bleeding hearts [h.s]

twenty two

I turned to see a salt and pepper haired man looming in the doorway. I stifled a smile and jogged back up the steps. I let out an exhale and shuffled lightly on my feet. The man eyed me in an accusatory manner and I suddenly felt subconscious. The man brought the door closer to him, shielding my eyes from the inside of the house. Was this man Malcom?

"Who are you?" He repeated.

"Hello," I breathed. "I'm Lillian—"

"There is no solicitation on this property," he began, a gleam flashed through his eyes. "Unless you are selling girl scout cookies. I'll turn the other cheek for some Thin Mints."

"Um, no," I stuttered, his face fell. "My name is Lillian Foster."

"Well, Miss Foster, what can I do for you?" The man asked gruffly.

"I—uh—don't know the best way to say this... but I am here to meet Rebecca and Malcom."

"What makes you think that a Rebecca and a Malcom live here?" He asked pointedly.

I fumbled in my purse for the letter. "I have a letter here with the address."

The man held out his hand for the note, and I handed it over to him. He unfolded the note and read it over, recognition flashed across his face. "Oh, you are that Lillian. Ms. Rebecca mentioned that you could be by anytime."

"Yes," I chuckled breathlessly.

"Come in," the man welcomed. He stepped aside and allowed me to pass through the threshold. The entry way was stunning; pale tile floors and high ceilings. I suddenly felt small and nervous that I would brush against something and break it. "Right this way."

"Thank you," I smiled warmly.

I followed him into a formal sitting room. The floors were covered with a plush carpet, and I was nervous that I might dirty it with my shoes. I crossed my arms and tried to make myself smaller as to limit the amount of space that my body took up. There was a couch and some chairs; all upholstered in a cream colored fabric, they surround a glass coffee table that was decorated with golden accents. A colorful flower arrangement in a crystal vase, some tile coasters, and a ceramics book were set atop the table. The walls were painted a cream, and there were many windows on the walls that allowed the golden light of the sun to brightened up the room. Across from the couch was a set of French doors that looked out into the garden that I had seen from the door step.

The whole room seemed like a gilded cloud.

"Please wait here, Miss Foster," the man instructed. "I will tell Ms. Rebecca that you are here."

I nodded and the man disappeared. I set my purse and gift bag gently on the chair and drifted towards a small buffet cabinet with a myriad of picture frames atop of it. I smiled as I spied into the lives of these people. A wedding photo of two lovers, who I assumed were Rebecca and Malcom. The woman had unruly blonde curly hair, bright blue eyes, and a warm smile. The man who stood beside her had dark brown hair and a stern look on his face, but he had kind green eyes. There were photos of vacations and business trips that they gone on when they were young. There was a black and white photo of a chubby toddler in just a diaper stumbling off balance. Harry. A pang passed through my chest; their baby was dead and here I was to remind them of that. Harry reappeared in other photographs on the table—the Harry I knew. His hair was wild and curly, and all the pictures seemed to be taken on different vacations. Photos from hiking groups and boat outings, everything seemed so adventurous.

"Lillian?" A sweet voice questioned behind me. I turned to see the same blonde haired woman from the photograph. Her face had aged, but her eyes were still bright. Her blonde unruly curls were pulled back into a low bun, but that did not stop some of the baby hairs springing forward around her face like a halo. She was wearing a pale pink blouse and a pencil skirt.