Note: So I said this chapter would be easier…ha! Man, was I wrong. Took a few rewrites for me to get it straight, it did. And now I get to explore a darker side of Celia's motives—something I hope you readers find troubling. Gah. I almost forgot to say happy Fourth of July, to all my fellow Americans. Because staying up all night because of your neighbors' noisy fireworks is patriotic indeed! XD

Chapter Twelve:

Celia

When my mother first told me I was to come to Forget-Me-Not, I didn't understand why. I had felt rejected, at first; I had become too much of a burden to her, and it was time for her to push me aside. No one had to tell me this; I could tell in her wearied expression, with every tired sigh she released. I, too, could speak the language of sorrow. But the day I left, she didn't say any of that. No, the day she led me to the train station…she was crying.

"You'll be happy now," she'd assured me, pulling me into her arms. "They can give you what I can't. You'll be happy, so happy, and that's all a mother can wish for her child. Happiness."

The future had been unwritten then; I had pages and pages of blank paper ready to spill my life upon. Happiness, my life would read. Joy. Contentment.

My mother fought to save me from following in her footsteps, struggling and struggling day by day to survive. But I've let her down, haven't I? History repeats itself. I wasn't strong enough to escape it.

"Celia?"

I suppose I never could be.

The bar is empty this evening; it's only a few hours till opening, and Muffy greets me with a puzzled expression she's barely managed to hide from view. Why am I here, she wants to ask, but instead, "How's Cassie doing?" is what comes from her lips.

"She's healthy. Fine," I reply, seating myself at the counter. It's polished, and I stare at my expression, lips drawn into a frown and cold eyes staring back at me. "It's…it's just going to be hard raising her, Muffy. Like you said."

"Wow, someone's listening to me? That's a first."

I fidget in my seat as she glides from shelf to shelf, red dress swaying behind her as she grabs glasses and lines them up at the ready. "It wasn't untrue, you know," I continue, and she pauses, glass in hand. "What you said to me that night."

"I'm not trying to be cruel, Celia. But, girl, you've got to move on. Wouldn't Jack want you to be happy? To find someone else? To get his child a father?"

Everything I'd been too selfish to understand. All of it.

"You mean about…moving on and all that?" She slinks down in front of me, chin rested on her hands as she cocks her head at me, confused. Muffy shakes her head and lets out a small laugh. "Oh, Celia, I wish you'd forget about it. I wasn't thinking about you; I had no right to tell you to—"

"Yes, you did." I offer a weak smile. "This isn't really about me, though, is it? I—I'd always thought it was, before now. Before Cassie."

I could say those things back then. I could lock myself off from the world; I could swear that I had nothing to live for anymore but him and his memory. I hadn't gazed into that innocent child's eyes, imploring me for safety and warmth. No one relied on me then. I could talk about 'me' all I liked.

"You're right, Muffy. You've always been right." I stand up, and Muffy is trying to speak, trying to comprehend exactly what I'm saying. Her green eyes ask me thousands of questions: what am I saying? What am I trying to prove? What do I think I'm doing?

I wonder if people asked my mother these same things, the day she announced the betrothal of her infant daughter. I wonder if anyone else understood. I wonder if she would understand what I'm doing now.

"Celia—"

"It's so obvious, isn't it?" I whisper. Her pale arms wrap about me, crushing me against her in an effort to quiet my fears. "I can't be a mother. Not alone. Cassie deserves so much more…than just me. She deserves Jack: a father, a real parent. Not another child to raise her."

"No, honey, no. Don't be silly. You're trying your best; you know that."

I pull away, and the lights above me are dimming; it's almost time for the bar to open, and music is starting to play in the emptiness of the room. "But my best isn't the best," I remind her. "And…if I can move on—for Cassie's sake—I can give her what she needs. A father. After all…doesn't every mother want her child to be happy? More than anything in the world?"

And if my happiness is the cost, well, haven't I already lost that? Jack's gone. There's nothing more for me to lose.

I had never wanted something so desperately in my life. Curled into the corner of my room, I shut my eyes and fought to ignore the tumultuous shouts from below—all my doing. All my fault.

"How can she do this? All these years living here, and she just—just uses us for room and board, then runs off with our competition! After all we've been through, how can she do this? How?"

"You don't mean to suggest forcing the girl to marry you against her will?"

"I—! No, I—I don't know, Vesta. It's not like that. I mean…I'd never…"

I covered my face, his softening voice striking me with the cruelty of a thousand screams. This is selfish, a voice within me whispers. You knew why you came here. You are an engaged woman. You had no right—

No, no, that couldn't be true. I had every right, didn't I? I gazed out the window, the world blotted out by night. Yes, I deserved to fall in love. I deserved to find someone like Jack, to follow my heart and—for once in my life!—do something that made me, Celia, happy.

