Page 8 of Blurred Lines

"You don't need to do this to yourself either," she says, observing me quietly. "Why confront his ghost?"

She's right, but the urge to see him one last time is almost like a physical ache. Yes, he was a miserable father. Nonetheless, he was still part of my life.

"Flora's already there," I tell her. "And I have to go as well. I'm sorry. I'll visit once I'm back."

She searches my face for something but doesn't find it. She dips her head in acknowledgment. "Take some cakes with you."

The silence of the car is almost a relief.

Home was messy, chaotic, smelling of cigarettes, Dad's absence, and Mom's perfume. Home was hushed nights where Flora snuck into my bed, a small body seeking warmth against shared loneliness.

Home was Dad's empty promises on worn postcards, Mom's tear-streaked cheeks when we asked when he was coming back. Home was the succession of strange men Mom brought in, none of them bothered with Flora and me.

Mom didn't start being a real mom until after me and Flora moved out. I guess it took our absences to kick her instincts into gear.

Gray thoughts occupy my mind as I reach the airport. The flight back home to Emberton is nondescript, save the couple beside me doing everything except jumping each other's bones.

You're one to talk, a voice in my head dryly comments. Like you didn't have a great time at the fashion show yourself.

I scowl heavily. I haven't been able to forget Caeleb, but thankfully, life has been busy.

The plane lands at my childhood home in two hours. My heart is heavy as we deplane and I head toward the exit. However, all is not bleak.

My sister is there, bearing a placard with my name on it, her face split into the widest, silliest grin. "Hello, Ms. America."

I all but roll my eyes. "Remind me why we're staying at the mansion again?"

She grimaces. "Because it was our home first, and because we don't take shit from anyone, least of all Verona and Alec. But I'm getting out of there as soon as the will reading is done."

I brace myself as we head toward Dad's mansion. Although it is my home technically, I've come to view it as an entity separate from myself. It belongs to Dad. It was never mine.

Eventually, we pull up the driveway, and a stretch of viridian soothes my eyes. I breathe in the scent of the familiar grape vineyard in the distance. The mansion unfurls in front of my vision, all sleek lines interspaced with Victorian glamour. Dad had taste, I'll give him that.

"Oh, brace yourself," Flora mutters, finishing with a colorful profanity as the car pulls up near the mansion. Verona and Alec are standing at the gates.

"Better sooner than later," I remark sourly, as I step down. Verona immediately envelopes me in an uncomfortably tight hug.

"Emily, my darling," she drawls in a sickeningly sweet voice. "Look at you! You're even healthier than the last time we met! When was that? I don't remember you coming home in the last seven years!"

Resisting the urge to pull her expensive extensions apart, I offer her a glacial smile. "That's because I didn't visit, Verona. I figured you were keeping Dad so happy, he wouldn't need any additional company."

The honey-dripping smile vanishes from her lips and is replaced by something uglier. Both Flora and I know Dad never stayed home for as long as he was alive. He just visited the mansion from time to time, to keep up appearances.

He married my stepmother for her beauty, but couldn't keep up with the nastiness, or his biological need to warm other beds.

"I guess you're here for the will reading?" Alec butts in.

"Not really," I say, casting a withering glance at him. To his credit, he doesn't flinch. "I'm here to see him one last time."

"Better dead than never," he replies, his lips curling in a smirk.

Flora decides, at this point, that she's had enough. She roughly pushes past Alec and drags me into the mansion.

I brace myself as I step inside, expecting to be greeted by the beautiful Victorian familiarity. However, what assaults my senses is nothing short of a decorative massacre. My stepmom has unleashed a frenzy of renovations that have transformed the once dignified interiors into a flamboyant spectacle.

Pink touches everything, as if a giant flamingo had exploded, scattering feathers of garishness into every nook and cranny.

Flora, ever the master of understatement, whistles lowly beside me. "Looks like Barbie had a mid-life crisis here," she murmurs, her eyes scanning the horror show with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

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