Page 5 of One Last Goodbye

She prances back to the kitchen, and I notice Ethan and Olivia share a grin. The door closes, and though their grin fades and they return to their demure behavior of before, they no longer appear diminished in the face of their parents’ tension.

"I apologize for Sophie," Frederick tells me. "She's worked for the family for many years. Sometimes, she thinks she's part of it."

I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I only smile and say, “That’s all right, sir.”

Catherine pushes her chair abruptly back from the table and stalks from the dining room. Frederick glares down at his ice cream for a moment, then plasters a smile on his face. “Well, I should let you get to know the children a little better. You’ll be working closely with them after all. Don’t worry about their bedtimes tonight. You get some rest, and you can start work tomorrow morning.”

He stands and leaves the table, his and Catherine’s ice cream left to melt.

The children stare at their own ice cream, their faces downcast. The brief burst of energy that Sophie’s presence gives them has been snuffed out by their parents’ petulance.

I must try to cheer them up. Taking a cue from Sophie, I gesture toward their parents’ untouched bowls. “If you two aren’t quick enough to claim those for yourselves, I’ll be happy to make a home for them.”

I'm afraid I'm not as successful as Sophie is. Olivia tries to smile, but her smile dies halfway. Ethan takes a halfhearted spoonful of his ice cream and then pushes it away. "That's okay. I'm not hungry for dessert."

Olivia stands. “Me either. Good night, Mary. It was nice to meet you.” She smiles bitterly. “Welcome to our home.”

I allow them to leave. I am too soon arrived in their lives to intervene. I will get to know them better, and hopefully, by building rapport and gaining their trust, I can establish a relationship that will allow me to help them overcome the challenges that come with being the children of unhappy parents.

I finish my ice cream and then start to clear the dishes. I've learned that most servants possess a sixth sense when it comes to their duties, and Sophie is no exception. No sooner do I reach for one of their bowls when the door bursts open, and Sophie rushes into the room.

“No, no!” she calls, “Shoo! I’ll clear the dishes. You’ll have enough on your hands with the children. There’s no need for you to busy yourself with other work.”

I allow her to stack the dishes on a platter and say, “I’m sorry about the ice cream. It really was quite delicious.”

Sophia shrugs. “I didn’t expect them to eat it. I tried with the children, but Fred and Cathy were especially bad tonight.”

“I take it their marriage is unhappy?”

“They’reunhappy,” Sophie replies. “As for their marriage, it’s doubtful they even have one anymore.” She looks at me and says, “But you don’t need to concern yourself with that. Just do your best with the children. They’re good kids. They just need kindness.”

“I find that’s true of all children. Even the adult ones.”

She laughs heartily at that and smiles at me. "I think you and I will get along well, Mary. Even if I can't agree with you on that last point." She takes the platter full of dishes to the kitchen, and just before she disappears behind the door, she meets my eyes and says, "Welcome to Jensen Estate."

I head to my room and try to digest my first impressions of the family. Clearly, Frederick and Catherine have a strained relationship that impacts their children. It must have been going on for some time for them to be so affected by it. Even the servants, with the exception of Sophie, appear moody and withdrawn.

I will have my work cut out for myself here.

As I prepare for bed, I feel the old pull to discover, or rather to uncover. I have never been a fan of secrets, and the secrets hidden behind these walls are wreaking havoc on the children I've been charged to protect. I must learn what these secrets are if only to know better how to protect the children from the poison that is invading their homes.

At least there are no rumors of murder at this estate. I suppose every cloud has a silver lining.

CHAPTER THREE

My father lifts his fork to his mouth and closes his lips around the portion of meat he’s sliced off of his steak. I can hear the soft scrape of his teeth on the tines, hear his saliva swirling in his mouth as he busily chews the bite. My skin crawls, but my lips don’t curl in disgust. I don’t shiver, and I don’t pull away.

Annie glares down at her plate. I can’t see her hands, but I know that they are busily clenching and unclenching underneath the table. I am surprised when I realize that my own hands are doing the same.

I lift them up deliberately and begin eating my own dinner. The sound of my own teeth scraping against my own fork helps to alleviate the noise coming from my father’s plate, but not much.

Mother stares ahead, her face expressionless. She goes through the motions of eating without once looking at her plate. If there’s anything more disturbing than hearing my father’s noises as he eats, it’s watching my mother cut her steak without looking at the knife.

I am suddenly, powerfully grateful that my father sits in between me and my mother. The look in her eyes reminds me of the crocodiles I see in nature documentaries. It is utterly devoid of emotion, and I have learned enough of people now to know that when people are stripped of emotion, what remains is violence.

I eat my food. My father’s teeth scrape on his fork. My sister’s hands clench into fists. My mother’s knife rends flesh.

I eat my food and wonder if anyone else can hear the screaming inside my head.

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