Ch. 2 Destiny Remembered (rough draft)

(Author note: This is a very rough first draft. There may be things that don't match up yet, or it may be a bit confusing. This is in the very early stages. I also know I have to work more on description of characters and setting. I just wanted to get most of the story out first. This chapter is also fairly long and I will probably be cutting things I just wanted to point that out before delving in.)

Chapter 2 - He’s Gone

         I awakened to a twittering noise. I had been dreaming that I was in the middle of the pond in our rowboat. I had lost the oars and couldn’t find a way to row home. For some reason, I couldn’t swim in the dream. I began to cry and couldn’t stop the sobs. I had been weeping uncontrollably when I heard the twittering noise. Then I had woken up to see I was lying in my bed and the twittering sound was a bird outside my window. I was surprised to see that I had fallen asleep after all. I was shocked into jumping out of bed when I saw that the clock said ten in the morning.

Dad had promised me that we were going to have a day for just the two of us, starting with breakfast at our favorite restaurant. He said he wanted to have a few days planned out like that, before I left for college. Surely he had either come home or had contacted us? I couldn’t imagine him abandoning me on our special day.

I raced to my closet and grabbed the first t-shirt and shorts that I could find. I picked up the rest of my outfit from the dresser on the way to my bathroom. Ten minutes later, I was running down the front staircase. I quickly passed the study and noticing it was empty, I continued to the kitchen. Dad had to be in there waiting for me. I didn’t know why he hadn’t woken me up, but I was sure we could still have a great day even with a later start.

I stopped in my tracks the instant I entered the kitchen. The only occupant was Mother and she had her work spread across the table. She was acting like it was any other late Saturday morning. She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall with a raised eyebrow as she turned back to me. She seemed so casual and like her usual self that I expected her to tell me that Dad called with an explanation and was waiting for me somewhere.

“Rather late morning for you,” she reprimanded as she stacked a pile of papers neatly to the left of her workspace. “It doesn’t matter overly much since you don’t have any responsibilities to take care of today, I suppose.”

“Where’s Dad?” I whispered even though I was afraid of the answer.

“He’s gone.” She hadn’t even looked up from her work. She had said it in such a flat, emotionless voice that it made me want to shiver at the coldness.

“Where? I don’t understand…he’s just gone?”

“All I know is he’s gone and I don’t know if or when he will be back.” She put some of her paperwork into a folder and continued her business as if I wasn’t even there.

My mind was a maze of confusion. I had so many questions and nowhere to go for the answers. I ran from the room and escaped back to my own bedroom, not being able to face Mother in her calm and cold mood when I felt like I was ready to explode.

I sat on my bed, trying to piece together what was happening. The house was eerily devoid of noise and my mind could not concentrate.

I would have never thought that silence could be so loud. My ears hurt like I had just left a concert. I put my hands over my ears, tempted to scream as loud as I could just to shatter the ear-piercing silence. That would just prompt Mother to call Dr. Bennington for that psych referral after all. I didn’t need to add any fuel to that fire.

I couldn’t take the silence any longer, though. I sprang to my feet from my bed and dashed out of my bedroom before I drove myself crazy. If I’m not already on that path to insanity, I thought, ruefully.

I passed all of the perfectly planned décor that my mother had placed. A cherry side table with a tall glass vase and just the right sort of floral arrangement. Deep blues to promote tranquility. It wasn’t making me feel really tranquil at that moment, though. Rather, I envisioned grabbing the vase and hurling it at the opposite wall with its perfectly framed landscape artwork of the oh-so-tranquil sea. I could actually hear the pleasing sound of shattering glass and imagined the water dripping from the ruined artwork to the floor. I wondered if the paint would also bleed from the canvas, creating a tranquil puddle on the floor with the pointy glass shards stuck into it. I suppose, if it was water-based paints it would probably do that.

Hmm…but the damage would be too extensive. It was so tempting, my hand tingled to reach out and just fling it with reckless abandon. It wasn’t worth it though. It would be so wonderful for the moment, but then my moment of letting go would just result in days upon days of even worse moods from Mother. I turned away from the table before I changed my mind.

