Clara
+1+
Emile had the invitation splayed open up on his fridge and I couldn’t stop staring at it. Emile’s house was peacefully quiet except for the noisy fan in the kitchen. It was small and had enough vintage charm that I could hear his every movement upstairs, there was something cozy about that. I leaned forward in my chair and read the scrawling script for the invitation over and over again.
I sat back as Emile came down the stairs, he looked comfortable in his jogging pants and Thames River University t-shirt. I still had my Minkoff dress on from last night and a pair of his socks. I’d scrubbed all the makeup off my face and braided back my messy hair last night, before falling asleep in Emile’s guest room.
“Morning”, he said turning on his fancy coffee machine that I hadn’t been able to figure out.
“Your cereal is stale.” I said pouring more milk into the bowl.
“I haven’t bought cereal since Robert, so that’s probably a year old.”
I set the spoon back in the bowl and thought about the seemingly dashing slightly older British man I’d only met on a few rare occasions.
“Um, are we ever going to talk about Robert?” I asked.
He poured a cup of coffee and sat down, resting his feet on the chair opposite him, “Not much to say. It’s hard to focus on your own family when you’re attached to someone else’s.”
I got up to get my own cup, “Is that what he said?”
“Essentially. You and Fierro are the closest thing I have to family. I guess he didn’t get it.”
“I just don’t understand. I mean you’re Rose’s godfather you helped me raise her. How can he—“
“It’s more than that Clara. I think he could tell there were secrets between us and I think having Rose around was a lot of pressure when you don’t want a family”
He grabbed a bagel from a package on the counter and turned on a clunky radio that was by the sink, some turn of the century jazz started playing and I got chills.
“I’m sorry about you and Robert.” I said.
“It’s fine.”
“And thanks for always being there for Rose and I.”
“It was nothing. I love you both.”
“I love you too”, I said and I meant it. It was so easy. Emile always bought out the best in Rose and I’d never thought twice about it, had never been jealous, “And I’m taking you grocery shopping as a thank you”
He smiled and peeked out the window, “So, are the police going to knock on my door because you stole Fierro’s car.”
“I don’t think so”, I said, “I lost a mirror on my car coming home last night and I just had to get out. I just hate it when he treats me like a child.” There was no creamer in the fridge so I added milk and honey to my coffee.
“How did you lose a mirror?”
“I was driving too fast . . . I thought I saw something’
“Clara, you need to stop drinking.”
“Emile, you don’t know what it’s like in that house. It’s so isolated. I thought I’d get used to it and having Clarence helps, but I feel like Fierro and Rose are plotting against me. Not to mention the pipes are always leaking, it’s freezing all the time and I don’t even know how to bring up the subject of the wedding. And that house. It’s so hard to make it livable on a budget. Wine makes me feel all warm and better about the future. I had so much fun with Eleanor it reminded me of how things were before, when I was younger and everything felt possible.”
“Drinking also makes you reckless. Look, I’ve got a meeting with some distributors this morning. You can stay if you need to.”
I check my watch it was 6am. I could probably make it back to get Rose and Clarence to school. There was no way Fierro could drive my Range Rover after the mirror came off last night.
“I’m going.” I said finishing my coffee.
“Hey, I have some decorations for the party in the garage. I was thinking we could set up a few cocktail tables, leave the floor open. I was thinking black, white and gold. Tall flower arrangements with feathers.”
“Right”, I picked up the invitation off the fridge, “Don’t you think its odd Rose would do this. And that she would choose a 1920’s theme?”
“Not really”, Emile said, “We watched The Great Gatsby tons of times. I think it’s her favorite because of the costumes. She spent hours drawing Daisy’s dresses. You know how much she likes vintage clothes.”
“Right. But the masquerade part?”
“Sometimes when you look different you want to hide your face. . .”
To demonstrate Emile opened a box on the counter and pulled out a heavy gold painted masque with emerald and purple accents. It covered a most of his face and I hated the way the quizzical lips looked.
“I got this in New Orleans”, he said tilting his head and the masque with it.
“It’s so creepy.”
“This scares you?” he said leaning in closer and I jumped up
“Stop it”, I said trying to laugh it off.
“Hmm, maybe Rose was trying to scare you.” Emile said then he seemed to think better of it, “Anyway let me get the stuff for you.”
I helped Emile fill up the back seat of Fierro’s Buick with the professional grade decorations he had in his storage unit. I cleaned up the kitchen while he got dressed for his meeting. He cleaned up well in a rose colored shirt and gray slacks.
