Authors: K. Larsen
Annabelle
“Hanging so high for your return, But the stillness is a burn”
~ Infinity, The XX
She couldn’t sleep. Annabelle curled her legs to her chest and reached for the framed photograph that sat on the corner of her nightstand. She stared at it longingly in the moonlight. Finally she sat up in bed; in the darkness with nothing but the moon casting silver beams on her wall, stood and stretched her body, and started pacing her room. Something was wrong. She could feel it. Her gut clenched as heat—so hot it felt cold—spread throughout her chest. She treaded silently into her bathroom and rummaged around the medicine cabinet until she found what she was looking for. Popping the little white pill that had provided her with relief from panic in the past, she ground it between her teeth before she headed back to her bed.
To say that Annabelle was dog-tired was an understatement. She and sleep were at odds. She walked into the kitchen, still in her pajamas, and glanced around. Two envelopes rested on the countertop. Her brow furrowed and she fought a wave of nausea. Her mother’s graceful cursive was plain as day on each envelope.
Gavin
was scrawled on one; the other read
Annabelle.
She picked hers up and noted that for something so small it seemed to weigh so much.
Belle,
You’re much too young, even still, to understand the delicate workings of life and intimate relationships.
There are things you don’t know. Things you will never know about your father and me. Things a child shouldn’t know about their parents.
I’m sorry. I am so sorry. You will never grasp how much I love you and your brother.
I’ve tried and tried for years.
I’m tired Belle, so tired. And I’m so sorry for leaving you. But I have to.
I can’t cope. I can’t grieve here. I can’t move forward and I need to. I need to so badly.
I was naive to think we could walk away and have it all.
I should have known better. I should have realized. I didn’t though and now—now, I have to do what’s best for me.
Sometimes we’re too far gone to fix what’s broken.
I love you,
Mom
What. The. Hell.
Annabelle read the letter again and still had the same reaction. Her mother was lost. The more her mind churned over the contents, the more her stomach twisted with confusion and doubt. Gone. Abandoning her and her father. It felt as though someone had punched her in the gut. She struggled to catch a breath. Unshed tears burned her eyes. Why now? What would this solve? Annabelle’s questions wouldn’t likely ever be answered and that made her stomach ache even more.
She stomped from the kitchen, anger and hurt boiling within, to her father’s office. Flinging the letter at him she crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned against the door jam. Her father ran his hands through his hair and looked straight up, his usual position of deep reflection. Something he did when deep in thought. She was beginning to hate that habit.
“Belle,” he started. Annabelle looked at him, exhaled slowly, and sent him a pleading look, but she didn’t speak; she was afraid to shatter the silence. “Your mother . . ..” His voice faltered, and Annabelle suddenly realized that her father was just as hurt as she was. “She just needs time,” he said firmly with a succinct nod of his head.
“You didn’t even open your letter!” She didn’t care if she shouted. She didn’t care if he couldn’t face it just yet.
“I don’t need to.” He cast his eyes downward.
Annabelle didn’t agree, but if her father needed to hold out hope, who was she to tell him differently? Irritated and angry and confused Annabelle bolted. She took nothing but what was already on her and just ran—out of her house and down her street. Neighbors shot funny looks at her as she ran, tears streaming down her face, in no particular direction. By the time she stopped to catch her breath and take in her surroundings, she was a good three miles from home and only two streets over from Mark’s apartment. She’d not been able to see it yet, but he’d showed her pictures and knew the address. Grounding and punishment be damned-she strode purposefully to his building and rang his bell.
~
***
~
Mark expertly sliced through the skin of a ripe avocado. “You’re sure everything’s alright?” he asked, popping a chunk of avocado into his mouth. Cutting an avocado seemed so trivial. She’d shown up in pajamas, tear stained and refused to really dive into what was wrong. She was doing to Mark what her parents did to each other, and it made her skin crawl.
“No. No, it’s not,” she answered finally. Mark was to her in three decisive strides. He pulled her to his chest and rested his chin on top of her head. “Tell me,” he said.
