Sophie Love - For Now and Forever

Emily looked away, feeling suddenly bashful. Daniel was about as far away from Ben as a man could be, and yet her attraction toward him was powerful. Maybe in another place, another time, she’d give in to her lust. She’d been with no one but Ben for seven years, after all, and she deserved some attention, some excitement.

But now wasn’t the right time. Not with everything going on, with her life in complete chaos and upheaval, and with the memories of her father swirling round in her mind. She felt that everywhere she looked, she could see the shadows of him; sitting on the sofa with a young Emily curled into his side, reading to her aloud; bursting in through the door beaming from ear to ear after discovering some precious antique at the flea market, then spending hours carefully cleaning it, restoring it to its former glory. Where were all the antiques now? All the figurines and artwork, the commemorative crockery and Civil War–era cutlery pieces? The house hadn’t stood still, frozen in time, like it had in her memory. Time had taken its toll on the property in a way she hadn’t even considered.

Another wave of grief crashed over Emily as she glanced around at the dusty, disheveled room that had once been brimming with life and laughter.

“How did this place get into this state?” she suddenly cried, unable to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice. She frowned. “I mean, you’re supposed to be taking care of it, aren’t you?”

Daniel flinched, as though taken aback by her sudden aggressiveness. Just moments earlier they’d shared a gentle, tender moment. Seconds later she was giving him a hard time. Daniel flashed her a cool stare. “I do my best. It’s a big house. There’s only one of me.”

“Sorry,” Emily said, immediately backtracking, not liking to be the cause of Daniel’s darkened expression one bit. “I didn’t mean to take a dig at you. I just mean…” She looked into her cup and swirled the tea leaves. “This place was like something out of a fairytale when I was a kid. It was so awe-inspiring, you know? So beautiful.” She looked up to see Daniel watching her intently. “It’s just sad to see it like this.”

“What were you expecting?” Daniel replied. “It’s been abandoned for twenty years.”

Emily looked away sadly. “I know. I guess I just wanted to imagine that it had been suspended in time.”

Suspended in time, like the image of her father that she had in her mind. He was still forty years old, never having aged a day, looking identical to the last time she’d seen him. But wherever he was, time would have affected him just like it had affected the house. Emily’s resolve to fix up the house over the weekend grew even stronger. She wanted nothing more than to restore the place, if only slightly, back to its old glory. Maybe in doing so, it would be like bringing her father back to her. She could do it in his honor.

Emily took her last sip of tea and set the cup down. “I should get to bed,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Of course,” Daniel replied, standing. He moved quickly, waltzing out of the room and down the corridor toward the front door, leaving Emily to tag along behind. “Just call on me when you find yourself in trouble, okay?” he added. “I’m just in the carriage house over there.”

“I won’t need to,” Emily said indignantly. “I can do it myself.”

Daniel hauled open the front door, letting the bracing snow swirl inside. He hunkered down in his jacket, then looked back over his shoulder. “Pride won’t get you far in this place, Emily. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”

She wanted to shout something at him, to argue, to refute his claim that she was too proud, but instead she watched his back as he disappeared into the dark, swirling snow, unable to speak, her tongue completely tied.

Emily closed the door, shutting out the outside world and the fury of the blizzard. She was now completely alone. Light spilled into the hallway from the living room fire but wasn’t strong enough to reach up the stairs. She glanced up the long, wooden staircase as it disappeared into blackness. Unless she was prepared to sleep on one of the dusty couches, she would have to get the nerve to venture upstairs and into the pitch-blackness. She felt like a child again, scared of descending into the shadow-filled basement, inventing all kinds of monsters and ghouls that were waiting down there to get her. Only now she was a grown woman of thirty-five, too scared to go upstairs because she knew the sight of abandonment was worse than any ghoul her mind could create.

Instead, Emily went back into the living room to soak up the last of the warmth from the fire. There were still a few books on the bookshelf — The Secret Garden, Five Children, It – classics her father had read to her. But what of the rest? Where had her father’s belongings gone? They had disappeared into that unknown place just like her father had.

As the embers began to die, darkness settled in around her, matching her somber mood. She could put off the fatigue no longer; the time had come to climb the steps.

Just as she left the living room, she heard a strange scratching noise coming from the front door. Her first thought was some kind of wild creature sniffing around for scraps, but the noise was too precise, too considered.

Heart pounding, she padded along the hall on silent feet and drew up to the front door, pressing her ear against it. Whatever she thought she’d heard, it was gone now. All she could hear was the screaming wind. But something compelled her to open the door.

She pulled it open and saw that placed on the doorstep were candles, a lantern, and matches. Daniel must have come back and left them for her.

She snatched them up, grudgingly accepting his offer of help, her pride stung. But at the same time she was beyond grateful that there was someone looking out for her. She might have given up her life and run away to this place, but she wasn’t completely alone here.

Emily lit the lantern and finally felt brave enough to go upstairs. As the soft lantern light led her up the staircase, she took in the sight of the picture frames on the wall, the images inside them faded with time, the cobwebs strung across them covered in dust. Most of the pictures were watercolors of the local area – sailing boats on the ocean, evergreens in the national park – but one was a family portrait. She stopped, staring at the picture, looking at the image of herself as a little girl. She had completely forgotten about this picture, had confined it to some part of her memory and locked it away for twenty years.

Swallowing her emotion, she continued to climb the steps. The old stairs creaked loudly beneath her and she noticed that some of the steps had cracked. They were scuffed from years of footsteps and a memory struck her of running up and down these steps in her red T-bar shoes.

Up in the hallway the lantern light illuminated the long corridor – the numerous dark-oak wood doors, the floor-to-ceiling window at the end that was now boarded up. Her old bedroom was the last on the right, opposite the bathroom. She couldn’t bear the thought of looking in either room. Too many memories would be contained in her bedroom, too many for her to unleash right now. And she didn’t much fancy finding out what kind of creepy crawlies had made the bathroom their home over the years.

Instead, Emily stumbled along the corridor, weaving past the antique ornament case she’d stubbed her toe on countless times, and into her parents’ room.

In the lantern light, Emily could see how dusty the bed was, how moth-bitten the bedding had become over the years. The memory of the beautiful four-poster bed that her parents had shared shattered in her mind as she was confronted with the reality. Twenty years of abandonment had ravaged the room. The curtains were grimy and crumpled, hanging limply beside the boarded up windows. The wall sconces were thick with dust and cobwebs, looking like whole generations of spider families had made them home. A layer of thick dust had settled over everything, including the dressing table beside the window, the little stool her mother had sat upon many years ago as she’d lathered her face with lavender-scented cream in the vanity mirror.