“You know Emile since you’re on sabbatical you don’t need to stay in England. Maybe you can move in with us. I bet it’s be easier to run the business and you could make some money renting this place. “
“While the French countryside would be an ideal place to work on my book…something about that house scares me.”
“It’s fine. . . Rose said so…”
Emile smiled, “She does have an ear for . . . the unusual.”
“Everything about her is unusual.” I said, “It’s so exhausting.”
Emile leaned against the car, he was intrigued this wasn’t something we ever talked about. He’d watched Rose grow up and we never commented how as a baby her eyes seemed to follow what wasn’t there or how sometimes as a baby she’d babble about things she shouldn’t know.
“Clara”, Emile said, “We can’t leave behind what happened to us. The way we view the world has to change. We have to open up to possibilities.”
“I just want to be normal”, I said.
“Clara, Normal is overrated”, Emile said, “I saw that on a t-shirt once.”
+++
I wrote a check for Ms. Tobin as a thank you for driving Clarence and Rose to school. She’d been cleaning up in the kitchen when I stepped in.
“How were the kids”, I asked her signing the check.
“Fine, ma’am”, she said, “Clarence asked after you. I said you had to get an early start.”
“Thanks.”
I showered and changed. Before I knew what I was doing I’d put make up back on? I sighed and went downstairs to find Mr. Fierro in the drawing room. He was pulling some books off the slim bookshelf I’d never noticed before. The books joining several others on the small study desk. There was supposed to have been a library on the property but the inspector had said the foundation wouldn’t hold it. Instead books where stacked wherever they would fit.
“What’s all this?” I asked. He didn’t even turn to look at me.
“How is Emile?” he asked and to my surprise he ripped a few pages out of one of the books
“Um. Oh. He told you I was there.”
“Yes. You stole my keys and drove off in the middle of the night drunk I was—I was concerned.”
I tugged at my ponytail
“I’m sorry. I’m going to get it under control.”
“I’ll need my keys.”
He placed a few books into a bag and I held out the keys
“Where are you going?”
“Something is off. Something isn’t right.” He said more to himself
“What?”
He seemed to regret saying anything and picked up another book from the shelf, “It’s nothing to worry over. Just the foundation of the house”
“Wait”, I said stepping in front of the entrance, “About last night. All those things I said about Rose.”
“I understand Ms. DeLune. It’s complicated. Mothers and daughters.”
“I don’t think Rose is that complex—“
“No. Not Rose. It’s you. You don’t want to be your mother.”
By the time I managed to process anything he said, he was already gone. I edged over to the study and saw the remaining books were all history texts about 20th Century France. I flipped through and I felt a strange warmth run through me. I sat down and stared flipping through more of the books until I came across an older history book. I felt a thrill reading about 18th century and the golden age of France. I stopped at a picture of a young Marie Antoinette. In one of her beautiful gowns. It was well adorned and beautiful. Like a cake.
I can’t wait, Clara
I turned at the whisper of my name and saw nothing but the empty house.
+++
Clarence
“Schizophrenia?” Audrey asked
“I don’t know”
Clarence did a 360 to make sure no one had followed him. He’s walked pretty far out on the grounds, way past the garden which was a spiraling circle of rose bushes and tile that lead to a bench swing in the center. It was unfinished though, bare patches in need of tile or mulch stood out in the design.
Clarence turned around and from this distance he could barely see his sister who had slipped on her shades and settled into the hot tub that was inlaid into the white marble pool. He kept walking not wanting Clara to hear him on the phone. He was surprised to see how big the property was. Clara had said if he stuck to the path he wouldn’t get lost, so he made sure to stick to the path.
He could picture Audrey at home in Boston, in the loft bed she’d begged her parents to build for her. She’d probably slept late and because she was newly 16 and she could do things like deciding she no longer wanted to go to Mass on Sunday. Clarence had been there when Audrey told her mom she loved God but she loved her sleep more.
Her mom had talked herself into believing it was a phase and her dad had threatened to send her back to the orphanage in China if she didn’t come. She won that argument though and Clarence thought maybe it had something to do with the new baby coming.
“Well why do you think she’s a schizophrenic?” Audrey asked.
“Because she’s weird. Like weirder than we remembered.”
“Like how?”
He looked for the words but they weren’t there.
“Clara said she’s like sensitive to sounds which I think means she hears voices. I don’t know it’s just strange... Sometimes strange things happen and Clara acts like nothing is wrong at all.”
“O-M-G, I miss Aunt Clara.” Audrey pouted.