Traitor. That's what you are.

Every sound below me had died, and I pressed my cheek to the floorboards, listening desperately through the cracks. A tiny noise penetrated the oak, and I can still hear it now: a muffled sob, a scattered curse. The breaking of furniture.

This was the price of my happiness. This was the cost attached to my deepest wish.

The door opened.

"Celia?" Vesta smiled at me, but I hadn't the energy to return it. "I reckon you'd better go. Jack should know he's going to have to make room for a bride, right?"

I couldn't speak. I could only hug her, and thank her for finally letting me go.

How could I apologize?

"Marlin?"

He puts a finger to his lips, pointing to the sleeping girl in his arms. She's so at ease, my baby daughter; lying across him without a care in the world. I smile, and as I pull her towards me, see he's smiling as well in way he'd never dared to in years.

"She conked out about an hour ago," he whispers, and his breath tickles my ear. Shivering, I motion for him to follow me as I place her in her crib, letting her angelic form be hidden by blankets and her head cushioned by a tiny pillow. She's my little girl, I want to exclaim. My angel.

"Thank you for watching her, Marlin," I say instead, door closed shut behind us. "I…I appreciate all you've done for her, really. It's more than I deserve."

He shrugs, and says merely, "It's fine. Cassie's a good kid, Celia. Even if her cries can wake the dead."

I laugh, the word dead ringing in my ears. Dead, dead, dead. "She likes you, you know. Sometimes I feel like I'm not the one raising her; she cries for you, from time to time."

"Me?"

"It's always a different kind of cry," I explain, leaning against the wall. "I never hear it until you leave; it starts out quiet, then gets louder and louder, more shrill as she slowly realizes you've left. Sometimes it's almost like—"

—he's become her father.

I gaze up at him, this strong man whose hands can cradle my daughter with all the care in the world, and Goddess, do I envy him. I want to be a pillar of unwavering strength; someone others can find comfort in, instead of always being the one needing a shoulder to cry on. I—I hate being so…helpless. Marlin's never needed anyone but himself. Marlin's never been someone so ridiculously dependent on someone else that the simplest word—dead—can haunt him like a curse. He doesn't crumble the way I do. Maybe…I've always envied him for that.

Maybe that's why I've chosen him.

"Did you see what I've made for dinner?" I ask, leaving the sentence unfinished. My eyes gaze at the cracks in the plaster, avoiding the clouded expression on his features. "Your favorite."

"Curry, yeah, I noticed." Marlin scratches his head, fingers running through his thick black curls as he narrows his eyes. "Any reason you made it tonight? It's not my birthday, you know. What I want doesn't matter."

"Well, today it does," I decide. I whisk the plates from the shelves and set the table, his eyes still locked upon me from behind. I pretend he's someone else, someone whom I owe nothing to, and can wheedle and cajole as I please. "I just figured you deserved a special meal. For helping me and Cassandra out, I mean."

"Ah." Marlin nods, scratching the nape of his neck in thought. I'm stabbed by guilt as his cheeks color at that, and shut my eyes, blocking this pain from my mind with useless facts: carrots grow in winter, cows only milk after pregnancy, Fabia means The Bran Grower. I just can't allow myself to concentrate on him, and what that smile means. "So do you need any help?"

The silverware falls from my shaking hands to the floor, and at the clunking sound of wood against metal, I gasp in surprise. "Oh, dear—!" His hand alights upon my own as I lift them up, and I shove him away without thinking, his touch cold and clammy upon my own. "I—I've got it. Everything's fine," I assure him. His icy blue eyes are transfixed upon me, and I wish he could read my mind, see through my little charade.

"You know, it never ceases to amaze me how different I feel about food now that you're cooking here," Marlin quips as he—despite my protest—begins getting the drinks ready. The cups don't match; the yellow one is even chipped on the edges, and the other two are ridiculously disproportionate in height. Vesta had told me once that they were all from separate priceless sets her family had once owned (and consequently broke) over the years. I'd started to apologize for her loss, when she'd started laughing, saying how silly the whole thing had been. A cup was a cup. Simple as that.

Is everything else that simple? Could it be?

"Well, Vesta just…doesn't have the right nature to be a cook," I explain. The napkins are nearby, and folding them into neat halves, I slip them under each fork like a blanket. Cocking my head at the tabletop and finding myself satisfied, I continue, "It requires precision, full dependency on the recipe, but she's too much of a leader for that. She's incredibly patient, though, and very…sturdy."

"Sturdy?"

"Well, she's always prepared for anything. She adapts easily."

