“I know.”
Mom wiped her soapy hands on her apron and came over, stealing a spoonful of chicken dumpling soup. “Mmmm, I do make a good soup.” She licked her lips in enjoyment.
“The best,” I agreed.
The platters began returning, most picked clean either by the family or by the staff on the way back to the kitchen. The trays and dishes clanged as they threw them, one after another, into the sink. My mom rushed back into action, as she directed the huge number of tasks with ease.
I remembered when she had first started. She had come home in tears after she had forgotten to serve an appetizer course, and the roast beef had been served lukewarm. The next morning, we had arrived in the kitchen to a very uncomfortable Edmund who explained what had gone wrong, while also offering his compliments on her pear gelato. He had left after that, leaving behind a small, freckled boy with blazing, blue eyes and an absolute mop of dark, curly hair.
I had been hiding behind my mother’s legs, and when I saw him staring at me, I buried my face into the back of my mom’s thighs. He had come up to me, tugging on my arm in an attempt to get me to play with him.
“What’s her name?” he asked my mom in his innocent voice.
“Joclyn.”
“Hey, Joclyn.” He tugged again. “Do you want to come play with me? I made a castle in my room; do you want to come see?”
I had turned my head to look at him. He smiled at me, and I felt more comfortable. I took his hand, my mom still prodding me along to go with him.
“You have very pretty eyes. They look like diamonds.”
He was always charming, right from the start.
I smiled at the memory, the way I had when he had first said the words to me. Somehow, even all these years later, it still made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I had been so uncomfortable about my newly-changed eye color, and he had taken all that fear away.
“You ready?”
I looked up. My mom was standing by the door of the now empty kitchen, hand perched on the light switch.
“Come on, honey; it’s time to go home.”
I stood slowly, my body stiff from sitting in my daydream for so long.
“Glad you’re still with me,” Mom said. “I thought I lost you for a little bit.”
“Sorry. I was just thinking, I guess.”
“Something good and not involving rippling muscles, I hope.”
I ignored her obvious jab at Ryland before stepping into her old station wagon. “No, Mom,” I grumbled as I closed the door behind me and shut us into the small space. “Wyn saw my scar.” Better get it over with right away; it was what I traveled out of my way to talk to her about after all.
The mood in the car changed immediately; stressful energy dripping into the air. I wasn’t sure who was more stressed about my statement, me or my mom.
“Mmmmhmmmm.” My mom’s non-committal grunt prompted me to continue.
“And I think I know why I’m so scared to let people see it.”
She didn’t respond; she just drove, waiting for me to continue. She was always so good at that, just sitting and listening without interjecting.
“I’m afraid that people will think I am broken and leave me, just like Dad did.” It felt good to say it aloud, to let my deep-rooted fear free for the first time. Somewhere between leaving Wyn’s and entering the bright lights of the city, I had started to let that shy little monster of fear out from where he had been dwelling, hidden inside me for the past eleven years.
“I’m sorry, honey. I never knew… I didn’t realize that everything had affected you so much.”
“Neither did I. I figured it out on the way over,” I sighed. “The way Wyn talked about it, how she asked me not to let it ruin my life anymore… I don’t think I realized that I was doing that until that moment.”
We sat silently, lights flashing in the dark, the sound of the over-worked engine buzzing in my ears.
“Not everyone left you because of the mark, you know,” my mom said, her hand patting my knee in a comforting way.
“Just Dad.”
“Yes, just Dad. He left because he couldn’t handle it.”
“And because he was paranoid.” I knew I was being a little too honest; I just hoped Mom didn’t read too much into it.
“Maybe a little of that, too.” She smiled, but it was a sad smile, as if she knew the truth, but didn’t want to admit it.
“But not everyone left, Joclyn. I didn’t leave; Grandma and Grandpa Despain didn’t leave and Grandma Hillary didn’t leave. Ryland didn’t leave.”
“That’s not fair, Mom. Ryland doesn’t even know about the mark.”
“True, but if you were broken, he wouldn’t have stuck around so long.”
“I guess that’s right.” I knew it was; from the beginning it was. Even when he had found me crying in the bushes behind the kitchen when I was eight, he just smiled, handed me a rose and dragged me back to his room to play video games.
“So tell me…” Mom’s voice cut through my memory. “Did Wyn run away?”
“No.”
“Did she scream in fright?”