Beth

A slam rouses me from my sleep. I sit up quickly and walk to the window, drawing back the curtains. Below me, a slender girl wearing a red t-shirt and denim shorts stalks toward her bicycle. I can't see her face, but I can imagine her expression. She kicks violently at the stand, straddles her bike and takes off down the long driveway, spewing a spray of pebbles in her hurry to leave.

I sigh. Father and Mariah must have run off the help already, poor girl. I feel a guilty twinge. This isn't the first time this has happened. I had planned to wake up early to act as a buffer between her and my overbearing family if needed, but after staying up until midnight to pack, I had been too exhausted. When I finally made it to bed, my racing thoughts wouldn't shut off. I hadn't fallen asleep until after 3:00 in the morning.

I rub my forehead, then pull the blankets up and tuck them neatly into the corners. This is a major setback. I was counting on Leslie's help to finish the packing, which needs to be done in order to leave tomorrow morning. The property management company will be taking pictures tomorrow afternoon, so the piles of boxes and clutter have to go.

My father and sister will be next to useless, I know. They have packed maybe three boxes between the two of them so far. At 12 and 10, Olivia and Toby are much more helpful than than the adults. It will be a long day of packing, but as long as my sister doesn't distract the children, we can knock most of the work out.

I dress quickly and walk downstairs. Father and Mariah are seated at the table, sipping lattes from a fancy schmancy cafe that recently opened up. One latte is $10. I know because they dragged me over there shortly after the grand opening to try one. One simply does not buy a $10 cup of joe when one is in the process of losing one's house. The cups aren't even that big! Try telling that to my father and sister, who despite knowing we need to be out of the house today, despite the tremendous amount of work ahead of us, have their faces buried in the Wall Street Journal and a fashion magazine.

"What happened with Leslie?" I ask.

Father and Mariah look up.

"Oh, is that her name? I have absolutely no idea," my sister sniffs. "One moment she's packing, the next she's slamming the door behind her like a drama queen. It's so beastly to get reliable help these days, Beth."

"I see," I say. "And it couldn't possibly be you were overly critical of her work?"

"Of course not," my sister says. "I cannot even imagine how you would think it, Beth! One moment the girl was helping, the next she was gone in a huff."

"Can't you?" I say, skeptically. "Let me guess. You made some rude comment about her appearance."

"Come now, Beth," Father chides, glancing up from his paper and grimacing. "What was I supposed to do? Have you seen her face?"

Mariah giggles. I wince.

"I don't even want to know. Don't tell me. You tried to sell her a bottle of your stuff."

"Beth, her freckles were unsightly, and she had acne patches on her forehead and chin. It does no good to keep the truth from people who desperately need it. She could never have a stunning complexion like Mariah's, but if she invested a little time and money in the proper products, at some point her face might be tolerable. I can't help it that the girl is so blasted sensitive."

"I couldn't agree more," Mariah chimes in. "And as for her being slightly pigeon-toed, well, I am convinced she may have never realized it without us bringing it to her attention. There are special boots you can wear to correct that, you know. Oh, Father, look at this lovely gown. Once we are settled into the cottage, I plan to throw a party and wear this." She holds up the magazine and points to a gown.

"It would look stunning on you dear," Father says, shuffling the paper and fixing his gaze on it again. "The emerald color would bring out the color of your eyes. Perhaps I should buy a new suit for the happy occasion as well, eh?"

Mariah claps her hands delightedly.

"What a charming idea! An emerald tie would be just the complement."

Charming? I want to gag. Here we are, on the brink of losing our home, and all my father and sister can do is sit around drinking expensive lattes and talk about spending even more money?

Oh yeah, and insult the help so I become the help. Again.

The Wall Street Journal is a facade, the paper my father subscribes to for appearance. I suspect he hasn't even read an entire article. I have noticed that he is far more interested in my sister's magazines, and takes every occasion he can to look and comment on the latest fashion disaster or hairstyle.

Normally I just roll my eyes and ignore them, but that can't happen today.

"You may have meant well, but we are now in a bind and it's too late to find someone else to help pack. So now it's on us to make it happen," I say. "Where's Livie and Matthew?"

"Asleep in their beds, I imagine," Mariah says. "Let them be, Beth. They are growing children, and they need plenty of rest."

"We. Don't. Have. Time. To. Rest," I say through gritted teeth.

Father and Mariah look up in surprise. They are not used to me being this assertive.

"Now, Beth. No need to adopt that tone. May I remind you that I am the parent and you are the child. Mariah and I were up long before you," Father says, looking at me pointedly. "I fully realize we need to tidy up the house, but it is not worth spoiling our last morning at this house before we leave! I know our life is about to change. Give us one last normal morning before, before..."

His voice falters at the end of the sentence, and I realize that he does feel the loss keenly. I still resent being called a child, especially now that I'm 30, but my heart softens a bit. Then my father says something that ruins the moment.

"No matter. The sales on my skin cream will skyrocket any day now. You'll see. We'll return from Nantucket with plenty of money, remove our tenants forcibly if necessary, and you will never have to gripe about my lattes again. By the way Beth, I see from the bare walls you have already packed up your mother's portrait and the dishes. You didn't happen to pack that ratty sampler, did you? Ghastly sentimental, if you ask me, don't you agree my dear?"

