It was a shame, really, that Carmen’s presence was required by someone nearing death, someone who wanted to leave this world without a guilty conscience.
“I see,” Carmen said with a small nod, at an utter loss on how she was supposed to respond to that.
Aunt Beatrix lifted a brow. “That’s it? You’re not sorry to hear she’s ill?”
Carmen didn’t respond right away, wondering what should be the diplomatic approach to that question.
“Well…” She hesitated, making sure to sound polite and reasonable. “There are people dying everywhere. It’s just the circle of life. I can’t be feeling sorry for everyone who’s about to leave this world.”
Something twisted in Carmen’s stomach, and she winced as the words replayed in her head, making her realise how cold they actually sounded.
Her aunt’s lips formed a thin line. “She’s not just anyone. This is your grandmother. Your mother’s mother.”
Carmen inhaled sharply. She may be able to tolerate the casual mention of her mother most of the time, but not when it was done so in this house. Not amongst these people. Because with them, there was always some messed-up implication or the other behind it.
“I never had a grandmother,” Carmen told her aunt, feeling the panic and the need to just crawl into a hole beginning to take a firm hold of her. But it was true, wasn’t it? The only person she’d had so far was her father—and now Asa too.
She’d never had grandparents, or aunts, or uncles. She’d never known what that was like.
“Carmen.” Her father’s voice was almost neutral, if not for the subtle warning in it she picked up on.
That made her a little angry, but more than that, she felt cornered. Ambushed. Her dad should have her back, right? If things started going south tonight? He had to.
“That’s all right, Jonah,” Aunt Beatrix said to Carmen’s dad, not taking her eyes off Carmen. “The girl is right after all, isn’t she?”
Before anyone could say anything else, Hunter cleared his throat from next to Carmen, breaking the tensed silence. “Hey, Aunt Bea.” He smiled easily, stepping forward and placing a quick kiss on her cheek. “You look lovely as usual.”
Carmen saw her aunt’s eyes soften the slightest bit and she offered Hunter a half-smile. “Tell me your father knows you’re here.”
“He’s not at home.” He shrugged. “And what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”
“Another client meeting?”
“Don’t know. I stopped asking a long time back,” Hunter muttered, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.
Aunt Beatrix looked like she was about to respond to that, but then seemed to have a change of mind as she cleared her throat and turned towards the archway instead. “Well, now that everyone’s here, let’s start with dinner, shall we?”
Carmen furrowed her brows and turned as well, trailing behind her aunt as they headed into the dining room. “Wait, it’s just us and Cole? I thought—”
“Oh, no no.” Aunt Beatrix shook her head. “The others already arrived before you. I’m guessing they’ve already taken their seats at the table.”
At that, Carmen’s stomach knotted painfully, and she almost reached for Hunter’s hand, but then recalled his words and stopped herself just in time.
Instead, she curled her fingers into her fists, and used the pain of her nails digging into the flesh as an anchor while walking towards the large dining area.
•••
Nothing had happened so far.
Carmen kept her head down, focusing on nothing but her food which was insanely delicious that it almost made her forget where she was. Almost.
She was grateful towards the fact that it wasn’t dead silent but that most of them were actually talking amongst themselves, not too loudly but enough for there to be a steady chorus of chatter around the table. Besides, her heartbeats were deafening enough to reverberate throughout the entire mansion, and she was glad no one was forcing her to speak over that noise in her head.
Everything was going as smoothly as she could have hoped for, really.
Until her father’s pager was alerted and everything went straight to the pits of hell.
Bleep. The sound ripped through the soft murmur of the dining room, making Viola Rutherford(Cole’s mother) squeal and drop her fork with a loud clatter against her plate.
Felix, who was only five and a distant cousin of Carmen’s, jumped back in his chair and shot out his arm to steady himself, knocking his father’s wine glass in the process, the deep red liquid trickling down the surface, staining the pretty tablecloth.
Carmen’s mouth fell open at the mess, and she turned towards her left only to find Hunter struggling to contain his laughter, ducking his head, his shoulders shaking silently.
“What the hell was that?” someone hissed from the opposite end of the table.
“I’m sorry, that was my—” Carmen’s father pushed back his chair and stood up, taking a few quick sips of water, “—my pager. I’m sorry, but I need to make a call to the hospital.”
Carmen’s mind was a blank slate. It was as if all logic and reason was instantly wiped out as she fumbled with her chair and struggled to push it back and get out of it, too.
“Well, I’ll come with you to the hospital—”
“Don’t be silly,” Aunt Beatrix chided Carmen. “You can’t just leave during the middle of your meal. And do you really want to spend the rest of Thanksgiving in a hospital?”
“But I need to leave with Dad—”
“To the hospital?” Viola snorted, not even looking in Carmen’s direction. “What an inconvenience! Let your father do his job without throwing a tantrum, foolish little girl.”
“Viola!” Aunt Beatrix hissed, glaring at the other woman who just sniffed and stuck her chin further into the air.
“That’s enough,” Carmen's father muttered,