"Huh." With a twist of the faucet, water pours into the cups, the sound of water against china causing me to shiver despite myself. He turns the knob once again, then joins me at the table, his face expressionless as he sets the drinks down between us. "I dunno, sometimes I think she's just a stubborn old maid." I flinch, until I see he's grinning playfully, and let my tensed muscles relax.

"Must be wonderful to have an older sister," I comment.

"Eh, well." Marlin shrugs. "It's got its ups and downs. When we were little, there were times I wished I could beat her to a pulp." He chuckles to himself. "There are times I still do. She can be so damn nosy, you know?"

Now it's my turn to laugh, and he smiles as if my joy is infectious. "I'm the oldest girl in my family," I admit, giggling. "So I guess I must have been the nosy one to my little brothers and sisters." Then the laughter slowly fades, like a dying record, and I close my lips tight. I suppose I've never been good at hiding my emotions; Marlin's features scrunch up in worry, and he leans towards me, fighting to find the right thing to say.

"Did I say something…?"

"Oh, Marlin, you didn't do anything," I assure him, heaving a sigh. I should never have brought them up; Goddess, I haven't thought of them in ages. Yet the memories fly back one by one, brightening the shadowed edges of my memory until I can see a tiny house filled with laughter illuminated in the recesses of my mind. "Let's talk about something else."

Marlin gives me a long, hard look, and a silence falls between us before he breaks it: "If it helps, I don't like talking about my family much, either. Other than Vesta, I don't have a soul in the world who really gives a crap about me."

"It's not that, though," I insist, shaking my head. "I mean, my family always…cared about me. We always stood by each other, especially in the tough times, and…" I pause. "I actually haven't spoken to any of them since I left. I don't think…I don't think any of them even know that I got married. Or that I have a baby. Or that Jack…"

Suddenly indignant fury is welling within me: why couldn't just one of them show up for my wedding, for my husband's funeral, for my baby's birth? Offer me a place to stay when I had nowhere but that haunted farm to sleep? Out of all of them, how is it that no one could lend a hand? Of course: they didn't know. Yet strangely, I'm filled with anger, regret, horror that they'd forget about me in my time of need.

But you've forgotten them, haven't you?

I slump over in my chair, and I laugh hollowly to myself. What is this feeling—this sadness? My throat has tightened, but I don't want to cry; this is such a different emotion, one leaving a strange taste in my mouth that I can't bite back.

"Family…is kind of relative, you know?" My skin prickles in alarm as he places his arm round my shoulders, but I let him hold me close anyhow, shutting my eyes tight. "I mean, yeah, it's nice to have blood relations who care about you, but there's all kinds of families, right?" I recognize his voice—it's the one he uses on my little Cassandra—and I let it comfort me, brushing away all my anger and resentment. "Vesta pretty much sees you as one of our family, and it'd be kind of weird for me to imagine living without you again."

Living without me. I cringe at the unexpected blow—one he doesn't even realize he's dealt. How could he know my true intentions? How could he know the reason I'm suddenly fighting to enter his life, and cooking his favorite meal for no reason at all?

Fear. Responsibility. Necessity. Those are my reasons. Not love.

"…I like this family," I murmur softly, and it strikes me how childish I sound, how scared. I want someone's arms around me, protecting me, but that's all I want, and what conscience I have left is slowly sinking under this selfish desire to find someone to be my shield. "Cassie likes this family, too. She likes you, and Vesta, and it's almost like we belong here."

I nestle my head into the crook of his shoulder and sigh, taking in his scent and being reminded of one not too different. This smell, too, speaks of the earth and sky and spring blossoms. He, too, sweats under the labor of the sun, and he, too, has been foolish enough to let me into his arms. My actions have startled him, and Marlin simply stares at me in disbelief, every feature on his face questioning each move I've made. I let my eyes meet his, tired and pleading.

Please don't hate me.

"I…I want to spend more time with you and Cassie, Marlin," I tell him, each lie lighting up his face like nothing else can. "I want…to fix things between us. I want to forget what happened back then. I need to forget. I need you."

Don't judge me. Don't hate me for this—I have no choice.

"I'm just so tired, Marlin," I whisper, and my voice cracks under the strain of all my sins and fears. "I'm so tired of being alone and afraid."

I don't love him. I need him. I need a father, someone stronger than I am, to help Cassie grow up into the beautiful young woman I know she can be. I need someone to take care of us, because I can barely take care of myself. I can't do this alone.

He would've married me out of duty, once. Isn't this, too, a duty?

Forgive me.

"I'm so tired, Marlin. So tired."

I want it all to end, even if I have to crush it under the weight of one more lie.