Chapter XX: Secrets (1)

Lost in thought, Lydia unconsciously played with her fingers, the telltale sign of unease furrowing her brow.

Clinton’s touch, gentle as it was, startled her slightly. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, his voice laced with concern as he massaged her foot.

She looked at him, her gaze distant, contemplating her words. Constance’s callous words echoed in her mind, replaying on a loop, particularly the venom with which she’d uttered “balanced the scales.”

Having tried to rationalize the situation, a disquieting feeling only intensified. It wasn’t just about the misplaced earring or the animosity between Constance and Monique.

There was something more, something sinister lurking beneath the surface. A shadow of suspicion flickered across Lydia’s eyes.

”Don’t you think mom’s out burst earlier was a bit off?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

A furrow deepened between his brows as he gave a noncommittal shrug.

“I hate to doubt Mom,” Lydia confessed, her voice a mere whisper as she met Clinton’s gaze. “But something about this just feels… fishy. Don’t you get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to the story than Constance is letting on?”

”It’s hard to discern what’s normal and what’s not anymore.”

”Mom’s actions are all over the place. First, she supposedly forgives Monique and even blesses your marriage, then she goes and hires a fake officiate. And the whole time, she kept this secret hidden from you. Now, the moment you separate, her loving and caring nature vanishes, replaced by a bitter and vindictive woman…It’s like she was planning the best revenge,” Lydia whispered, a shiver racking her body. “And I fear she’s not done. What if her anger escalates?”

Clinton stared at her, a flicker of unease crossing his features. He hadn’t considered his mother’s behavior from this perspective before.

” I think maybe you should have a talk with Monique,” Lydia suggested gently. “Try to find out what the real story is.”

Clinton ran a hand through his hair, a grimace twisting his features. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” he asked hesitantly.

Lydia met his gaze, her eyes resolute. “What choice do we have?” she countered. “Mom’s behavior is erratic, what if next time she physically harms Sahara?”

A wave of unease washed over him.

What if the hypothesis one day came true. He could never live with himself.

He sighed, defeated. “I will see,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair .

“Or better yet,” Lydia continued, a glint of determination in her eyes, “hire an investigator.”

Clinton’s head snapped up, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. “It’s been over ten years,” he argued. “Do you think they could uncover anything at this point?

Lydia chuckled, a wry sound devoid of humor. “You will be amazed at what secrets money can uncover, especially well-hidden ones,” she said, her gaze fixed on a point beyond the window.

❦❦❦

While Clinton and Lydia puzzled over Constance’s strange behavior, she stood alone in her room, clutching a photo album tightly against her chest. Sinking into the chair, she traced a trembling finger over the image of a young woman captured decades ago.

A painful memory flashed vividly…

Estonivian summers were known to be mild, but that year, the sun had turned merciless, its heat a stifling blanket.

Even the air-conditioned coolness of Café D’Amour Fleur, a haven for the town’s elite, couldn’t quell the nervous fluttering in Constance’s stomach.

She stood awkwardly at the entrance, her worn clothes a stark contrast to the vibrant summer dresses of a group of girls in crisp white summer dresses who emerged from the parking lot.

Her eyes lit with fragile hope as she remained oblivious to the disdainful gazes of patrons entering and exiting the café. Her focus was solely on the group of girls approaching.

As they drew closer, a flicker of hope in her eyes intensified.

“Harriet!” she called out, affectionately, hardly daring to breathe.

The girls stopped short, sneers twisting their glossed lips as they took in Constance’s shabby appearance.

“Harriet, who is she?” one demanded, disdain dripping from every word.

Harriet paled, seeming to shrink under the weight of her friends’ contempt. “N-no one, just an old maid of ours.”

Though crestfallen, Constance managed a tremulous smile, nervously fiddling with the straps of her bag. “Do you have a minute?”

“Your maids are certainly bold,” the ringleader scoffed, her cohorts dissolving into cruel giggles as they openly mocked the downtrodden woman.

Flushed with shame, Constance dropped her gaze.

When Harriet refused to respond, Constance reached into her bag with a hopeful intake of breath, withdrawing a rumpled envelope and tiny gift box.

“Happy 21st birthday, honey,” Constance said, her voice strained but hopeful.” I know it’s not much, but I hope you like it.”

The girls fell abruptly silent, stunned disbelief etched on their made-up faces.

“It’s your birthday?” one squawked. “But we celebrated your 22nd six months ago!”

“She must be confused,” Harriet bit out, humiliation and anger warring in her voice.

“She’s really something else.”

“She even got the dates wrong!”

“Never mind her,” Harriet said dismissively, making no move to take the presents.

Constance’s heart sank. The dismissal in Harriet’s voice was a fresh wound, but she persisted, offering the gifts with trembling hands.

Monique, however, seemed intrigued. “Let’s see what she got you, I’m curious,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Harriet shot Constance a withering glare, every ounce of her being radiating shame. “Must we?”

“She has the audacity to wish you happy birthday on the wrong day,” Monique purred. “I simply must see what atrocity she’s gifted you.”

