“What?” I asked. “What happened to Thatcher?”
“To this day, I still don’t know all the details. My mother was so heartsick over his death; she could barely tell me the story. From what I gathered, Thatcher had died trying to escape from the cellar.” Aunt Dinah lowered her gaze as her mouth worked. Tears escaped, falling into the wrinkles on her cheeks.
The news hit me like a punch to the throat. I squeezed the camera between both hands and focused on breathing. Tears rolled past my lips.
“They held a private funeral while I was in school. They didn’t tell me because they didn’t want to ‘disrupt my schedule,’ since I was doing so well. I couldn’t forgive my mother. I expected that kind of nonsense from my father, but she knew how much I loved Thatcher. She should’ve made arrangements for me to come home temporarily. I-I should’ve been there.” Aunt Dinah wrestled with her grief for a second before continuing her terrible story. “My mother didn’t have the heart to clean out the cellar. In fact, she screamed at my father for merely suggesting it. I suppose he did care about her in the end because he respected her wishes.”
My aunt sniffled but kept her head bowed. “I only went down there to find this picture and the camera. Then I gathered my things and left. Even though I hated the nuns for beating their way of life into me all those years ago, I found myself depending on the schedule they created for me to survive my grief. That’s true even now.” She grimaced. “I find it difficult to stray from the routine.”
I wanted to say, “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” But she wasn’t done telling her story and I had a feeling I’d never get the chance to hear it again. So I kept my mouth shut.
“I didn’t return home for many years. Not when I heard my mother had died, certainly not when my father died, not even when Maryanne offered me the house.” The old woman scoffed. “She’d inherited it from our father. As much as she loved our childhood home, she couldn’t stand the idea of raising her children in a house where someone had died. She was going to sell it but wanted to offer it to me first. I didn’t like the idea of a stranger living here, not with Thatcher’s ghost living in the cellar.”
At my look of horror, she sighed and added, “Metaphorically speaking, of course. I hired someone to care for the grounds. I lived my life, separate from the memories, for as long as I could. I didn’t move back in until a little over ten years ago when it was time to retire. The house had been paid for by my parents; I didn’t have to worry about rent. My retirement fund could cover my living expenses if I was frugal. The investments I made using my inheritance money would cover the rest of my bills. It seemed to be the only logical option.”
We sat in the quiet that followed, each wrestling with our own feelings. Funny thing was, I wasn’t ashamed to be crying in front of her. To pretend I didn’t feel anything would’ve been disrespectful to Thatcher’s memory. I hated Aunt Dinah’s father for treating his wife’s son like shit. I hated her mother for being too weak to protect her son. I hated my aunt for not telling me just how much we had in common. But more than anything, I felt lonely. And inconsequential.
I knew what it felt like to be unwanted, but what Thatcher had suffered was worse than anything I’d ever gone through. At least I knew my dad had loved me. My mom loved me too, even if she had chosen Hunter over me in the past. This world and the people in it really sucked ass.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I finally asked. I understood why she hadn’t told me about her brother sooner; it was sad and personal and painful for her to share. So why had she chosen to open up all of a sudden?
“When Jasmine collapsed, I didn’t see her. Only Thatcher. At least, what I pictured he must’ve looked like when he…” Aunt Dinah shuddered and turned away from me, still clutching the picture frame. “I had to get out of this house, to see him.”
“He’s buried nearby?”
She nodded. “Sitting by his graveside, I was reminded what it was like to be a young adult: to feel lost, vulnerable, angry, misunderstood.” Her eyes flickered in my direction. She sighed again. “I realized I was treating you no better than the nuns treated me. For that, I had to apologize.”
I clenched my jaw to keep it from falling open.
“So, there you have it,” my aunt said with her signature scowl. “Now you know why your stepfather chose to send you here. He knew, out of all of his elderly relatives, I would be best suited to teach you discipline and decorum, and I still aim to do so. I’ll just be going about it a different way is all. Seeing you make the same mistakes I made is maddening.”
I blinked at her.
“Oh, stop looking at me like that.” She rose to glare down her nose at me. “And, while I do approve of Charles Campbell, I don’t trust you not to have your way with him as soon as my back is turned.”
I choked back a laugh and ended up snorting. “What do you take me for? A rapist?”
Her nostrils flared dangerously. “That is not something you should ever joke about, Esmeralda. I only meant—”
“I know what you meant,” I said with a wink.
“I will lay down the law, young lady,