“She has a glass eye”, He should say that couldn’t he?
“Aunt Clara?”
“No. Rose.”
“That’s not weird, you know she had . . . cancer”, Audrey whispered the C word.
“I’m just saying if something happens to me here, you can bet she did it”
“Um, you better call me first. Aren’t schizophrenics like serial killers?”
“She is too small to kill someone.”
“Oh, my god. Not if her dad is like helping. Holy shit”
Clarence frowned. He wasn’t used to hearing his cousin curse. Is that what she did now?
“Yeah, he’s pretty weird too.”
Then Clarence ran smack into an invisible wall. He backed up and realized a large glass house was blocking his path. The automatic doors whipped open and the strong fragrance of roses almost made him gag.
He stepped into the glasshouse and okay, the scent was kind of pleasant. It reminded him out how his mom smelled the few times he’d been to visit her. The glasshouse was filled with high tables where rows and rows of roses hid in green foliage. He’d known Clara’s fiancé was somehow involved in some type of high end rose business, but it hadn’t come up much. He never knew they came in so many different colors. Towards the back there was a small office with a frosted half wall separating it from the rest of the space. He stepped around it and saw there was backdoor to the glasshouse that lead right up to the main road. There was also a desk and a small bookshelf filled with leather back journals, a jar full of fancy fountain pens and boxes of pen ink cartridges.
He picked up one of the journals, the smell of ink and paper making him feel like he’d time traveled. He glossed over the first page
Vengeance is the deadliest sin that I hold in high regard. To know a man who has done you great harm has lived a life of outstanding privilege as a result you-
He flipped again
My Dearest, Rose if you are reading this, though I have asked you time and time again not to, I’ll ask you to stop here as I--
He flipped for the last time
I’m missing so much time. Can these words make sense of a life spent standing still for nearly fifty years. What a waste of a life. Such a curious and unusual life.
Bored he put the journal back on the shelf. Could this Mr. Fierro be as mad as his daughter? For the first time he wondered if he should be concerned about his sister. Something caught Clarence’s eye. Underneath a set of journals was a few sheets of pink stationary. He picked it up and a wax seal fell off the table and rolled under a table.
“Clarence”, He jumped and saw Rose standing by the back door of the glasshouse.
“What are you doing sneaking up on me?”
“I didn’t sneak up.”, She said, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Is this where you made those invitations? The ones Clara’s mad about. Did you send one to Marlene because—“
“Stop being silly. I didn’t send the invitations”, she said.
“But you said you did—“
“Honestly, Clarence”, she said tugging him out the backdoor.
The backdoor opened and he saw a magenta bicycle propped up against the gate. Her purple leather messenger bag was in the basket and she had on her magenta high-tops that matched her dark blue capris and white sailor shirt.
“Nice bike”, he said, “Looks old.”
“You do know how to ride a bike, don’t you?” She asked
“Well, yeah. Is this for me? Can we paint it . . . um not pink?”
“No. It’s mine”, she said putting on an old fashioned looking helmet, “You ride and I’ll sit on the back.”
“Wait --what? Why? Wasn’t the golf cart enough?”
“I need to meet a friend”, she stuffed a Blackberry phone into the basket with her bag, “Let’s go.”
“Can’t your mom take you?”
“Honestly. She wouldn’t understand. We need to hurry before Papa gets back from church.”
“No, can’t you take yourself? I’m not your chauffeur.”
“I—no.”
Clarence smiled.
“Wait . . . you can’t ride a bicycle?”
“I—I well. No I can’t”, she said stamping her foot, “But it’s only because Mother didn’t teach me the right way.”
“I will take you if you invite Marlene to the masquerade.”
“I don’t understand.” she said blinking up at him.
“The invitations you’ve been sending out. Can you send one to Marlene? She was nice to me and-”
“Stop being silly, Clarence. There isn’t going to be a party, but if you want Marlene to come you can invite her. Though I can’t quite guarantee her safety . . .”
“Wait-what?”
“Can we go now?” Rose asked.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
Clarence considered sending a text to Audrey to come and save him, but instead he climbed on the old bike and Rose sat weightlessly on the back seat. The backdoor of the glasshouse was against the end of the property and he began peddling down the dirt road toward Monet Drive. The usually unreliable gate opened perfectly on its own accord without the opener. Clarence stopped and stared at it. How . . . unusual?
“Hurry”, Rose said.
When they reached the neighborhood on Monet Drive they took a quick break and walked for a little bit, until they reached a reached a gas station and stopped for cold bottled drinks.