I reached the end of the hall and came to a halt. No, not that way. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go down the main staircase, knowing I would have to pass his study. In a normal day he would be there. Well, as “normal” as our lives have been lately anyways. I spun around and went back the other way, deciding to use the old servants’ stairs. Never mind that they were old and gloomy and still at the age of eighteen I avoided them at all cost. Today, those freaky stairs somehow were more bearable than seeing an empty room.

I reached the solid oak door and yanked it open before I could change my mind. I flicked the light switch on, hoping it would dispel some of the bad feelings I always got. It never did and this time was no exception. As backwards as it sounded, it was like the stairs were always dark even with the light on. I turned and looked back at my bedroom door, standing ajar at the other end of the hallway. No, I can’t stand the silence anymore!

I turned back and put a foot on the first step and gingerly held onto the smooth hand rail. It was just a staircase. It wasn’t unsafe or even dirty – Mother would never allow that. It just gave me the creeps. It could just be because barely anyone used it. That’s probably why it seemed so unnatural. Dad had even mentioned just boarding it off, but Mother went on and on about destroying the history of the place. Dad just gave up and it was forgotten.

I took the next step, and then ran as quickly as I could to the bottom, throwing the door open to the hallway below and slamming it shut again behind me in one swift motion. You’re eighteen years old, and you still do that like a child? I shook my head at myself. It didn’t make any sense, and yet the feelings were there and I did it every time I used the stairs, even if it was quite infrequently.

The stairs behind me, I took a deep breath and turned into the kitchen. Breakfast over, the kitchen was clean and deathly silent like the rest of the house. I felt the ridiculous urge to tiptoe through it, but instead rushed my steps anxious to get outside. Outside, surrounded by the quiet sounds of nature, I could forget about it all for awhile. Forget about the fighting. Forget about the person who pushed as all away. Especially forget about the person who left. Left me. Left me in this silent, brooding house.

“How could you?” I whispered in the direction of the study as I closed the door behind me.





After a few hours spent wandering the gardens, I felt much calmer. Also much hungrier, I noted as my stomach growled in protest. I remembered that I had missed breakfast. I would have to go back into the house for a late lunch. Passing under the wooden arch in the center of the garden, I reached out and plucked a soft pink rose from the bush next to it. I held it to my nose and inhaled the sweet, delicate scent.

I followed the cobblestone path to the reflection pond near the entrance to the garden, twirling the pink rose in my fingers. The pond was graced with a stone sculpture of a maiden gathering water with a bucket. In the flowers at her feet, tiny fairies peeked out amongst the leaves and petals. When I was younger, I would sit and talk to the statue or with my reflection. I sat on the edge of the stone surrounding it and peered into the water.

I was shocked by how normal the reflection looked. I felt like the world around me was changing so drastically and quickly that I would somehow look different too. But the face that peered back at me had the same heart shape as before. Same large blue eyes, same high cheekbones and narrow forehead, same tiny rosebud mouth. I smiled just a bit. Yup, same dimples that peeked out when I smiled. I put my hand to my head, trying to smooth the red curls. They were as unruly as ever. Not a spiral curl, but more a loose curl that never seemed to lie the way that I wanted it to.

My stomach growled again, even louder this time. I had avoided the house long enough. I placed the rose gently in the water and watched it slowly float towards the statue. Then I stood up and brushed my shorts off. Maybe I’ll be lucky and avoid Mother, I thought. I knew she often didn’t make lunch since she had gotten into the habit of eating on her own during the week since I was usually at school and Dad was working. So she left it up to Jillian, the hired housekeeper who often ended up doing little odds and ends all over the house that didn’t really fit into the housekeeper job description. I really hoped it would be Jillian in the kitchen.

I quietly opened the kitchen door and peeked inside, searching for Mother. I had a feeling that my anger towards both her and Dad would come out in full force if she prodded me. I was pleasantly shocked, though, to see the kitchen empty. Of course that meant that Jillian wasn’t in there, either. My stomach rumbled again, needlessly reminding me that I needed food. I sighed as I swung open the fridge door and started grabbing things out to make a sandwich.

         Anger always made me hungry and I already was starving since I missed breakfast, so I amassed a pretty large pile of food as I fumed over the day’s events. I plopped down at a stool at the breakfast counter and stopped a second, listening for any sounds. The house was still so quiet. Too quiet. I felt the emotions of fear and sadness start to seep in to my body. No, I told myself, we’re still angry. Anger I could deal with. I’d eat all the food in front of me and then go do something physical like row across the lake in the boat to burn the anger off. I would come back inside so exhausted that I wouldn’t have the energy to do anything but sleep. Yes, that’s what I would do.