"Ghastly," Mariah agrees absently, flipping another page of her magazine.

"I don't want it hanging on my wall in the cottage," father continues. "Feel free to dispose of it in the nearest trash bin."

How dare he?

It's all more than I can take. I follow the girl with the red shirt's lead and stalk out the front door, slamming it behind me. I can just imagine what Father and Mariah are saying to each other. I am not a door slammer. To put it into perspective, this is probably the first door I have slammed in my life. Usually I keep my cool and deal with them, but this morning it is all too much.

I stand, hugging myself tightly and staring out at the immaculate grounds. I can't see my beloved gardens through the mist in my eyes. I'm so angry, I'm trembling. I wish I could put a protective covering around my heart sometimes, so when my father and Mariah say their cruel and mindless things, it doesn't affect me.

I breathe in deeply and release.

Reason is starting to return.

Father likely didn't remember his wife had sewn the sampler, and he certainly didn't know I had finished it. Still, I wished he did care about the things that were important to her, and to me.

I take another deep breath, then release it.

Wishing wouldn't change Father. He is who he was. Somehow I sense that more than he loved my mother, he loved his reflection in her eyes. Knowing how purely she had loved him, she probably didn't mind, but I minded for her.

A car slows and turns into the driveway. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve and squint against the sun. Relief floods my body when I recognize the silver cadillac. The sight could not be more welcome.

Aunt Alice steps out of the car and wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. I am embarrassed that she sees tears in my eyes, but there is nothing I need to hide from her. She understands her brother and niece too well. She rubs my back and whispers soothing words in my ear.

"Let me guess," she murmurs. "Your father and sister have managed to terrorize your help into leaving again. Perhaps it was that girl with the red shirt hightailing it down the road about a mile from here?"

"Spot on as always, Alice," I say. "I'm so glad you're here. I just can't deal with them alone today."

"You don't have to. I've taken the entire day off to help you move."

"I thought you were neck deep on your latest book."

"A good break is in order," my aunt says.

"Having an extra pair of capable hands might make all the difference. At least I can trust my father and sister won't drive you away," I say.

"If they were capable of that, it would have happened a long time ago," Aunt Alice laughs heartily. "Well, don't be too harsh with them. This is a hard day for everyone. We've known for some time it would probably come to this, but it's human nature to think you'll always have one more day to put it off. They're used to a life of leisure, and that won't change overnight. At least at the cottage you can curtail the expenses."

"True," I murmur.

We walk back into the house together. As we pause in the foyer for Aunt to hang her jacket, I overhear Mariah.

"I know she's my sister, but how do you expect me to live under the same roof with her in such a wretchedly small place? Beth doesn't know how to have fun! Any time I try to dream up anything, she ruins it by being practical. At least here at the estate, she mostly keeps to that attic room so I can block her out. At the cottage, we will be squeezed in like sardines. Every time I want to buy a new dress or spend more than a couple of dollars for a drink, she's going to be looking at me with those judgmental eyes. It's driving me crazy! It's not even 10:00 yet and I'm already suffering from a migraine because of that inept, pimple-faced girl and my own sister. I try to be kind, I really do, but she makes it impossible!"

"Now, Mariah," my father soothes. "I certainly can't blame you for being agitated, but I imagine Beth means well. Yes, it is annoying that Beth is so tight, and seems utterly incapable of enjoying herself, but she does provide a useful service by schooling the children. We can't choose our family, darling, sometimes we just have to put up with them."

A pause now, then Mariah replies.

"Beth's help with the children is useful, I'll admit, though I would prefer them to be in a proper school. I am sure Beth isn't giving them as good an education as professionals would. If only the children at these schools weren't such tyrants! I wish I didn't need the help, but the migraines and my nervous stomach make it quite impossible for me to care for them. Somedays, I swear I only put up with Beth for the children's sake. But oh, if only Trevor had lived. There was never a better man! He was so patient with Olivia. Trevor would have made a wonderful father to Matthew if he had lived to see him born. It is hard to understand why life has been so cruel to me."

At this point, Aunt Alice withdraws her jacket from the hanger and slips it on.

"On second thought," she says, "I think I would rather take a walk around the garden. I'm in the mood for some fresh air and quiet."

I nod tightly. She opens the door, and I follow her out.

_____________

If you enjoyed this, please vote! <3

So Beth's father and sister are piece of work, eh? What do you think of them? As you may be aware, I based this story on Jane Austen's "Persuasion." It made more sense in my story to have one sister than two, so I combined Elizabeth and Mary into one character to create Mariah. Like Elizabeth, she is snobbish, and like Mary, she has children and is an inept parent. Like both of them, Mariah very much has the "Malcolm" pride. I'm imagining Pierce Brosnan as Beth's father and Sienna Miller as Beth's sister, Mariah. How do you envision them? 

Thanks so much for reading! I update every Tuesday and Friday.

Dedication today goes out to @becca_ree. Thanks so much for all your thoughtful comments throughout, girl! I've so enjoyed sharing this story with you. <3