Page 11 of King of Guilt

Dean

Grief could be silent.

In fact, for an entire week, my entire life was silent.

And Emma was the only one talking. Talking to the funeral home, catering, planners, and airline operators. Taking on her duty like the professional that she was. Planning a burial and wake splendid enough for my late mother, under uncle Mark’s guidance, Emma didn’t even ask me to lift a finger. From arranging for VIP transportation and accommodation, to the finest detail of ‘Pearl wanted no flowers withering away at her wake,’ my loyal assistant did everything she could to keep me isolated, grieving in the only way I knew how.

Alone.

I watched from a distance. And under the layers of rage and sorrow—and everything in between—that ripped through me every waking second, I still had a miniscule space within me that could accommodate admiration. It was as though that woman had eight arms, four brains, and a bottomless heart powered by an unwavering sense of responsibility.

For seven days and nights, she worked tirelessly and without complaint, juggling company matters and the arrangements in our private residence. It made me wonder if a million dollars were enough to warrant such dedication.

During the burial, and thanks to a dose of tranquilizers I was too ashamed to admit to needing, I maintained a dignified ceremonial façade. I shook the hands that extended to greet me and took the hugs as they came. My trusty companion stood by my side, whispering the names and occupations of each and every guest who came to pay their respects as they approached.

When the service was over, I had an hour before the guests would start herding in for the wake. Upon our return to the house, and without a word, I retired to my study and closed the door. I knew that I was, once again, rendering myself exposed and defenseless against the dark thoughts that soon resumed their position at the forefront of my mind.

I shouldn’t have fallen asleep that evening, leaving mom alone. Even though my presence next to her might have not prevented her death, I could have been holding her hand when the reaper came to claim his next victim.

Was she awake?

Was she scared?

Did she try to call out my name?

Before I could make a pathetic attempt at making myself feel better by summoning some self-serving answers, I heard a knock on the door. Automatically, I said, “Come in, Emma.”

The door cracked open, and the house manager peeked in with an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Allen. But Mrs. Allen is on the phone with the caterer.”

Sitting up in my seat, I wiped my nose and cleared my throat. “Come in, Helen. What is it?”

Her lips curved into a kind smile as she took a step inside, closing the door behind her. “I’m sorry, sir. I know this is a difficult time for you—for all of us, really.”

“What is it?”

“Oh—I… I know how happy Mrs. Allen was with you and Emma… and everything.”

“Yes. She was.”

“For what it’s worth, I wanted to tell you something from the heart. You know how your mother and I had grown close in the past four years.”

“Yes?”

“It’s more of a confession, and I hope you forgive me.”

My patience was running thin. “Helen, really… whatever it is, just… spit it out, please.”

“During your short engagement, I tried to warn Mrs. Allen, suspecting that Emma had… ulterior motives.” She paused, shame dripping from her every pore. “But seeing how she barely sleeps now, doing everything she can… God, I—the other night, I caught her crying almost hysterically out on the terrace at one o’clock in the morning. When I asked if there was anything I could do, she begged me to take good care of you when she wasn’t around. She was so sincere; I’m so ashamed. I—I just wanted to clear my conscience to you, because I never had the chance to do that with Mrs. Allen—I mean, your mother. I was wrong—I was so terribly wrong about her. I hope you can forgive me.”

Slowly nodding, I looked away, letting a faint smile show. “It’s alright, Helen. You were only looking out for us. If anything, I appreciate your suspicion. In all fairness, it was the logical thing to think at the time. It all happened so fast, and I realize that most people didn’t have the chance to digest it.” Looking up, I saw her eyes brighten. “How are things downstairs?”

Her grin carried a mix of relief and fascination. “Oh, Mrs. Allen—your mother—won’t be disappointed. Neither would you. Emma—I mean, Mrs. Allen—” she stuttered.

“You can refer to her as Emma, Helen. That is her name,” I reassured her.

Sighing with relief, she said, “She’s gone above and beyond, sir. You’ll see.”

“Thank you, Helen. Please, I’m going to need a moment before I go downstairs.”

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