Misfits

9.2 | until the tears subside

It is strange how long a single day can feel.

The two days leading up to Richard Master's penitentiary visit feel like they flew by faster than the two hours it has been since we returned.

Enveloped in silence now that Emma has stopped crying, I ginger myself to move from my spot at the top of the stairway. A run-in with a teary-eyed Emma now would be awkward to say the least.

I should get Cole to check on her again later, I resolve to myself as I pick up the plate of Emma's cheesecake from my side and listlessly descend the stairs.

To my surprise, the kitchen is empty when I go in. As I open the fridge to place Emma's dessert on a free shelf, I note the dinner table has been cleared and the counters neatly tidied. The only sound to be heard is a faint, periodic chink coming from the dishwasher as it rumbles through a cycle.

I wonder where everyone is.

Shutting the fridge again, I wander into the hallway, aimless until I hear a dim voice filter through the walls, a slight vibration just audible enough to be translated into words.

"The prospect of outside involvement in his passing should be more worrisome, yes. But even still..."

That sounded like my mother's voice. Morgana must be home. Is she on the phone? No, I immediately veto the idea. If she was, she wouldn't leave the door to her study ajar...

"In matters like this, you're always bound to feel on the losing end of whatever outcome. You handled it well, my dear."

Grandma Estelle? I slow my pace. I didn't know they were so close to discuss my mother's work so openly. I suppose it should be a relief, that Morgana is able to confide in somebody.

"If the story about his wife is true, it opens a whole other kettle of fish I'm not prepared to deal with."

"I doubt the man can be counted as a reliable narrator," Grandma counters.

"Well, yes — and there are already irregularities in his story. From our records, I suspect he was more affected by his wife's death than he claimed. But that's not it... It's just this feeling."

"Feeling?"

Mom falls silent.

I don't realise when I gravitate towards the door. Eavesdrop much, Cass? I sigh internally. I am about to turn away to give them privacy, when I hear my name.

"Perhaps Cassandra was right," Mom says. "I was too confident that I could keep in control of the situation. Maybe it would have been wiser if..."

"You know, Morgana," Grandma interrupts sternly, "hindsight can be the cruellest teacher sometimes. But the most important part of regret isn't living a life free of them, but being able to learn from them...No one can be perfectly in control twenty-four seven — and no one expects that from you either."

"Oh, General Dauntley would have had a fit if he heard that one," Morgana says wryly. "I wonder how he would've handled it..."

I frown. If Mom is bringing up her father, then there must certainly be something wrong. And Grandma notices it too.

"What is really troubling you, dear?" Grandma presses. "We can't pretend a conversation like this is normal. There's something else, isn't there."

There is a long stretch of silence before Morgana speaks again. "I keep getting reminded of that day."

"Of your accident?"

"Earlier. Of... Westley."

My stomach flips. It had been so long since I last heard my father's name that the sound felt foreign coming from my mother's mouth.

"The two situations aren't particularly similar," Mom continues, "but it made me think, just how easily things could have ended the same way. If Westley hadn't... I wonder what I would have done that day. If he hadn't realised on time — if Cass had gotten hurt, or worse — if we had lost even more than..."

Grandma's tone is strict and firm when she replies, "Now, Morgan. You of all people should know better than to dwell in the past. Westley made his choice, it was a sacrifice he made willingly both for you and for Cass."

My heart rate picks up. I inch closer to the door. What does Dad have to do with any of this?

"I can't pretend to know the ins and outs of the work you do, but I imagine rarely a day goes by with no casualties," Grandma says. "Whether his memories return or not, at least we can continue to be grateful for the fact that he's safe and alive somewhere out ther—"

"Estelle, be careful in case—" I don't know what my mother was about to say, but I assume it was 'be careful in case someone overhear'. It's too late for that.

"Alive?" I find myself bursting into the room without a single thought about how it appears to be caught eavesdropping for the who-know-how-many-eth time this week. "Safe and alive?"

"Cassandra," my mother says. "You were listening. How much did—"

I take a step further into the room, turning to my grandmother. "Is it true, Grandma? All this time... has Dad been alive?"

Grandma stands up, sharing a nervous glance with her daughter-in-law. "Now, Cass. First, let's calm down. We'll explain."

I shake my head, retracting away from the hand she stretches out to me.

"No. I don't want you to have to explain. It's a simple yes or no question," I choke out. "I expect this from her, but not you, Grandma."

"Cassie—"

"Does Grandpa know?" I ask, knowing I sound foolish and yet not ready to accept the truth. I back out from the door before Grandma can get a word in edgewise and stumble towards the front door. "I'm going to find Grandpa."

I don't have to search far — we bump into each other on the front porch; Cole tailing in a few feet behind him.

"Cassie, there you are. Want to help me make dinner? I was thinking—"

"Is it true?" I cut in.

"Is what..." Grandpa's forehead crinkles in worry. "You don't look very well, sweetheart. Is everything alright—?"

"Grandpa. Is Dad alive?"

:: 🌙 ::

Rather short... but so can life sometimes.

Perhaps you were expecting something along the lines of this twist. What do you think the story behind Cass's dad is? 👀

Till next Friday... thanks for reading 🥰. Fun(?) times are coming, I promise!

♕ Carmen ♕