It’s my fault they were rough with me. I shouldn’t have objected. I know better than that. It’s not what I’ve been taught to do.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Daddy says. “You know I hate it when you’re hurting. You’re my special girl, Clementine.”
“I’ll try to be better, Daddy,” I promise.
“Good girl, I know you will,” he purrs. “Now eat your pancakes.”
Even after letting him down, he still made my favorite treat. I start cutting the pancakes into small pieces as he stands and claps his hands. “I have a business meeting in the city, so I’ll be away until evening, but I’ll see you when I get home.”
“Okay,” I reply. “Have a good day, Daddy.”
It’s not unusual for him to leave me alone for long periods. I hoped he’d take me with him when I was younger, but he never did. Now I’m happier to be left behind. I have my own means of entertainment that I can’t get anywhere else.
Daddy’s lips brush against my forehead in farewell. He tucks Mr. Darcey into the blankets next to me. “He can keep you company while I’m gone. Don’t miss me too much.”
Daddy leaves and clicks the door. Some people find silence eerie, but I like it. As soon as I finish my pancakes, I hobble to the window seat and watch Daddy’s sports car disappear. I look at the empty spot where August used to park his car. He might be in the city too. Where else would he have gone? He wouldn’t have returned to the town where he grew up. He hated it there.
Floorboards creak outside my door and make me jump.
“Hello?” I call.
We have a cleaner who visits weekly, but this isn’t her scheduled day. The cleaner has never spoken to me before. She’s discreet and doesn’t ask questions. We have a gardener too, but he’s never set foot inside the house, and I’m never allowed outside when he’s around.
Has someone been watching the house? Do they know Daddy has gone? We have security systems, but some people are clever enough to crack them. The door handle turns, and I grab a lamp, ready to defend myself if I have to.
“August?” My mouth falls open as I see him in the doorway, and I drop the lamp. A dark bruise surrounds his left eye, and his knuckles are cut. My initial joy turns into a sulk fast. I cross my arms and pout. “I thought you left.”
“I came back,” he says. He looks me over, then glances at the frozen vegetables on the bed. “I saw what happened last night. I came to check that you’re okay.”
“The only thing I remember about my mom was her singing. Have I told you that before? She had a beautiful voice, August. She sounded like an angel. She used to sing me nursery rhymes.” I change the subject to cut him off. Walking still hurts, but I lock the pain away in a box in the back of my mind. Seeing him makes me feel better. “Which one was your favorite?”
“Favorite nursery rhyme?” August frowns. “Clemmie, I’m talking about—”
“Ring-a-round the Rosie,” I start singing the rhyme. “A pocket full of posies. Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down... Do you like that one, August?” I slip into my sandals. “Do you want to go for a walk in the walled garden?”
He clears his throat. “Don’t you want to change?”
“No,” I snap. It’s a beautiful day, and my silky slip falls under my ass. I want my legs to feel the sun’s warmth. “Why should I? No one else is here.”
I try to walk normally, but my stance falls wider.
“You’re hurt,” August observes.
I start to skip to prove him wrong. He’ll only use it as an excuse to hate Daddy even more. My desire not to cause problems supersedes my pain. I skip along the corridor and down the stairs, stroking the stair railings as I singRing Around the Rosieat the top of my lungs.
“Clemmie,” August calls, dragging his feet behind me. “We can stay inside.”
“No, we’re going to the walled garden!” I insist. I spin and flash a dazzling smile. “It’ll be wonderful. This way!”
He doesn’t look convinced but follows me out of the house anyway. The land around the mansion spans miles. The gardener tends to the walled garden and driveway, but the rest of the grounds are wild overgrown forests. I believed fairies lived there when I was a child. I spent hours running through the trees, thinking I saw fluttering wings. I don’t need to believe in fairies anymore. I have August instead.
We cross the driveway to the walled garden, and I push the gate open to reveal perfectly maintained rows of beautiful flowers. Roses, chrysanthemums, lilies... there are flowers of every color you can think of. Green leaves creep up the wall, suspending us in a place that feels far away from the mansion. The air is different here, less tense.
August continues to ask questions, but I ignore him. His voice washes over me as I focus on the chatter of birds and rustling leaves. I squeeze my eyes shut and hum, soaking in the atmosphere and appreciating how the hot rays warm my skin.
“Clemmie!” August grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “This isn’t some fucking fairytale world! You were hurt last night!”
Why does he keep wanting me to relive the past?