"I can't believe you actually went through with it."
"What's there to be surprised about? I only did what I should have done years ago."
A tall, slender young man stood at the doorway, one hand in his pocket and the other braced against the frame, watching his mother huff and puff as she attempted to shut an overflowing suitcase.
"You know, your Uncle Rhett offered to divorce me once. I ought to have taken him up on that offer. I might have saved more than one life and would have certainly saved the both of us from a whole lot of pain."
He saw it then, crumpled on the bed: a scrap of paper that had been a letter, laying besides a torn envelope; the paper was stained and yellowing, but he could recognize that handwriting from anywhere. He went to grab it, but Scarlett was faster; she wadded it up as tightly as she could and threw it into the fireplace. He watched as it curled and blackened before disintegrating.
"What did he say?" he asked gently.
"What does it matter?" She all but leaped onto the case, stomping it shut as it groaned in defiance. She threw it open, tossing several nightdresses onto the floor and threw a rather rusty mouth organ into the wastebasket. Feeling her son's eyes upon her back, she sighed. "It doesn't say anything he hadn't already said."
She turned. "I hope you have your things packed."
Wade stared at her blankly. "For what? Where are we going?"
Scarlett stood there with her arms crossed, her face a blank canvas. "Where else?"
"Mother, I-" Scarlett's mouth tightened and Wade flinched, but then he clenched his fists and stood firm.
"This is my home. I'm staying right here."
He saw his mother's eyes flash and he braced himself for the inevitable blow, but Scarlett merely nodded.
"You're old enough to make your own decisions."
She slammed the suitcase shut and the silver fastenings promptly cracked. Cursing, she grabbed a length of rope and began tying it round the case.
"But he loved you."
"He did. And I felt something for him once, but that was a long time ago."
She tied it shut with a lover's knot and then leaned backwards, wiping her brow.
"Is that all you're taking?"
"Pitiful, isn't it? These are the only things in this house that belong to me."
He watched as she flew to the vanity and began combing out the rat's mess that was her hair.
"But what about Uncle Ash-"
"Don't you worry about your Uncle Ashley. I will come back. I always keep my word."
"Does this mean you're going to marry him?"
"Perhaps I will. What has either of us got to lose at this point? Although, if we were to marry, I don't know who I would pity more."
She was taking off her earrings as she spoke and when he saw her remove that ring, he knew then, that this was no bluff. She held it between her index finger and thumb. "He thought he could win me with this; it'd be funny if it weren't so tragic."
"Mother you can't. The-" He looked about him, desperately grasping for something, for anything. "The town-"
"I am done with Atlanta. If I have to see that old cow give me the side-eye one more time...funny enough, your Aunt India was the only one who didn't have anything to say. I don't know what your Aunt Melly told her that night-"
He stared at her in disbelief. "You told them-"
"Your Uncle Henry helped me draw up the papers and Pitty overheard. The entire town will know by tomorrow morning, if they don't know already."
She shrugged into her traveling cloak and pulled on her winter gloves, muttering all the while.
"He may have had the last word, but I will be damned if I allow him to have this."
She grabbed her suitcase and headed to the door, but paused.
"Wade, you are bound to fall in love at some point; here's a word of advice: if she ever wants to leave, you let her go. You do not argue. You do not try to fix it and most of all, you do not beg. You let her go. That way, you'll leave some dignity for you and your future wife. Now that's advice that your Uncle Ashley will never be able to give. And never look back; always, always remember why they left."
"He looked me in the eyes as he said all that, and I didn't listen. I heard him, but I didn't listen. I should have known he was a goner as soon as he started on about the same things your Uncle Ashley used to yammer about. If only Mammy had been around to box my ears…"
"No one can blame you. Aunt Melly-"
"Your Aunt Melly was a good woman. She was only doing what she thought was right, but as usual, she was too late."
Wade followed her out into the hall; her skirts whipped round her ankles, but as she flew past her room, he reached out, grabbing her shoulder.
"Aren't you going to say goodbye?"
She snorted. "To who? Bonnie is dead. And so is he."
He watched in silence as she made her way down the stairs, but she stopped abruptly at the bottom step.
"Do you remember what you and your sister asked me the morning after that night?"
"I-"
"Your sister asked for scrambled eggs and you asked for sunny-side up."
"We didn't know-"
"You were the only ones who were acting sensibly that day while I was upstairs sobbing like a fool."
"That man...I wasted my tears on him. You know, even when your grandfather died, I didn't cry half so hard. I didn't even have any left for your Aunt Melly."
She was at the door now and when he saw her hand round the knob, he felt a sickening pain claw at his belly. He had to stop her.
"Ella would have wanted you to stay."
"I think not. Your sister is waiting outside."
"She, she knows about this?"
"She does."
He stood there, taking in this betrayal by his childhood playmate.
"You and your sister are the only ones he still cares about. Don't ignore his letters like you've been doing; take whatever he gives you. If there's one thing that man still has, it's money and he has a whole lot of it. Take what he gives you and invest it; real estate's a good option. If you have questions, you ought to ask your Uncle Henry; he'll get you started."
She took a long look around the belly of the beast. "And I suppose this house will go to you one day; as far as I know, he doesn't have any family left to leave it to. Or perhaps he'll just give it to his bastard. After all, blood is thicker than water."
"You're talking about Belle Watling, aren't you?"
"So you know?" She chuckled. "The only thing for certain in this world is that nothing stays a secret for long in this town."
"But I ought to pity her; for all the comfort she gave him, he left her as well."
"If you happen to change your mind, there's enough money there for you for a dozen tickets; you can ride first class and enjoy a bottle of champagne. I know about your teetotaler pledge with your Uncle Ashley, but you might as well enjoy life's pleasures while you still can. But God forbid I catch you betting again. You stay away from those horse races, do you hear me?"
"Yes Mother," he replied meekly.
She gazed at her son, at that proud, high forehead, those wavy locks, the big, sad eyes.
"I understand why you're doing this, but there is no future here."
"That's what you believe."
She raked her eyes sharply across her son's face: she saw the defiance, the hope in that brown gaze, and she felt a mixture of pity and admiration. A high-pitched mewling interrupted her reverie.
"Shoo. Scat." Undeterred, the gray ball flipped onto her back, squirming.
"I never understood why he didn't take the creature with him." Said creature was now rubbing her ankles and purring.
"She likes you."
"Hmph. Only because she knows that I'm the one who feeds her." She was kneading her now, the room vibrating with her passion.
"But take care of her, won't you? The dry food's in the pantry. Make sure Prissy doesn't switch her food with the dog's; otherwise, she'll have a lot to clean up after. And give her some of that tuna, won't you?"
"Yes I know, but why can't you take her with you?" he asked desperately.
"You know how your sister feels about her and besides, she's right where she belongs."
She wrenched the door open, revealing naught but an inky blackness. She took a breath but before she could cross the threshold, she paused and turned back. She stared at her son, standing atop the landing, one hand curved round the banister. As she stared upon the scene of her greatest defeat, her face whitened and her eyes quivered in their sockets, but then she clenched her jaw and squared her shoulders.
She spun around, shutting the door behind her, leaving naught but a cold draught and the cat, mewling and scratching at the door.
But geez, people are harsh on Scarlett. I have never seen so many people try to diagnose a fictional character with a mental disorder.