Cal stayed for as long as he could stand to be there, but an hour into the reception he made his excuses and left. He hadn't spoken at the funeral, despite Ruth's insistence that it would be what Rose wanted, and he hardly engaged in conversation afterward. He couldn't bear to hear another person tell him how sorry they were. One more question of, "How are you?" would have sent him through the roof. Cal bid farewell to Ruth, whispered an apology to his mother and hastily made his escape.
The Packard was waiting for him outside the funeral parlor and as soon as he was inside it took off, heading straight for home. Cal wrung the staff of his walking stick, squeezing and twisting his hands over its polished finish with a quivering grip. Her funeral was supposed to provide closure, the period at the end of this terrible run-on sentence that rambled incessantly about missed opportunities, delusional sentiment, betrayal, jealousy, rage, violence, uncertainty, heartbreak and shame. The pastor had spoken about grief, but there was nothing in his sermon about guilt. No words of wisdom to impart on how to cope with the knowledge that you played an active role in someone's demise. Someone you cared for, someone you thought you loved, who you could have loved if they'd only given you the chance. Someone who fascinated you and consumed your thoughts in life and now, haunted your every waking moment.
"GodDAMMIT!" Cal cursed, snapping the cane in half and throwing the splintered pieces against the floor. The metal head of the walking stick ricocheted off the carpeted interior and struck the pane of glass between him and the cab. Cal's driver stepped on the brakes and looked back through the cracked partition with concern and alarm.
"Are you alright, Sir?" He asked.
"Yes, dammit! Drive on!" Running a shaking hand through his hair, Cal, attempted to compose himself. They were almost home and he was determined to leave his anger in the car. He'd dismissed most of the staff for the day, all accept one of the maids who'd taken a shine to Evelyn. She was watching her now. Keeping her entertained and safe, far from the misery of a dead woman's funeral whom she'd never met.
Thinking of his daughter brought him some relief. Where he'd become her anchor, her source of security, Cal was starting to see her as his north star, a tiny pinprick of light shining through an inky abyss. Thoughts of Evelyn made his agitation subside, though his sadness still remained. At least that was an emotion he could manage. Their sadness united them. He didn't need to explain how hard it was to Evelyn because she knew it for herself. Together they could sit in their sorrow without the pressure of needing to cover it up or explain it away and somehow that was a comfort.
Spotting a department store outside his window, Cal ordered the driver to stop. He went inside, purchased a few items and then quickly returned. When they arrived at Cal's mansion, he hardly waited for the car to park before he got out and quickly made his way across the gravel drive and into the foyer.
With the sound of the front door opening, Evelyn came running. Cal knelt down, scooped her up and lifted his little girl into his arms, careful not to crush the presents he was holding. Instantly comforted by her tight embrace, Cal hugged her back, holding her close for almost a full minute before he leaned away and met her open gaze.
"Hello Papa." She said quietly, seeming to sense his delicate state.
"Hello, Sweetheart. Did you have a good time with Martha?" Evelyn nodded yes, and his eyes jumped to the maid in question. "Thank you, Mrs. Brooke, you can leave for the day."
"Are you certain, Mr. Hockley? The kitchen staff have left and there's no one else to prepare dinner."
"I think we can manage. Thank you."
"Very good, Sir." Mrs. Brooke said, and respectfully took her leave.
"Look what I brought you." Cal said, his voice still hushed as if they were sharing a secret. Evelyn put her full face into the bouquet of flowers and took a deep sniff, coming back with golden flecks of pollen on her nose. She then took the cloth doll that he offered, smiled at her Papa and wrapped her arms around his neck in silent thanks.
Tears filled his eyes for the hundredth time that day, but now he let them fall, dampening his cheeks with quiet relief. Doing his best to control his voice, Cal asked, "Shall we finish our story from last night?" Evelyn nodded and together they went in search of her book.