         Decision made, I dug into the feast before me with gusto. The house was still silent, but I figured it was short-lived. So I ate as quickly as I could. I didn’t want to speak to anyone else. I just wanted to be angry and then exhaust myself to dull the pain. It was much easier than any alternative that I could come up with.



         A little while later, I found myself lying at the bottom of the rowboat in the middle of the lake, staring at the sky. I had rowed until my arms ached and I just collapsed to the floor of the rowboat. That’s how I was still. I watched the fluffy white clouds float across the blue sky.

         How did we get here? I thought. Sure, the signs were there if I wanted to look for them. My parents had been arguing for awhile. Divorce wasn’t an unexpected outcome for it all. But for Dad to just leave? I didn’t think he had it in him. I wanted to stay mad at him. I tried screaming at the clouds. It was no use, though. My temper was always strong, but short-lived. It was also very difficult to stay actively angry at someone that wasn’t in front of you to shout at, I discovered.

         Instead, the hurt started seeping in. I remembered holding his hand with such innocent trust as a child. I felt like nothing would ever happen to him. He was my hero and protector. Nothing could hurt me for long with Daddy there for me. How could someone like that leave without a word?

         I felt the tears start to prickle behind my eyes. I didn’t want to cry. I felt if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. My anger wasn’t hot enough anymore, though, to keep the pain at bay. I irritably wiped the tears from my cheeks as they fell. The sky before me blurred behind the tears. I hated feeling so weak. “Guess I’m not as unlike Mother as I thought,” I whispered to myself, ruefully.

         Thinking of Mother helped spark a small ember of my earlier anger. It might be difficult to stay furious with Dad, but Mother was before me. I wiped the last of the trailing tears from my face and sat up in the boat. I stuffed the sorrow back down in myself as I reminded myself that Mother pushed him away. Yes, with her constant nagging. And her love of picking fights with him. At least it looked like she loved it for how often she did it. It seemed like she was always pushing Dad away, always finding something that would irritate him or anger him so that she could keep her distance. My rational mind knew that Dad wasn’t innocent in all of this, but I wasn’t in the mood for rationality. I was in the mood for anger and blame. At the moment, I wanted to place all the blame on Mother. That way I could actually act on my feelings, even if it meant avoiding her and fuming about it all the time. This crying as I feel sorry for myself all alone is useless, I thought.

         I reached for the oars and started rowing back to shore. My arms were still quite sore, so I wasn’t able to row with my earlier gusto. While my pace was more sedate, my mind was not. Ideas flew through my mind with lightning speed. Decisions would have to be made. Today. The future that I planned out – no, that they planned out and I went along with because I didn’t have any better ideas – would have to be changed. I docked the boat and jumped onto shore with a purpose. I set off to my room and my computer to accomplish it.



(Author note: Sort of a skip here...I may just put this into a new chapter, and I DO plan on introducing it more. Now it just jumps around)



         Pre-med. It had been Dad’s idea, of course. I mean, what else would a doctor want his child to be? I went along with it, of course. I idolized him. Still did, even despite him leaving if I wanted to be honest with myself. He told me I had a knack for healing. How he could know that, I never quite understood. It’s not like I ever took a real interest in it. Yet, even though I couldn’t explain why, I still felt fine with keeping pre-med as a major. It was the college on the east coast part that bothered me. I wasn’t excited about the prospect from the beginning, but Dad just kept on reminiscing about the “good days” at his alma mater. Now, with him gone, the idea of leaving made me even more nervous. What if something more sinister was going on and I was too far away when it came out? I just wanted to be at home when he finally returned. As irrational as it was, it was almost like I felt if I wasn’t home that he wouldn’t be able to find me. It reminded me of not wanting to sleep at another house on Christmas Eve as a child, fearing that Santa wouldn’t be able to bring my presents to a different house.

         Of course the bonus of not being around Mother was definitely appealing. Yet, I didn’t feel comfortable moving so far away right after my family decided to break up. I was sure Dad would be in contact soon and let us know where he moved to. I figured I could always live there with him while I went to college.

