Page 2 of The White Enchantress

Ed wraps his arms around me, not caring to be gentle with my bruised bones. He holds me tight against him, breaking down into violent sobs, unable to keep his composure for me. We stay this way until exhaustion takes over, or maybe it’s all the drugs pumping into my body.

The next time I awake, Ed is talking to the doctor in the hallway. When they see I’m up, they quickly walk into the room. The doctor asks me some questions to ensure I am not suffering from memory loss. After examining my pupils and checking on my injuries, the doctor tells Edmund that I can go home in a day.

Home. Where is home now that my mother is gone? She was my home. Tears pour down my face as the truth sets in. I feel Ed looking at me but I don’t want to talk about it yet. Keeping my head down, I continue to cry silently. I try to remember what mymom looked like. How bright her copper hair would shine in the sunlight. Her pale skin was speckled with freckles from nose to toes. Her hazel eyes would change color depending on her mood. When she got angry, they would turn a scary bright green. And whenever she looked at Ed, her eyes would glow a golden color.

She loved him so much. I know it was hard for her to spend a month at Eden Manor every summer, being so close to Ed but not close enough. I had suspected that they would sneak away together, but mama never confided in me. If they did have an affair, I wouldn’t blame them. It was so obvious that they were madly in love.

In my mind, it’s Charlotte and Cecily who are the imposters. They took my father away from me. Ed didn’t want the life he has. He just wanted Elvira, my mother. As I got older, I began to put their story together from the bits and pieces my mom and dad would say to me over the years. And still, I don’t understand why they aren’t together.

After what feels like ages, I finally get the courage to look up at Ed. He had moved over to a chair against the wall, his head down, reading something on his phone.

“Dad?” My voice is unsteady. Probably because I’m afraid of the answer to the question I want to ask. He looks up from his phone. His hair askew, eyes red and puffy, suit all rumpled up from traveling. “What…what’s going to happen to me, my home?” I mumble.

Ed pulls his chair next to me, scooping up my hands. “My dear Guinevere, let’s not worry about all this just now. I need you to focus on getting better. But know this, I will take care of you. I am your home now.”

It’s the response I needed to hear, but my reaction startles me. I’m delighted that my father wants me, that he would be there for me full-time and not just for phone calls and one measly month of the year. Knowing this, I still feel empty inside, and tears threaten to rip me apart again. Grief will be my companion for the rest of my life. I just hope it won’t consume me.

The following day, Ed takes me home to the Victorian house where my mom and I live…where we used to live together. She restored the facade and interior to their original charm when I was awee lass. The siding is a pale blue, the window panes a bright white and the shutters accented in a dark blue. A turret points high up toward the sky on the right side of the house, making the place look more like a castle than a historical house in Princeton, New Jersey.

I hold onto my father for support as we walk up the red brick path to the wrap-around porch. A swing just big enough for two people sways quietly in the light breeze coming through the trees.

As I step through the front door, I collapse in a fit of anger and despair. I yell incomprehensible nonsense to no one in particular,maybe God, the universe, whoever it was that took my mother from me. She would never grow old in this house. She would never see me graduate, walk me down the aisle, hold her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She would never wipe the tears from my eyes, scoop me a bowl of ice cream, sing me a Gaelic song.

All I feel is the pain of losing my mother, not having a chance to say goodbye to her, not even the chance to beg the gods to save her. Being home, where her memory is everywhere but she no longer exists, the pain is too much. Ed picks me up in his arms and carries me to the living room couch. He sits down next to me, holding me as we both weep, letting our tears exhaust us to sleep.

Sometime later, I wake up with a new pain I hadn’t remembered feeling. Hunger. I haven’t eaten much since the accident; I forgot to eat. Not wanting to wake Ed up, I slowly push myself up off the couch. Before sneaking into the kitchen, I gently toss a blanket over my sleeping father. The bags under his eyes have turned an angry shade of blue. Unlike me, he didn’t have the benefit of drug-induced sleep these past couple of days.

I tip-toe into the kitchen, pour water into the kettle for some tea - tea fixes everything, right? - and make a couple of sandwiches. Even though I am starving, I can’t find the strength to eat. My mom is gone. I will never speak to her again. I will never go see another Broadway show with her. We will never cry together while watchingMoulin Rouge!for the millionth time. I will never again geek out with her over all the newHarry Pottercontent spilling out from every corner of the entertainment industry, thencomplain about how JK Rowling is a fucking death eater and ruined everything. We shared so much I don’t know how I can ever find joy again.

“Try thinking about the happy memories you shared with her instead of how much you miss her.” Ed startles me with his abrupt entry into my thoughts.

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Because I’ve been thinking the same things. How much I’ve missed with her while she was alive and now, all the things I’ll never get to say or do with her.”

“You really loved her, didn’t you?” I don’t say this as a question. I already know how much Ed loves my mom. But he answers anyway.

“Vira was the love of my life. My love for her never faded from the day I realized she was my everything to today and through tomorrow. I only wish that I had fought harder for her. The life I was forced to live made it difficult for us to be together. When I found the two of you, met you for the first time, I was going to divorce Charlotte. I don’t know if you remember this. I stayed here for a few months when you were five years old. Your mother kept her distance even when I tried to convince her that we could be together. Even after my soulless father died, Vira would not allow me to get divorced. I had made a vow, she said.”

“Sounds like mama,” I say. “I remember the first time I met you. You looked…uncertain. I made you tea to calm your nerves. Mama took us out to dinner and ice cream at Bent Spoon. I fell asleep onthe couch, afraid that if I went to bed, you would be gone when I woke up.”

Ed’s mouth twitches, attempting to form a smile. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I just can’t get myself to eat anything. I made a sandwich for you if you want and some tea, but I think it’s gotten a bit cold.” I take a sip to test the temperature. “It’s still warm. But if you want a hot cuppa, I can reheat the water.”

“Warm tea is better than no tea. Now, what’s in the sandwiches you made?”

“Ham, salami, and provolone. I call it a lazy Italian.” When Ed looks at me with a blank face, I explain what an Italian sub is. “They are sandwiches on a long roll, filled with Italian-style meats and provolone and usually topped with shredded lettuce, tomatoes, oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper. This is a lazy Italian because it doesn’t have all the fixings and is on two slices of bread instead of a sub.”

“Ahhhhh, I see.” Ed obviously doesn’t get it.

“Anyway, I was craving one, but I didn’t feel like slicing up a tomato. We also don’t have all the ingredients.”

“I can run out and pick up one for you if you’d like.”

“Thanks, dad, but I can also just order one from Jersey Mike’s and have it delivered. No need to bother driving when your food can be hand-delivered. Which I might actually do. Would you want anything?”

“What other sandwiches do they have?” Instead of answering, I hand Ed my phone after opening the GrubHub app. He studiesthe menu for a little longer than I anticipated considering what is on the menu. “I’ll go with the Original Italian.”

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