Okay, that might not have been true, but according to Grandpa, he was furious and looking for a way to end the crazy talk of the rushed marriage.
Grandpa’s plan had been simple. Delay the quickie marriage by one short month and invite my father over for dinner. One meal with Bollard, a man Grandpa, himself, had always hated, and he knew Matthew would run for the hills.
Grandpa referred to this as The Fire Trial. The details I had of the meal were sketchy. Grandpa told me I was too young to know what happened (I was ten when he first told me the story), and my parents refused to talk about it. Whatever happened, Grandpa’s plan to scare off Dad failed. Dad made it through the meal and married Mom a week later.
I sat forward. I had wondered for years about that first dinner. “What happened that night?”
“Nothing,” Mom and Dad said together.
“Something had to have happened.” I said, “I mean, if Grandpa didn’t like Uncle Bollard but then tried to use him—”
Bollard raised his hand. “Leo and I had a falling out about Helena. It created certain… tensions I would rather not go into. This did not alter my regard for the family. No matter the disagreements, Leo understood the importance of the family meal. A certain… respect existed between us.”
“But you didn’t like each other. Why?” I asked.
“Something stupid and insignificant,” he said.
“Couldn’t be that insignificant,” I replied.
“All fights that separate people from their purpose are small and stupid when you look at loss and pain. I came as soon as I heard about Leo’s death. Please understand, Helena’s illness was secondary to her suffering. Our family does not handle loss. We grow sick with it, so if it pleases you, I understand the suffering you will incur when Waverly leaves the nest.” Uncle Bollard adjusted his cuff-links.
“You're right, we will. In August because she's not leaving with you!” Dad said, and a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. It was getting warm in the room. “You show up out of nowhere and make this insane offer, and if you think for a second you can waltz right in here and ruin her plans for our last summer—”
“Enough!” Bollard exclaimed, and then I felt it: a small electrical snap like someone had given me a shock.
The aroma of coffee and cake swirled with the slight smell of sulfur.
Dad opened his mouth to continue, but no noise came out. His eyes darted around the room. He took another drink of his coffee.
“Are you all right?” Mom whispered to him, and she fanned herself, the room suddenly toasty like the air conditioner wasn’t working.
Dad’s face tensed like he was fighting something in his mind, but his head went up and down. He finished his coffee in a large gulp.
The heat of the room increased again, and I gazed over at the thermostat, wondering if Mom had accidentally switched the settings.
“Bollie, you aren’t being fair,” Grandma said. “She should have a choice, a real choice.”
“Helena, you know this must happen. Waverly is no longer safe,” Uncle Bollard replied.
Dad opened his mouth, but another wave of heat hit and Dad slouched in his chair.
“How am I unsafe in little, irrelevant, boring Barton?” I asked, and a trickle of melted ice cream escaped the lid and fell onto Mom’s good tablecloth. I struggled to raise my hand to clean it but couldn’t; it was as if the room’s gravity had increased.
However, Grandma moved without trouble. She clasped my immobile hand in hers. “Waverly, he’s correct. Princess, you must go. Last night that impertinent man came for you, but I took care of him. I won’t always be able to add to my shadows. More men will come. Please.”
The melted ice cream made a puddle on the table.
The rejection needed to come from me. Thankfully, my voice still worked. “I can’t go, Uncle. I don’t really know you, and I can’t leave my family.”
Bollard turned to me. “Waverly, you may write to your parents, and they may correspond with you. This is a great opportunity; I will show you things that will make this little world you call life nothing more than a sliver of existence.”
The heat overwhelmed my brain, and static jolted inside my head like popcorn in a microwave. The best I came up with was, “I don’t know”, but I did. I wanted to be home for the summer. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t come out and say it.
Bollard’s lips tightened, and his eyes changed color from smoke gray to iron. He raised his palm and said in a clear, exaggerated tone, “You would change your mind if your parents agreed. What say you now, Matthew? May she go?”
My head jerked back as a strong electrical pulse hit me. The air in the room grew dense, like it was filling with glue.
Dad swallowed again and again, as if his mouth was filled with thick peanut butter.
“What say you now?” Bollard commanded once more. The heat of the room reached volcanic levels, followed by a deafening silence. The house was on mute, save for the bubbling ice cream pool on