“I’m sure it’s cheap and disgusting,” Harriet spat.

”Well let’s find out.”

”Harriet’s expression hardened, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing her features for a fleeting moment. “Monique, please,” she pleaded, her voice barely a whisper.

Ignoring Harriet’s plea, Monique snatched the box from Constance’s grasp and ripped off the cheap wrapping paper with flourish.

Harriet’s face drained of color as a delicate moon and star pendant on a golden chain glinted in the sunlight.

Their eyes were filled with undisguised admiration.

“Monique…isn’t that your company’s new line?” One girl gasped.

Monique’s cold appraisal shifted from the pendant to Constance, her lip curling in disdain. “It is. But this is a cheap fake. Your maid is really something, Harriet, daring to give you counterfeit jewelry.”

Emboldened by the spectacle, another girl piped up. “What’s in the envelope?”

With a cruel smile, Monique opened the worn envelope and pulled out a bundle of crumpled banknotes. An awkward hush fell over the group as realization set in.

Harriet wished for the earth to open and swallow her whole.

“Well…it’s the thought that counts, right?” Monique’s condescending tone only compounded Harriet’s mortification.

To their surprise, Constance gave a small, heartsick nod, her hopeful gaze fixed on Harriet.

But Harriet’s own eyes had turned to flint. “You can keep your fake jewelry and money. I don’t need it.”

The girls regarded Constance with undisguised contempt.

“You look like you need it more,” Monique sneered. “Come on, Harriet, we’re leaving. Don’t tolerate trash like her, she’ll only take advantage.”

Shoving the gifts back at Harriet, who clutched them with white-knuckled hands, Monique turned on her heel.

“I know,” Harriet replied, fixing Constance with an icy stare. “You should leave.”

“But I miss you…” Constance pleaded, taking a desperate step forward. “Can’t we talk, just for a bit?”

With a snarl of rage, Harriet flung the gifts at Constance’s face, the cheap wrapping bursting apart. “You do not qualify!”

Constance recoiled, startled, as Harriet swept past without a backwards glance. When she reached out in a final, futile attempt to connect, Harriet violently swatted her hand away.

“Constance Beaumont! You should know your place!”

The words sliced through her like shards of broken glass. Constance could only watch, heartbroken, as Harriet disappeared into the opulent cafe with her friends, leaving her forever outside in the scorching summer heat.

Despite the humiliation, Constance continued to linger outside. The friends chatted and enjoyed their coffee and snacks, any thoughts of Constance quickly pushed from their minds.

Some time later, Monique stood by the large cafe windows, phone in hand, when movement outside caught her eye. She frowned, puzzled to see Constance still squatting down, obviously waiting for their exit.

“Harriet?” Monique called out, jarring her friend from her reverie.

“Hmm?”

“It seems your maid is still here.”

Harriet paled, hurrying to the window. Her fists clenched as anger radiated through her taut frame.

“She’s probably waiting for you to come down,” one of the other girls unhelpfully supplied.

“You two must have been quite close,” Monique stated, regarding Harriet with a contemplative look.

“She’s clearly after something,” Harriet bit out.

“Do you want to go down and talk to her?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll have security drag her away. She’s an eyesore.”

Harriet didn’t protest the idea. A few minutes later, security ushered a dejected Constance off the premises. She kept glancing back, desperate for even a glimpse of Harriet.

“You know, the way she was looking at you, it’s like she was a mother watching her long-lost child,” Monique mused once they were alone again.

Harriet nearly choked on her juice. The statement hit too close to home. She grasped her glass with trembling hands, grateful when her friends became engrossed in another topic of conversation. Her nerves were raggedly frayed.

Later that evening, Harriet pounded on the door of a dilapidated building, fear and desperation warring within her.

“Constance!” she shouted into the dim hallway.

When the door creaked open, Constance’s surprise melted into unguarded joy. “Honey, you came…” She pulled Harriet into a fierce embrace.

Harriet shoved her away violently. “Get your dirty paws off me!”

Crestfallen, Constance opened the door wider in hopeful invitation. “Honey…”

“Don’t you ‘honey’ me!” Harriet’s voice rose in a shrill crescendo. “What the hell was that stunt for? What are you trying to prove?”

Though stung by Harriet’s cold demeanor, Constance ushered her inside with a placating gesture. “Why don’t you come in? Let’s talk and catch up.”

Harriet’s face contorted in disgust as she eyed the squalid apartment. “Who knows what pests and diseases are lurking in this pit.”

The words hit Constance like a physical blow, but she rallied with a plaintive look. “Is it so wrong for a mother to want to spend time with her daughter?”

“Shut it!” Harriet exploded, panic and revulsion warring across her features. She was teetering on the precipice of hysteria. “Don’t you ever refer to me as your daughter! I’m a Vanderbilt, you were just a hired oven!”

“Harriet…” Constance reached out imploringly, but Harriet was already backing away, shaking her head vehemently.

“This is the first and last time we’ll ever have this conversation. Don’t ever show your face in front of me again!”

With that, Harriet whirled on her heel and fled, leaving Constance shattered and awash in bitter tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.

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