“You will listen to me while you are here,” she tells me, and her voice is matter-of-fact, as though I’d never dream of arguing. I open my mouth, but her steely gaze closes it for me. “I will provide you with medicines and methods to control your…illness. I have your best interest at heart, always. And the best interest of this family. You will trust me.”
It’s a directive, not a question. She pauses at Finn’s door and allows him to enter, before we continue on to mine.
Outside of the large wooden door, she turns to me. “If you need anything, let me know.”
She leaves me alone and the room is cavernous.
“The die has been cast,” I repeat to myself as I stare at my suitcase. It’s waiting for me to unpack it, but my bedroom is too large to feel comfortable, and all I want to do is go home, away from this strange place with their strange words and ways.
“What did you say?” Finn asks from the doorway. He’s staring at me, waiting for my answer as he comes in and looks around my room.
“I like mine better,” he continues, without waiting for an answer.
I haven’t seen his yet, so I can’t argue, although I’m just happy that he didn’t ask me again what I’d said. The words don’t make any sense, and I don’t need for him to tell me that.
The die has been cast.
What does that mean?
Finn bounces across the room and tumbles into the blue velvet chair by the window. He squeaks the springs in the cushion, and stares out the giant windows.
“This place is huge,” he says, as if that isn’t obvious. “And Sabine told me that we get to have a dog.”
This perks my ears up. Because we can’t have a dog back home. Dad is allergic.
“A dog?”
Finn nods, the happy bearer of good news.
This place is looking up.
A little.
My brother helps me unpack and put away my clothes, and I stare at the giant bed. “I’m going to be afraid to sleep here,” I muse.
Finn shakes his head. “I’ll come sleep with you. Then we won’t be alone.”
I’m never alone. That’s the best thing about having a twin. I smile, and we find our way to the dining room together, because when we’re together we’re never alone, and because we aren’t supposed to be late for dinner.
It is here, seated around the biggest table that I’ve ever seen, that we meet our grandmother.
Eleanor Savage is seated at the head of the table, her hair pulled back severely from her face. She’s wearing pearls and a dress, and she doesn’t seem happy, even though she says she’s pleased to finally meet us. She emphasizes the finally, and glances at my mother as she says it.
My mother gulps but doesn’t reply. This interests me. My mother is scared of my grandmother. But then again, as I look at the severe old woman, I’m guessing that everyone is scared of my grandmother.
Eleanor looks at me.
“We’ve always kept a pair of Newfoundlands here on the Whitley estate. We’ve recently had our old dogs put down. You and your brother will choose a new pair. The neighbor’s bitch whelped.”
I have no idea what whelped means, and I thought bitch was a bad word. But I nod because she wants me to, because she acts like she’s bestowing an honor. She doesn’t say Welcome to Whitley, I’m your grandmother and I love you. Instead she allows us to pick out the new estate dogs.
I don’t say anything because I do want a dog, and I’m afraid if I ask questions she’ll change her mind.
Instead, I focus on my dinner, which is an odd thing called Steak and Kidney pie. I shove the internal organs around on my plate, but my mom catches my eye and raises a stern eyebrow. I reluctantly put a bite in my mouth. It tastes meaty, but the texture is rubbery and turns my stomach. I swallow it without chewing.
“Where is our cousin?” Finn asks abruptly, and I realize that I had forgotten about him, the boy we met last year. The boy with the dark eyes, so dark they’re almost black.
Dare.
My grandmother looks down her nose at us.
“Adair is eating in his father’s wing, although you should know that children aren’t allowed to ask questions here at Whitley.”