The Knight Of The Rose (33 page)

Poor Dad.

With a soft sigh, I walked over to sit with him. “How long, Dad? Before you stopped

missing her when she left?”

He sniffed once and fold ed his paper over, looking intently at it as he laid it on the table.

“Never.” He looked into my eyes then. “I
never
stopped missing your mother. Sure, after about ten

years or so it got easier to bear.”

“Oh.” I looked out the front window.

“I did wrong by her, Ara, and I should never have done that. But when you love someone,

like I loved her, you will always miss them. I try not to think of her if I can.”

“But, you love Vicki, right? Doesn’t that make it easier?”

He smiled and nodded th oughtfully. “That’s the only reason I didn’t go back and beg your

mum to forgive me. I did love Vicki, I do love Vi cki, I mean,” he said with a laugh. “But, I loved

your mum, too.”

It hurt to hear him speak of her in the past tense like that.

“I don’t think you ever truly get over losing someone you love. But, it gets easier, after time

passes, and you can get through the days wi thout missing them so much,” he added, probably i n

response to my hor rified expression. He couldn’t know how much I was relating his story to my

own experiences with boys. He’s the only person I could think of that suff ered a loss as great as

mine. I needed to know if there was a life after love—after true love.

“Is this about David?” Dad asked.

Why do dads have to be so clued in? “A little.” I smiled

“Ara, Mike loves you. He’s been trying to ask you to marry him for the last two years.” Dad

laughed once. “He was so worried you were going to turn him down that he almost asked me to ask

you
for
him.”

“Really?”

“Yes, honey. Look, I know you love David, but you loved Mike first—and if you thought

you could move on fr om love on ce, then ther e’s a good chance y ou can do it again, right ?” He

patted my hand.

Disbelief, or maybe amazement moved my head from side to side. “That’s why you’re a

teacher, Dad. The all-knowing.” I waved my hands around in the air, then stood up and kissed him

on the cheek. “Love you, Dad.”

“Ara?”

I turned back around to his insistent tone. “Yeah?”

“I uh...I need to talk to you.”

“Okay...” I sat back down.

“I received a call today—from Ray Bougerstern.”

“Dad!” I slammed my palms on the table and stood up.

“Ara. Sit back down. We need to discuss this.”

“Why now?” I felt the blanket of fury, shame and claustrophobia wrap my shoulders.

“Mike’s waiting for me to watch a mo—”

“And he’ll wait. You can’t keep avoiding this. The insurance policy has cleared the account.

I need to know what you want me to do with the money.”

My lip quivered as I looked down at my feet. Blood money. The money a company paid out

because my mother no longer existed. A consolation. Condolences in the form of green notes.

“Keep it. Give it to Sam.”

“Ara. Your mother took that policy out so that if she were no longe r around you could take

care of yourself.”

“I can do that without money, Dad!”

“No, you can’t,” his voice grumbled as it peaked above anger. “She’s gone, Ara-Rose. She’s

not coming back, no matt er who you try to push away, no matter what tortures you can inflict on

yourself. No amount of your own suffering will change what happened.” He reached for my hand; I

kept it tight in the fold of my arms, biting my quivering lip. “Honey, just take the money. Use it to

start your life, use it to—”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I didn’t bother to look at him.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t wanted to bring it up again. I know it’s hard for you, but—”

“Just put it in a trust fund,” I sai d finally. “Put it in a high interest account unt il I turn

eighteen or something.” I spun around and, with fists of frustration clasped to my sides, stormed out

of the room.

Dad merely groaned as I disappeared into the front entrance.

Something about the lazy tone of the day made me edgy. Dad and Mike played chess in the

formal dining room, Vicki hung washing on the line, and Sam stood talking to Mr. Warner over the

fence, who was trying to mow the lawn, but humouring an eager neighbour. My old companion, the

swing, rocked gently under me while I let my mind wander throughout the past weeks.

How can your life change so quickly? From being a normal teenager, going to school and

practicing for your big bal let recital, to losing your family, then your first true love, all while

discovering the existence of monsters.

Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps it isn’t the calm-qui et that has my gut churning. Perhaps it’s that

tonight, on the last stroke of midnight, the part of me that won’t believe David’s gone will turn, look

up at the clock tower on the chamber building, and hope that he’ll tap me on the shoulder and as k

me to dance. In his arms, warm and safe, my heart would contr ol my mind, and I’d say, “Take me

away—make me like you.”

And he’d say yes; and then I’d tell him I need just a little more time to come to terms with it.

But secretly, I’d never let him change me—just to keep him a little longer.

Vicki looked over , shaking her head; she thi nks I should be insi de, layering on enough

makeup to coat a Lego board and make it smooth. But I’ll be wearing a mask—who needs makeup

under a mask? It’s just silly.

Trying to think of a song t o play on my guitar, I tapped my ring finger on the wood of the

neck and listened to the rhythm of the clacking gold.

When Sherlock Holmes paced ar ound my head again, I started playing random chords;

should—shouldn’t, could—would. I
should
be following my true love th rough eternity, but instead,

I’m marrying Mike. So the lesson, the journey, everything that happened up unt il now seems

pointless, like, why, what’s the story line? What was the reason for it?

Mike’s turning me down that night, and me choosing to run away from him brought about

the positioning for the untimely deat h of my family—which landed me here, to meet my first true

love—only to lose him and end up back with the guy I was trying to get in the first place.

I can’t make any sense of it.

I shook my head and dropped my fingers from their position on the chord—letting the song

die without a name. The whole world is senseless.

But I can’t let my mind wander that pat h; the trying-to-find-meanings-or-reasons-for-life

path. Perhaps it’s to love, or to experience many trials—or maybe even to
feel
. I don’t know. I’ve

been through all of these conclusion s and none of them fit. Pain is the only one that even touches

the reality of living. So, maybe the meaning of life is to cram as much pain and heartache as we can

into the puny time-line of our miserable existence.

Satisfied with that dismal conclusion, I st arted playing agai n, and watched t hrough the

window as Dad and Mike played chess. It was like looking across the waters of reflection, reading

the story of my life. Two elements of my past—from different times—come together in battle. They

moved in slow motion; Mike rolling his head back and laughing at Dad’s witty move; Dad coughing

into his hand at Mike’s reaction.

And it occurred to me then, as I watched their hands meet in the offer of peace, that this is it.

That’s my Dad and my fiancé. There will be no more boys for me. Mike will be my first—and my

last. A chapter of my life has ended before it even began.

Perhaps that’s why my dad likes Mike so much; he’ll never have to worry about me ending

up with a loser—or alone. But that won’t mean I’m not eternally lonely.

Losing my soul to the calm whisper of the breeze and the warm September sun, I hummed

softly, singing a few of the words to a song—one that made my soul ache to hear, but to play, only

seemed to bring clarity. I didn’t want to sing it, but the words came to my lips, surrounding my ears

before I could stop t hem. “I wish I could see you, but you went aw ay; you left me defenceless, in

the cold and the rain. I found my way home, and the world was all right, ‘til the darkness came, and

took my knight.

“When I look in the mirror, the face that I see, wears the scars of her past well, but she isn’t

me. I lost myself somewhere, when I walked to the light. For t he darkness came and took my

knight.” The melody rang in my ears and forced a tiny, stinging tear to the corner of my eye. I never

cared much for the words before, but now, I think it may have been written just for me.

To distract myself from crying, I looked down at the grey fluff-ball by my feet; “I won’t

miss you, Skitz,” I joked with a weak smile as I placed the guita r on the gr ound and let my heart

sink down with it.

The cat looked up at me, then flopped onto his side. His fur was warm against my ankle;

he’d obviously been sunning himself on the roof ag ain. “Okay.” I chuckled lightly when he curled

into a ball and rolled his spine against my foot—forcing me to pet him firmly. “Maybe I’ll miss you

a little.”

