Silhouettes Chapter 12
Okay, so I understand some of you might be upset, understandably. But never fear. This isn't the last we've seen of Mr. Holmes.
I greatly appreciate all of your feedback. Thank you so much. I apologize for my tardiness in responses, I try to answer all of the new ones before I post again.
-XXX-
Next week the Post runs a very big headline: MCLARNEY MURDER SOLVE, LOCAL BARTENDER ARRESTED. Below the black print is a mug shot of Eddie Salvers. Dad shakes his head, murmurs what a pity it is, and polishes off his toast. I make no comment.
When I run into the shop for a few groceries, Marge stops me at the register. Oh-so-casually, she asks after my father, being sure to drop her condolences for my runaway mother's passing. I make a few non-committal noises. Then, of course, she moves on to the topic of Ben.
"I heard Mr. Holly has moved out of that hill cottage of yours?" When I don't respond right away, she tsks loudly. "Ah, well, what can you expect of those seasonal people. Can't be expected to hang 'round. Still, it's a little early – we've still several weeks left."
She waits for me to agree. I continue browsing the gum selection. Marge goes on, not discouraged.
"But I would think…well, it seemed as if the two of you were getting rather close. Dinners in the pub. Country walks. Afternoons at the beach. That sort of thing."
If she expects me to elaborate, the shopkeeper is bound for disappointment. And, for the record, it was one dinner. One dinner that end very, very badly.
"Yeah," I say shortly. "It would seem that way."
Without any further response, I scoop up my bags and exit the shop.
Marge later rings Mr. Davies's wife, whose husband then calls my father to inform him of my rudeness. That evening I hear Dad on the phone in hallway, quietly informing his friend that Marge is "a nosy old crow whose diet of gossip was offensive to Vi's loss, thankyouverymuch." He set the receiver down without slamming it, though the firmness is clear. For several minutes he stands in the hall, facing the phone, staring wearily at the device. I creep back up the stairs on light feet, though with a heavy heart. My life is starting to ruin some aspect's of Dad's. Davies might not speak to my father for weeks.
For the next week and a half I am allowed to be a recluse. It's a rare move from my father – typically he is all about being a helicopter parent, constantly hovering. I suppose Dad figures that the death of my mother combined with the abrupt disappearance (though, when is any disappearance not abrupt?) of the person suspected to be my beau has sent me into a kind of shock. While the blow has left me winded, I'm not so surprised as I am confused. But I accept this time to recuperate. For the week I am left to my devices, which means waking late enough to blink back white morning light, rising slowly, taking coffee with toast in bed, napping midday, reading for long hours, playing for even longer hours, and generally avoiding people. I don't go into town once, nor do I walk Hugo, who stays near me almost constantly. It's as though he senses a change and is unsure of his role, only that I am pained and he is tasked as mine to care for me.
Most of this reclusive lifestyle revolves around my bed. And most of the activity taking place within the confines of the full-size mattress is either reading or sleeping. It's nice.
On Sunday, a little more than two weeks after I arrived at our hill-top rental to find the tenant missing, Dad enters my room. It is almost eleven. I've been awake since ten-thirty and slow to rise. At the moment I'm prop against pillows, watching the view from my window. I can see ocean. When Dad approaches the bed, I don't look away. He sits at the end, cautiously applying his weight to the mattress.
"Viola," he starts with great care. "It's been about two weeks now. I think you need to…get yourself together. Carry on."
I look at him, my eyes seeing but not quite absorbing. I let him go on.
"School will be starting soon. You've got preparing to do, for classes and what not. And there are still some matters about your mother's estate." He hesitates. "I know it's terrible, Vi, but you've got to move past this. He left, and sod him! You deserved a bit of notice. Seeing as he didn't give none to you, I'd say his respect was beneath you. You deserve better. I hate to see what a wreck he's left you. It isn't fair, not in the least. If he were a gentleman…but he isn't. You're scaring me, though, love, with stayin' in your room and whatnot. I thought you'd come out, in your own time, but it's been almost two weeks."
It's the first time he's directly mentioned Ben. I find myself blinking. Awareness rising within me.
When I don't respond, Dad shifts uncomfortably. "Vi?"
I rise slowly. Crossing to the window, I let my fingers rest on the sill, standing on my toes to peer out. The sky is so blue, with just a faint line of whispy blue-white towards the horizon, incoming clouds. The cliffs are a solid white, melting into the deep, rolling blue of the sea. From behind me, Dad calls out softly again. "Viola?"
"I will resolve to be better, Dad," I say. I do not turn from the window. "I'm sorry to have worried you."
"It's nothing –"
But it is. Guilt blossoms within my chest. He's already had to deal with a dead, estranged wife this summer, now an over-the-top reaction from his dumped daughter? He's the one who deserves better. I cross to him, looping my arms around his shoulders in a backwards hug, kissing the top of his head affectionately.
"You're pretty amazing, Dad," I murmur.
I can feel him smile.
"Only because I have such a brilliant daughter. Now, would you care for some breakfast?"
-XXX-
Over breakfast, I bring up the topic of school.
