Page 52 of Save You
“Xander, please,” she begs me, “you have more important things to focus on right now. As much as it pains me to say, perhaps we need to leave Beth at peace. The last thing she would want is for them to get hold of her daughter. Please, think about it!”
A few moments pass before I let my muscles relax and finally slump back against my chair. The last bit of my adrenaline merely fuels my fingers to run anxiously through my hair. I have been plagued by nightmares since that awful night when Carol told me about Beth’s death. I had held onto a tiny bit of hope that perhaps this was all a lie concocted by Oliver Lawrence; he certainly has the connections to create such a smoke screen. However, when I voiced my theory to both Stephen and Carol, the poor woman gave me a step by step recount of how Beth’s life had been cut short - the blood, the unconsciousness, the c-section, the blood transfusions, how many times she had crashed – her description has been so vivid. She looked all but destroyed by the end of it.
If that wasn’t enough, she offered to show me the first picture she has taken of Rosalie lying on top of her mother, right after they had tried to save her. She explained she had felt torn about taking such a photograph but wanted to give me the choice of having it to one day show Rosalie. The only picture she would have of her with her mother, as sad as it is. I couldn’t look at it, I couldn’t become like Stephen, keeping death masks under my pillow at night. So, instead, my uncle looked at it for me. He confirmed Carol’s words with just his eyes, just before he sent the picture to his own phone for safe keeping. As for showing Rosalie one day, I have no idea how I feel about that. I guess the decision will be up to her when she is old enough.
“Your mother’s right,” Beth’s mom finally breaks the atmosphere, as well as my painful memories, with her sad words. “Beth’s last thoughts would have been for Rosie. We can’t risk anything happening to her.” She takes a deep, painful inhale of air before she speaks again. “We…we can hold a memorial or something for her. We don’t need her b-body.” She clasps her hand over her mouth and begins to wail into it. Mal pulls her in tightly against his chest, attempting to soothe her while also trying not to break as well.
“There is, at least, some good news,” my uncle continues, coughing awkwardly when all eyes shoot back to him. His last admission didn’t go so well, and I can see how uncomfortable he is by his shuffling around in the corner of the room. “Oliver Lawrence has left the state. This morning. My sources tell me he is relocating to New York, both for personal and professional reasons.”
“Oh, thank God!” My mom sighs in relief, praying toward the ceiling, even though she has never shown any belief in religion. “So, you and Rosie can stay here!”
“No,” I reply rather too bluntly, “Rosie and I are going live at Stephen’s house, if the offer still stands?”
I look straight at him, unable to bear the hurt expressions covering my family’s faces. He simply smiles and nods once in affirmation.
“Please don’t be sad, Mom,” I eventually say as I walk over to take hold of her hands inside of mine, “I just need to do this properly, which means not relying on my mommy anymore. It’s not like I’ll be far. Plus, I’m ready to learn, to take on what Stephen is offering me. You guys understand, right?”
“Of course, we do,” Mom whispers, cupping my cheeks before kissing my forehead.
The relief is euphoric; having made this decision nearly a week ago, I’ve been putting it off for fear of offending them. These people are my pack now. My village to help me raise a daughter who is without a mother.
“We’re so proud of you, Xander!” My dad steps in and rests his large hand over my shoulder, which feels heavy, but in a solid, we’ve-got-your-back, kind of way.
“Will you let me organize the memorial?” Casey suddenly asks, her voice nervous, which is something you would never have accused her of being before now. “I want to do something for Beth, and this is my way. You can all stay here and get to know Rosie before you have to go back to England. Please?”
Everyone nods and smiles at her, most of us secretly feeling relieved to be letting someone else do it. Truthfully, I think we’re too emotionally numb to organize anything with the justice it deserves. Riley remains silent, having not looked up from the floor the entire evening. In fact, the only time he spoke, was to coo and whisper over Rosie. After that, he became like a ghost to us all, lost in his own memories of his big sister. I wanted to offer him some reassurance, but I can honestly say, I just don’t have any at the moment.
Casey lets out a contented sigh and smiles when I mouth ‘Thank you’, in her direction. I then close the gap to sweep her up in my arms. I don’t think we’ve ever been more affectionate than before all of this, but I guess that’s what tragedy does; it brings you all together in collective grief over the person you’ve lost. Selfish, though it may seem, I’d trade it all to have her back again.
Beth
The moment I set eyes upon our new house that is located on the Upper East Side, I’m overwhelmed by the grandeur of the old-fashioned exterior. The sound of traffic and inner-city noise pollution swirls around my ears, threatening to give me an instant headache. I long for the suburbs of back home, safely hidden away from all the unknown faces, including the ones who are ferrying our things in and out of the front door.
Oliver leads me inside by my elbow, all the while watching me as I cast my eyes over everything with silent anxiety. He mistakes it for a sense of awe, which he shows by putting on one of his smug smiles before he lifts me up and carries me over the threshold. He gently laughs when I grip hold of his shoulders to stop myself from falling.
The housekeeper watches our over-the-top entrance into the chintzy-looking hallway and smiles, no doubt under the false impression that this is nothing more than a romantic act between her employer and his new fiancé. Her hands remain firmly clasped in front of her dress while she patiently waits for Oliver to put me back down. Only when he is clear of me, does she then offer her hand for him to shake.
“Good evening, Mr Lawrence, I hope your flight was pleasant?”
The woman, who must be in her forties, looks friendly enough. She is very pretty, but also motherly looking; the type who will run a strict and ordered household but offer affection if she deems it necessary.
“Perfect, Pru, thank you” Oliver beams at her, “may I introduce you to my fiancé, Angela Steele.”
He pulls me forward from behind my elbow, smiling smugly while his eyes remain fixed on mine. The lady, Pru, shakes my hand but looks at me with a strange expression, one that tells me she knows who I really am. She recognizes me, but I have no idea how. Before Oliver can see it too, she shakes it away and returns to her fake smile to hide it. She takes our coats, nods, then shuffles back into what I can only assume is a cloakroom. She returns shortly after, seemingly waiting for Oliver’s orders.
“Pru, would you run my fiancé a bath?” he instructs, “I need to make some phone calls. I would like her ready for dinner within the next hour.”
My mouth hangs open, strangely shocked that he is openly talking about me like I’m a pet to be primped up, all ready for his disposal. Even though I know the lengths Oliver will go to, to make me feel like I am merely his plaything and nothing more, I still glare at him and ready myself to argue.
“Of course, Mr Lawrence; follow me, Miss Steele,” Pru smiles at him before leading me away, stopping me from saying anything as we walk out of earshot.
I suddenly feel as though I’ve wandered into a Victorian thriller whereby the child bride is ordered around by the staff as well as the Lord of the Manor. Silently, I fall into line behind her, watching her short, black, silhouette as she sways from side to side in front of me. Her hands appear to be clasped in front, and she does not attempt to make conversation with me in any kind of way.
After we ascend a flight of stairs, we walk down yet another long corridor until we reach a double set of doors that are far too ornate for my taste. She pushes both open at once to reveal a grand, master bedroom. A four-poster bed with red and gold satin linen sits against a green, floral wall, right the middle of the room. A baroque-style dressing table sits directly opposite, and there are two sets of leaded windows, both narrow and tall, providing a good view of the street.
Pru still says nothing as she walks past the furniture and shows me the inside of the en-suite with only a wave of her hand. Once inside, she begins to run a bath on Oliver’s orders. When she finally turns to address me, she merely smiles and holds out her arm, looking expectant for something, though I have no idea of what it is.
“Undress for me, deary,” she says in a perfectly innocent, yet nauseating cheery tone of voice.