“Do you have like a secret boyfriend?” Clarence asked
“No. Honestly, Clarence”, she scolded him
They got back on the bike and rode out of the neighborhood until they came to the outskirts of the county line, where the road turned into a row of village shops. Rose hopped off the bicycle, retrieved her bag and cell phone and took some time to compose herself. Wiping away sweat and straightening her clothes. Without hesitation she walked inside a brightly light café.
Clarence hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he stepped inside and smelled the savory fresh. Crepes that were being made by the counter. A woman came up to them with menus and raised her eyebrows at them.
“Can I help you kids?”
Rose scanned the café and pointed to a booth in the back
“We’re with her.” Rose said.
Rose patted down her hair and marched towards a booth were a woman with short hair and sparkling green eyes was sitting. She squinted when she saw Rose and let out a big smile. Then she sort of looked around confused.
“Rose?” The woman said, “Look how big you’ve gotten and who is this.”
“Mrs. Lancaster this is my. . . Cousin Clarence.”
It took Clarence quiet a while to realize this woman was American. And she was as old as Clarence’s mom. But of course all of Rose’s friends would be adults.
“Hi”, Clarence said.
“You can call me Ms. Lancaster. I was Rose’s neighbor when she lived in Maidstone with her father. Speaking of which where is he? He didn’t mention he was brining you along.”
“Papa’s not coming”, Rose said setting down her father’s phone.
Ms. Lancaster looked up and Clarence wondered if any other kid could make adults looked constantly puzzled the way Rose did.
“I thought it was strange he was texting me, I should have known. Oh, dear.”
“I don’t want him to know if it’s bad.” She said, “You can’t tell him I talked to you Mrs. Lancaster.”
“If what’s bad?” Clarence asked
“Let’s take our time. First of all you kids look exhausted so please order something. It’s on me”
After a round of lemonades and crepes, Mrs. Lancaster pulled a file folder out of her bag.
“Now your father—err you I guess? Wanted to know if there was anything inserting in the historical record about the mansion off Monet Drive.”, Mrs. Lancaster turned to Clarence, “I’m a retired Historian. “
“Cool”, Clarence said. Mrs. Lancaster did have a teacher vibe, “I actually had a lot fun researching the place. It’s a great house. The land was deeded to an aristocratic family during Versailles golden area. They were starting to build when they were …. Well”, Mrs. Lancaster illustrated her point by pulling apart the two sections of her croissant.
“Ouch”, Clarence said.
“The land was purchased in 1898 by an aristocratic family from Spain, and they built Mercier as a summer house but they went bankrupt in 1900. It was abandoned for years except for some trespassing. There is nothing on the record until the government took it in 1950. There is no record of any tragedy happening. Your father is very sensible man is he really worried his house is haunted—“
“Haunted”, Clarence said there was that . . . idea again, “What?”
“No. No. Of course not.” Rose said chewing her lip, “Papa just . . . doesn’t like places were bad things have happened. Don’t be silly Clarence. Ghost stories. Honestly.”
Clarence ate his second crepe slowly
“Well, no one lost their head in that house. It’s fine Rose. It’s just an old abandoned house.”
“Do you know who they are?”
Rose produced the picture she had drawn of the masque and in addition to the cake lady she had drawn two more figures. A woman in old timey clothes with a burned mask at her feet, and a man in old timey clothes with his eyes closed. They made Clarence’s stomach flip.
There were three of them?
“Did you draw this? You’ve gotten so good. The clothes look Capetian but something is off about it. So how is your father anyway?” Mrs. Lancaster asked studying the drawings.
“He thinks a lot.”
“. . . and your mother?” she asks pouring more milk into her coffee.
Rose thought about this. Didn’t she know she was supposed to just say “fine?”
“She’s very out of sorts.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Rose”
After a bit more awkward small talk, Mrs. Lancaster and Clarence removed the back wheel from the bike and settled it in Mrs. Lancaster’s jeep. She drove the kids back to the neighborhood but Rose insisted she didn’t want her parents to know she’d left and Mrs. Lancaster didn’t seem keen on talking to Clara.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful, Rose”, Mrs. Lancaster said after they’d put the bike back together, “Sometimes old houses are just old houses.”
“Yes, sometimes they are”, Rose said and again the gate opened without an opener. After she and Clarence walked through the gate closed neatly behind them and he could hear Rose whisper, “And sometimes they are not.”
Author’s Note
Mrs. Lancaster is a character from an earlier chapter who may or may not have had a thing with Mr. F