an article in The Hotelier.
Connor
I also have new messages from my sisters. I brace myself, because they’re often on the receiving end of my parents’ disdain after an event where I’ve done something to embarrass or displease them, which is always.
Isabelle
I have pictures from the engagement party, and I’ve been meaning to share them all week!
How cute are you?
An image pops up. My finger is tucked under Mildred’s chin, and her eyes are closed, while mine remain slightly open, my lips pressed gently to hers. My father is wrong about the dress. Mildred is stunning.
That one kiss has been all I can think about whenever I look at Mildred’s pretty mouth. And now I have a picture to go with the memory.
Portia
That fucking suit. Mother nearly lost her mind.
I grin at the profanity. Portia only has a potty mouth in our siblings group chat.
Connor
She’s very adamant that I wear black for the venue walk-through I’ve been informed is taking place.
Isabelle
I might need to go out of town for the weekend if you decide not to.
Portia
I’ll arrange a spa weekend. You know our brother can’t help poking the bear whenever he gets a chance.
Isabelle
If we could all be so brave.
Connor
I’ll arrange your spa weekend. Niagara on the Lake is nice this time of year.
Portia
It’s so quaint.
We message back and forth for a few more minutes, my sisters dropping in their requests for spa services while I make reservations.
The weeks leading to the wedding will be a challenge for them, since they’re the ones who deal with our parents and their expectations on a daily basis.
My father uses our mother as his puppet, and she dutifully plays the role.
Once I have everything arranged, I sign off for the evening and get ready for bed.
I lie there for a while, mind unwilling to settle with Mildred just across the hall.
I can’t get the picture my sister sent out of my head.
Or the memory of how soft Mildred’s lips were.
How she tasted faintly of strawberries. For a moment, everyone ceased to exist but her and me.
I wake with a start, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Then I hear it again—a soft, muffled, feminine cry.
I shake off the vestiges of sleep, roll out of bed, and step into the hall.
Another soft wail comes from behind Mildred’s door.
I pause with my hand on the knob. I don’t want to invade her privacy, but that forlorn sound repeats, the pitch high and panicked.
I turn the knob quietly, heart hammering as I push the door open. The bedside lamp is still on, casting a glow over Mildred. She’s tiny in the massive king bed. Her dark hair is splayed across the pale sheets. The comforter is twisted around her legs, and she thrashes wildly.
I cross the room, throat tight as her mournful wails grow increasingly frantic.
“Mildred.” I call her name twice more, but she stays locked in the nightmare.
I reach out and shake her shoulder. “Mildred, wake up.”
She sucks in a gasping breath, eyes flipping open. She screams and scrambles away from me, hitting the headboard. “No! I don’t want to!”
“Mildred, it’s me. It’s Connor.” I raise both hands. “You’re safe. It was a nightmare. No one will make you do anything you don’t want to.” That’s not entirely true, though, because there are things she’ll have to endure over the next year that she probably won’t enjoy.
The nightmare fades, and her eyes clear. Between one blink and the next, her arms are wrapped around my neck, and her trembling, sweat-drenched body is pressed against mine. I stand there for a moment, frozen.
I’m shirtless. Wearing only boxer shorts. Mildred is dressed in a thin cotton sleep tank and shorts. Goose bumps rise along her arms, her damp skin cool to the touch.
“It’s safe. I’m safe,” she mumbles into my neck, the words on repeat.
“That’s right. You’re safe here.” I carefully curve my arms around her, and she squeezes tighter.
I cup the back of her head and gently stroke her hair, breathing in her vanilla-and-strawberry shampoo.
“It’s okay, Mildred. You’re okay. It was just a dream.
” But as I say it, I wonder if it’s true, or if it was a memory haunting her sleep.
Holding her feels good, though, and for a selfish, horrible moment, I wonder if she’ll have more nights like these, where she needs comfort from me.
Eventually her grip loosens, and her warm fingers slide over my shoulders. She sits back on her heels, eyes darting around, not meeting mine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—new places are…” She shakes her head. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I woke you.”
I want to reach out and stroke her cheek, but I don’t want to scare her. “Don’t apologize for things out of your control.”
She licks her lips, eyes on her clasped hands. “I’m fine now.”
I stand there for a moment, letting the teeth in that lie sink in. I clear my throat. “I can stay with you, until you fall asleep again.” I could hold her while she fell asleep, protect her from the ghosts that haunt her. Be something more than the man she made a deal with.
Her eyes lift, finally meeting mine. Yearning flickers in their chocolate depths. I feel it in the marrow of my bones. “Really, I’m okay. The first couple of nights are always the hardest. Then it gets better.”
I want to press, but I don’t. “Okay. I’m right across the hall.”
She nods and slides back under the covers, sorting out the comforter.
I head for the door.
“Connor?”
I look over my shoulder.
“I’m sorry my demons woke you.”
“I’m sorry you have them at all.”