"I don't want to keep studying English." I pause. "I want to study music."
He pauses in lifting a forkful of eggs to stare at me. "Music?"
I take a breath. "Yes. Not just to keep my scholarships, not just as a hobby but…for life. I want to study music. Piano."
Luckily, he's still stunned enough to allow me to go on. Hurriedly, I continue.
"But the thing is, the uni I'm currently at, well, their musics programs isn't too good. And you always said if I'm going to go for something, I should go for the best. The best isn't at my current school. It's somewhere else." I lick my lips. "And I think I know where. You remember how I've been asking to move out for a while…."
It's fortunate that Irene left me with something other than her hair. Dad cannot argue that I cannot afford to live on my own, not with my inheritance. We discuss until the coffee is cold. But we both walk away relatively satisfied. In a month. I'll be out of the house again. Away. Far away.
He isn't happy with the arrangements. But he is content enough with my safety. I must make several promises to visit, to write and call, etc. I am glad he's letting me go – when we go down to it, there wasn't such a battle of wills as I had anticipated.
After breakfast, I slip upstairs and start up my laptop. I've got some late application to start.
-XXX-
One day I take to walk down to beach and then up the hill. Simply so that I might pass it one more time. I'm on my way to tea with Dr. Potter for the last time before I go off to school. Walking up to the cottage is a little out of my way, but I don't care.
Though nothing has changed, it feels different. Emptier. I stand for a moment, silent, before the walkway. Then I turn away.
With a half hour before Potter expects me, I have just enough time to get down to the beach. For a while I walk along the sand – shoes safely on – and contemplate the horizon. It's all very cliché and a little gloomy and stresses my heart in a tender kind of way. I miss Ben. It's been almost three week – three weeks that seem to stretch on forever, minutes passing like slugs on lazily July afternoons. I know I had a life before him. Occupations. Hobbies. But all of that was boring. Ben, despite our silent afternoons spent reading, hours passed between us with no communication, was exciting. And I miss him.
When I'm done on the beach I head for Potter's. She's waiting for me, tea already started, a few cakes on the pastry tray in the parlor. I am ushered into the kitchen, seated at her table, and made comfortable. The cool stone house is immaculate. I quickly relax as Dr. Potter begins telling a story about a turtle she's found in the yard whilst gardening. She inquires after my life, and I tell her about my new living situation. I am congratulated.
"You'll do well in a city like that," Potter approves. "I know it's far and foreign, but you're a bright girl, easy to adapt. And oh, you'll love it! I am so happy for you."
"Thank you. I am very excited. It's going to be a lot of work, starting with a new city and a new major, but hopefully worth it."
"It's about time your father let you go. He was doing no one favors, keeping you back like that." She pauses to bite into a cake, savoring the sugary treat a moment before settling back into her seat. "Terrible business about that murder, eh? But I am glad it has been resolved. The poor girl's parents." She tsks. Our tea is sipped before she allows, "I never liked that barman. Never could get the proper proportions on a gin and tonic; kept hoping, though, every time I went in."
I can't help it – I laugh.
"How is Benjamin?" she asks casually after a bit of a lull in conversation.. "Keeping busy?"
I freeze briefly. "I…don't know. He left town almost a month ago."
Potter peers at me carefully. I sense she already knew this. Not the type to gossip, the retired professor does still keep an ear out for the comings-and-goings of the village.
"Oh?" A pause. "He doesn't keep in touch?"
Unlike Marge, I know Potter is asking out of a concern for me, not a desire to peddle the next tidbit of gossip. So, with a sigh, I confirm that yes, Ben hadn't written or emailed or texted or called or anything at all. And that he had, in fact, left without so much as a goodbye. Potter listens, silent, brows rising. When I finish, I take a long draft of my tea, then set the china on the table and stare into the amber liquid.
"Well," Potter says slowly. "That is unfortunate. Why do you think he left so abruptly? I should think, considering your relationship, that he would at least afford you a goodbye."
"Yeah, so would I, but maybe not to Ben," I reply quietly. "I don't know. I can't really speculate, except to think something back home – wherever that might be – called him away. He'd gotten a few letters, the night before. I delivered them. After he read them, he got kind of strange and seemed agitated. The next thing I knew, I came 'round the next day and he was completely gone."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
The doctor muses on this. "You don't imagine he's come into trouble? Perhaps he cannot contact you?"
"I've not considered that," I admit. "It just sort of struck me as a family emergency. But even so, not matter which it is…. It's troubling."
"Oh, yes. What if he should come looking for you, my dear, while you're away?"
This hasn't occurred to me either. "Oh," I say hastily. "I doubt that will happen."
Her lips purse in a vague amusement. "Never say never, my dear. Now have another cake – you're looking peckish."
-XXX-
Well, I am almost done with chapter 20. Due to a few logistically issues, I believe we'll meet 22-24 chapters. Probably 23. We'll just have to see. I am terrible at predicting this stuff. And I've got a lot of stuff going on…job starts on Thursday. Class stuff. And other general things. So we'll see.
Questions, comments, concerns, critiques, I eventually answer them all!