Annabelle didn’t hesitate. She explained her fairytale childhood right up until her brother died. Then she explained a Grimm’s Brothers-sounding tale about the years since then. She realized he didn’t judge or comment or criticize as she spun her story. He simply listened. It was truly the only thing she needed right in the moment and she felt a warm feeling bloom in her chest.
“Annabelle, I’m so sorry. Things sound pretty messed up.”
“Yeah,” she answered solemnly. She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes attempting to relieve the building pressure.
“Should I bring you home? Your dad is probably worried sick by now.”
“No, Mark. Not tonight.” She rested her palm against his face gently. “Tonight I’m staying here. Tomorrow I’ll go home.”
She needed him. Annabelle needed whatever he could offer her until she left for school. He distracted her from life—which was more than she could ask for. Mark left her for less than a minute while he ran back to his room. He returned holding up a clean pair of his boxer shorts and one of his t-shirts. Annabelle grinned.
~
***
~
Annabelle entered Jezebel’s suite with a heavy heart. Her father was still in some state of blissful denial but she knew better; her mother wouldn’t be coming home—ever. She sunk into her chair and kicked off her shoes. Tucking her feet up into the chair with her, she took slow, purposeful breaths to calm herself. She didn’t want to lose it, again, now.
“How goes it?” Jezebel asked as she made her way to her chair.
“It sucks,” she answered.
“Doesn’t it always?” Jezebel quipped.
“This time it
really
sucks,” she grumbled.
“Care to share?”
“My mom . . . left.” Her voice broke on the last word.
“Left where?”
Anger, red-hot, rushed through her. “Jez—I’m not in the mood. She left, left me, left my dad . . . left the family. She’s gone.”
Jezebel stilled. Then, “Oh, dear, that
does
suck.”
Annabelle bristled. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What would you like me to say? I’m so sorry? Would that be comforting? Was it such a shock really? She seemed so miserable.”
“She was, but . . .”
“But what, kiddo?”
“But she just gave up. I’m . . . I’m angry. She took the coward’s way out.”
“Ahh, there we have it.”
“Have what?” Annabelle fumed.
“The root of the issue. You’re angry.” Jezebel nodded. “You’re disappointed in her, but the act itself isn’t surprising to you. You felt it coming.”
“Yeah. I guess. She was a shadow that sulked around mostly. If she just talked, if any of us had just talked . . .”
“You can’t live your life with maybes . . . maybe if you talked things would be different, maybe they wouldn’t. You will never know the answer to those questions so it’s best to just take it for what it is and move on,” Jezebel said while giving her a pointed look.
“I hate you sometimes, you must know that, right?”
Jezebel laughed at her statement. “I suspect love and hate are so similar that it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes, yes.”
“That’s not exactly what I was saying.”
“Oh, but my dear, it was. You hate me because I make you face the ugly truths in your world, yet you love me for the very same reason. Even the darkness of night brings the promise of daybreak. You’re a good girl. You’ll find your way.”
“I stayed at Mark’s the other night. My dad was furious when I came home the next day but you know what? I didn’t really care. They’ve forced these rules and punishments on me and for what? I told him I’m done with my grounding. I respect what their goal was so I still won’t go out, but I will have people over and I get my phone and laptop back.”
“Taking a stand! I like it.” Jezebel cheered.
“Yeah, well, my dad didn’t.”
“Par for the course, don’t you think?”
Annabelle shrugged. It probably was, but what was he going to do about it? “I need to know what Dr. B’s lawyer had to say.”
“Right on.” Jezebel grinned accepting her obvious topic change. “Paris, nineteen ninety-four.”
Celeste
Paris 1994
Taylor Bourassa was a short and squat man. He was balding at the top of his head and he attempted to hide that fact with a hideous comb-over. “The last person to see Dr. Basle alive was one Monique Watson,” Taylor said.
Celeste stilled. She most certainly did
not
hear him right.
“That’s impossible,” she breathed. “How would they even know each other? That’s . . . I would have known.” Celeste looked to Matteo who looked equally lost. Matteo stood and snatched the police report from Taylor’s hand. His eyes scanned the report, widened and slid up to hers.