         So, that meant I needed to get into a local college. I had sent in my applications to many local colleges, even though Dad wanted me at his college. Mother had encouraged me, and I actually agreed with her. The first step was made, then. I just needed to see which college would have room for me still and would work out.



(Author note: Another jump here. Sorry!)



         Mother crying. It was a sight that I very rarely saw. I think I could count on one hand the number of times I actually witnessed her crying in my lifetime. The sight actually made me freeze in the doorway of her room. I was tempted to pretend I didn’t see her and continue on my way. After all, I reminded myself, I was still furious with her. My anger dissipated as I watched her shoulders heave as she sobbed quietly. She was sitting on their bed, facing away from the door, cradling something in her lap. I inched closer, silently. My unstoppable sense of compassion propelled me the rest of the way and I gently laid my hand on her shoulder.

         She jumped as I startled her and almost dropped the framed picture in her lap – a family portrait taken when I was only two. I looked at the smiling family gazing out of the frame. We looked so happy and carefree. Dad had his arm around Mother’s shoulders. He had a proud smile on his face. I sat in Mother’s lap, my strawberry blonde curls brushed to a shine. Mother looked happier than I had seen her in a long time. She looked happy, real, and natural. Not as prim and proper as she had made herself to be now.

         “Are you okay?” I whispered to her. She frantically wiped the tears from her face and put the portrait onto the nightstand. She nodded, and stayed facing away from me. Yet she didn’t shrug my hand off her shoulder. It was like half of her wanted me to go, but the other half wanted me to stay.

         Before I could change my mind and summon my anger back to keep me from actually feeling, I sat down next to her on the bed. “Has he contacted you at all?” I asked.

         “No,” she whispered. She raised her head to look me in the face and I saw her red-rimmed eyes and the tearstains on her cheeks. Her voice wavered a bit as she added, “You must think me a monster, Calista, if you would think I wouldn’t tell you the minute I heard something.”

         Her comment shocked me. Realization dawned on me that I was making her out to be the monster in all of this; and maybe – just maybe – she didn’t deserve it. I looked down at my hands clasped together in my lap, trying not to look as guilty as I felt.

         “I thought he would call and at least tell us the hotel he’s staying at, or wherever he is.”

         Tears started to well up in her eyes again at my statement. She choked back a sob, and then blurted, “He can’t since he didn’t leave. He was made to go.” Her eyes widened after she said it and her hand flew to her mouth as if she could push the words back in. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that!” She jumped up from the bed and started pacing.

         “Mother? What’s going on? You’re acting a bit crazy.”

         She stopped pacing and stared at me. It was like a decision had been made because she suddenly smoothed her hair and straightened her blouse. She plucked a tissue from the box on the nightstand and carefully blotted the tears from her face.

         “Don’t mind me,” she said in a firm, yet emotionally detached voice. “This whole experience has been quite shocking and I’m not sure what to think about it all. I’m sure your father will be in touch soon, and I will let you know as soon as I hear from him.”          She grabbed her suit jacket that had been sitting on the bed and turned to face me once again. “Now, I have clients I need to see to. I will see you at dinner. Take care you don’t spend too much time in the sun today, dear.” With that, she spun on her heel and disappeared into the adjoining master bath to freshen up before leaving.

         “You are dismissed,” I mumbled to myself as I got up and left the room. The calm, cool, and collected Mother was the one I was most used to lately. I couldn’t help feeling that this Mother lied to me, though; and the Mother that had paced in front of me with frantic eyes darting around the room was the one telling the truth. I couldn’t make any sense out of it, though. How could Dad be made to go? The way she said it, it was almost like she meant he had been kidnapped. The idea seemed preposterous, though. First of all, Mother would have called the police if she had suspected any foul play. Secondly, who would even want to kidnap Dad? It wasn’t like he had any known enemies.

         It had to just be some weird kind of coping mechanism that Mother was using. I remembered reading about coping mechanisms in a psychology class I took in the fall. It made sense that Mother wouldn’t want to face her part in the demise of her marriage, so she would place blame on an outside unknown party. Ah, Mr. Williams, my psychology teacher, would be proud of that analysis, I thought to myself with a grin. Yes, a coping mechanism. Makes perfect sense! It also was a much more pleasant thought than thinking that Dad could be locked up somewhere, or even worse. I pushed the creeping sense of foreboding I felt tingle across the back of my neck out of my mind.