When The Lilacs Bloom

Part II ~ Chapter Nine

Part II

~CHAPTER NINE~

 The lilacs that once bloomed inside my house are now all gone. Dead. Turned into ashes by the fire that burnt down our house, that burnt my Dad. That killed him.

Almost a year has passed since his death. Gabby and I live in Jason's house now. His father and his step-mom are kind, they take care of us and for once we feel like we're living in a real, happy family. Amy and Liam visit once in a while, always coming with a present. With a sweet.

But still. I feel as if all of this was my fault. The words I spoke to him minutes before he died still haunt me, every day, every night, every waking hour. GOD! YOU NEVER TELL ME ANYTHING! You never tell us anything! Man up, will you?! Mom's gone, okay? And she isn't coming back! So get the hell out of your little shell and be a father for once!

I regret it. Regret it so much, it leaves me hours on end, crying. Cooped up in a corner, into a little ball. No one to know how I'm really feeling on the inside. Sure, Dad was always someone who never exposed himself, who held many secrets, but what if he was only trying to protect me and Gabby, the whole time?

Jason understands how I feel. Really understands. On the day of my father's funeral, he helped me plant lilacs around his grave. He held my hand as I dumped dirt on his coffin. The coffin in which his body, covered with ashes, and decaying was. I wrote my Dad a letter that day. Explaining how sorry I was for treating him the way I did. I buried it with him, hoping that somehow, he'd read it. Hoping, that somehow, he'd forgive me.

There's a knock on my door. I open it, and Gabby stands there, her pillow in her arms. It's 3:00 in the morning. But I know how she feels. She can't sleep, either. So I let her in. We sit together, our backs against the bed, in silence. Staring at the walls of Jason's guest room. Saying nothing. Just thinking. Wondering. Being depressed.

Dad's really gone. Left this world forever. He's not coming back. Not tomorrow, not next week, not ever. He's gone, just like Mom. He's gone, and we're probably orphans. Living in my boyfriend's house. It's funny, how life still goes on. When that fire happened, people in other countries around the world were doing normal things. Bending down and tying their shoelaces. Going to work. Studying. But for me, it feels like I've lost a whole part of my heart. Even if Dad and I didn't talk much, he still was my Dad.

After a minute, I say to Gabby, "Tell me again. How you found out." Gabby lets out a deep breath, her body shaking. I press against her, resting my head on her shoulder. She begins. Telling me the story that I can never get tired of hearing. That haunts me day and night.

"Well, it was a normal day. I was at the mall with my friends, and then I got a call. It was from Jason's dad. I was totally weirded out, because I never asked him for his number or anything, but I picked it up anyway. And when I heard the pity in his voice when he said 'I'm so sorry', I knew something was up. Something really, really bad. He told me our house...our house burned down. That...that Dad was in it when it happened. No one knows how the fire started, or from where. All they know was that Dad was in the basement, in the art studio. It just...happened...and everything was gone. Luckily, all the maids and Chef Jontaine were off on vacation. Then...I called you and, yeah." Gabby finishes.

I swallow a lump in my throat, and turn to look up at my big sister. Her eyes are red and puffy. And I know it's not only from the lack of sleep.

A few days later, Jason and I decide to go visit my house. Even though bits and parts of it have broken down, it's still standing. It looks like something out of Dracula. A haunted house. The same house that I grew up in, the same house in which so many memories are still in.

As I walk up the front porch, Jason's arm supporting my back, I feel tears at the brim of my eyelids.

"Let's go...let's go down to art studio." I say quietly. Jason nods, taking my hand. We walk down the rickety stairs together, pieces of ash still floating around everywhere. I feel my heart breaking in half.

The door to the art studio is broken. It lays on the floor, rusty, ash all over. The art studio's a huge room. I've never been in here before. Even though the fire ruined most of it, Dad's easel and paints still sit on a rickety table against the wall. I swallow a lump of sadness as my fingers reach out and touch the paint, now dry.

I walk over to the easel. The paper on the easel is yellowed and decaying with age. It's only been eleven months since the fire, but it feels like centuries. I flip through the pages and find many, many drawings of lilacs. Painted so carefully, with the hand of a master.

I rip the pages off the easel, folding them carefully and putting them into a folder I brought with me. Jason holds the folder as I look through drawers in my father's desk. One drawer is filled with pencils and pens of different kinds. Surprisingly, many of them still work. Another is filled with different paints - watercolors, and fabric paint. When I open the third drawer, I find a journal. I suck in a breath as I pull it out.

The first page dates back to September 16th, 1995. The day of my birth. The only words, written carefully in Dad's handwriting are:

Pictures of kids and wife. Lilacs. Found on easel, fifth page and so on. My beloved Destiny was born today.

"Jason!" I say quickly. "C'mere!" He walks over, reads the page, and says, "Destiny. Your father's saying that he has pictures of your mother that he painted, and you and Gabby, and pictures of lilacs on the easel. Page 5." We both look at each other and hurry over to the easel, and I flip through the pages, finding page five.

On it is a painting of a woman. Her face looks so real, like it could jump out of the paper and into the room itself. Her features are drawn in carefully. The cheekbones. Her heart-shaped face. Long, brown hair like mine. Hazel eyes. Long eyelashes. Pink cheeks. And she's wearing a white dress.

I flip through more pages, seeing more and more paintings of the woman that must be my mother. When I get to the twelfth page, I find a picture of me. Pictures of me. From when I was a baby. To when I turned sixteen, in my black dress and jewelry. All painted carefully. I begin to cry. Sob, really. Jason holds me, whispering words of comfort in my ear.

All this time...Dad was down here, painting. Painting pictures of Mother, of me, of Gabby. As I leaf through the pages, I find paintings of lilacs. The beautiful flowers that once spread their scent around this house. The only thing that kept Dad happy. The only thing that held our whole family together for years.

Even though the lilacs are painted, they seem to have a sense of reality to them. I can almost smell them. I reach out and feel them, and I can feel my Father in this room right now. Watching me. Saying he's sorry for keeping so much from me and Gabby for so long.

"I forgive you, Daddy." I say, crying, as my fingers trace over the form of the lilac.