“It’s true. Tilda said that before she left Friday night she let Monique Watson in to visit with Leo.” He handed the report to Celeste. She carefully read the words stated on the page but none of it made any sense to her. Surely Dr. B would have told her if he was friends with her husband’s assistant. He would know. He would have told her. Celeste’s stomach burned.
“Why would she visit him?” she murmured more to herself than anyone else.
“Perhaps we can address that after we go through Leo’s will. I’m glad both of you could make it today as he spoke very highly of you two and left you both a great deal.”
Matteo and Celeste’s heads snapped up in unison. “What?” Celeste asked.
“Of course he left certain things to different staff members with whom I will schedule meetings over the next week, but you two were the primary benefactors. As you may be aware, Leo Basle Germain had no living relatives.” Celeste’s brow scrunched up.
Germain?
She looked again to Matteo but he appeared as confused as she did—again. “Basle wasn’t his last name?” Matteo asked, stupefied.
“No. Dr. Germain changed his last name, legally, to his middle name, Basle, in 1967. I’ve represented him since 1965. I assure you there are probably a great many things you do not know about our late friend, but in an effort to quickly and succinctly execute his estate, I’d appreciate it if you held all questions until the end.” Taylor paused before pressing on, leaving no room for argument.
Matteo’s hand reached out and clasped hers. She squeezed back and refocused her attention to Taylor.
“What I am at liberty to tell you isn’t much,” Taylor said. “But he came to France for a consulting job with a team of other scientists and doctors. He was married and had a grown daughter, also married. He also had a granddaughter that he raved about.” Taylor’s face lit up as he recalled the memory. “That little girl just adored him and vice versa. In 1967, his wife, daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter were found dead after a nasty virus from something they ate, or so they speculated.”
Celeste broke into a round of fresh tears.
Poor Dr. B.
“He was devastated, of course, and due to the nature of his work and his personal family tragedy, he opted to change his name and remove himself from the public eye. Which he did with flare.” Taylor drew a deep breath. “Celeste, Leo’s wishes state very clearly that you are to inherit half of the estate.” Taylor looked to Matteo. “And you Matteo, the other half.”
“I will of course send you a list of possessions that he has willed to other employee’s who he was close with. Those will be theirs to take. The value of the house, land and stables is to be split between the two of you. You may choose to sell but it is not a stipulation in the will.”
Celeste blinked hard, squeezing her eyes closed tightly before snapping them back open. The entire estate? That was worth more than her family was. An unfathomable amount, even at only half. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want any of it without Dr. B around to enjoy it with. “It’s too much,” she said quietly. Her breath caught in her chest. Matteo nodded in agreement. She squeezed his hand hoping it would quell the tears streaming down her face. He squeezed hers back. It didn’t stop the floodgates.
“It is indeed a lot, but it is also his final wish,” Taylor stated.
After working through a hefty pile of paperwork, Celeste and Matteo left in daze. They parted ways with a hug and a promise to meet at Dr. B’s the following day; they needed to pull some boxes down from the attic for some of the other employees. Celeste was overcome by the irrevocable loss of such a wonderful man. She longed for the warmth of her bed, the smell of the flowers outside her window, the feeling of beauty that used to ooze from her every pore. Everything felt dark and cold now. She couldn’t wrap her mind around Dr. B’s parting gift; granted he had no one else to leave his fortune to but a charity would have benefitted greatly from his wealth. Even dividing his assets among his employees would have greatly enhanced many lives.
Her heart felt heavy as she schlepped her way to her car. She wanted the comfort of her husband’s arms around her. She wanted the comfort of his soft voice in her ear, consoling her. She popped in at home to call her mother and father. She would need a good lawyer to handle the wealth she was about to come into and her parents employed only the best. Her mother’s calm voice aided in settling Celeste down and making her feel more composed. By the time she hung up with them she almost mustered a smile. Knowing that Gabriel would likely be working late she decided to drop in at the lab and see him. She craved the solace his embrace evoked. With a clear mind, she changed her clothes, ran a brush through her hair and touched up her make-up. Then she climbed into her car, headed for her husband.