Page 48 of Distortion
I’d forgotten that.
My cheeks are wet. The tears I lied to Stoke about when he’d asked me if I’d cried have actually arrived.
I hear movement behind me and I’m suddenly angry that others are intruding on this moment. They had her for the past decade. I didn’t.
‘Can you give me a moment, please?’ I ask, glad when my voice doesn’t betray me.
‘Of course, Miss Marguerite,’ I hear Stevens murmur.
It was only him here, then. Good.
I open the door wider and see the small walk-in closet in front of me. There’s not much here. Some shoes and dresses, some belts and scarves. There’s a spot for watches and other jewelry, but it’s empty. The shelves have nothing on them. I guess Stevens doesn’t know everything. They’ve started clearing in here already too.
I touch the clothes, running my fingers over the silk scarves. Taking in a deep breath, I prepare to go. No more tears are forthcoming and, besides the lingering scent of perfume, there’s nothing else here that reminds me of her at all.
But as I turn to go, my eyes fall to a bright red envelope propped up against the wall by the door. It’s partially hidden behind a tall boot as if it fell from the bare shelves unnoticed; maybe when they were carting things out. It’s the color that makes me pause. Everything else in here is dark or muted in some way. Even the scarves aren’t vivid.
I reach down to pick it up and turn it over. It’s sealed. There’s no name on it.
I shouldn’t open it. It’s someone else’s. But there’s literally nothing else here, and I find I can’t stop myself as I poke my index finger under the paper. It begins to rip.
I pull out what’s inside.
A card.
A birthday card. With daisies on it.
My heart begins to pound hard as I slowly thumb the edge. Taking a breath, I steel myself and flip it open. I already know it’s for me.
Daisy
Happy twenty-second birthday, my darling girl.
I’m sorry.I’m so sorry. I never meant for this.I was trying to proteI never thought
I knowyou’ll never read this, that you don’t want to hear from me, but I hope that one day you’ll forgive me.
Momx
I sinkto the beige carpet. A card that she wrote for my birthday last year but clearly never meant to send. I look at the crossed out words, not understanding. And then at the penultimate line. She thoughtIdidn’t want to hear fromher?
A sob bubbles up from deep inside. I would have given anything for even a note from her at The Heath.
Why did she believe I didn’t want to hear from her?
I hear a creak outside the closet, and I try to pull myselftogether. I fold up the card, not really sure what I’m doing or why. But this didn’t even have my name on it. No one was meant to see it. I thrust it into the back pocket of my jeans and cover it with my sweatshirt.
Shade opens the door.
At the sight of me on my knees, he stops and I quickly get up, wiping my eyes and cheeks with my sleeve hastily, embarrassment coursing through me.
He’s staring.
‘Sorry,’ he says belatedly.
Whether it’s for my loss, or because he barged in on a private moment, I don’t know.
‘Did she ever talk about me?’ I hear myself blurt, and then scold myself silently for asking.