“Going somewhere?”

“Hey, Mike? Did you win?”

“Nah.” He placed his hand down on the grass and let the rest of his body fall into it. Skittles

leaped onto his front paws, ready to run if Mike was a threat, but the lazy cat just closed his eyes,

without re-adjusting his position, and started purring. Mike laughed at him. “Your dad’s too quick.

He beat me twice.”

“He never beat my mum, you know? Not once,” I said.

“Yeah? I didn’t know that.”

I nodded.

“You’re not upstairs putting on your war paint?” Mike said after a second.

His soft tone reminded my eyes of t he tears they were detaining; I forced them back with a

shrug. “It won’t take long once I start.”

“Hm.” He picked a st rand of grass off the lawn and curl ed it aro und his finger. “I know

you’re sad, Ara. I know you still miss him.”

“He’s just a memory now, Mike. I’m not sad.”

“Right.” He nodded with his lips pressed together. “Your dad? He’s worried about you.”

“He always is.”

“Are you sure you want to do thi s?” A watery glaze glimmered under the light of the sun in

his eyes. “It’s not too late to change your mind?”

“Change my mind? About what?”

Mike breathed out a nd pushed up off the ground, shuff ling over to kneel in f ront of me.

“You don’t have to marry me. I’ll be okay if you say no. Since I asked you, you haven’t been

happy. Not really.”

“I’m trying, Mike.”

“I know. But is trying enough? Am
I
enough?” The pain in his words linked to the firm clasp

of his fingers around my hi ps. Mike was scared—I could feel it. He had as much to lose here as I

did. I mean, was love enough for this relationship to work when it wasn’t enough for David and I?

“I just need to get away fro m here, I think, Mike—” My vo ice trembled. “I wa nna go

home.”

“Oh, Ara. Baby.” He pulled the swing into him and held me in his arms. “That’s fi ne. We’ll

go. We’ll leave tomorrow, if you like?”

“I would—but, I think we better plan it properly first.” I flashed him a grin and he returned

it.

“Oh, baby girl. You’re gonna be so happy. I promise. I’l l buy you a hous e and give you

everything you want.” He squeezed me way too tight, forcing me to hold my breath against the base

of his jaw. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Mike.”

And that was the truth. It felt right. Normal. I
should
be with Mike. I
should
go home to

Perth—and everything would be right again in the world.

The quiet whispers of my family lilted up the stairs, carrying my mind back from the hold of

a terror-locked gaze at the st ranger behind the mask. Her blue eyes stared out at me from a place

and time I no longer belonged. She was the fake em bodiment of my former-self; the lie after the

truth, hiding behind an ornament of beauty in a blue dress.

And I couldn’t stand the sight of her.

Somewhere, at some point, I’d split in two. Th e innocent, dream-believing girl that tragedy

left behind disappeared when David ran away with my heart, forever. I was
his
picture of beauty,

created
by
him,
for
him, but I’d never feel his cool fingers under the ribbon of my corset, holding me

close as we twirled in our graceful, eternal dance.

Dusting shimmer powder over my face and body, I tilted my arm into the light and watched

it sparkle—like a mythological vampire. I could be Bella, but she had a soul. The frame I saw in the

mirror was a hollow, empty void of a girl.

Mike could tell, he knew I wasn’t his Ara inside, anymore. He thought I never noticed, but I

was aware of him staring at me, trying to fi gure me out—though I was pr etty sure his only

conclusions so far were that I was depressed and needed to talk to someone, not that I just wanted to

fall down and die.

When he knocked on my door earlier this evening, I’d ca lled him t o enter—completely

ignorant to the fact that while I was standing by my mirror, trying to re -pierce my ear, I was

wearing only my underwear and bra.

“Hey, kid.” Mike had grinned when his eyes fell over my bare curves.

Scrambling for something to cover myself with, I cursed my carelessness. “Shut the door—”

“Relax, baby.” He looked behind him, then cl osed the door and saunt ered across the room.