The Feud, page 10
He leaves the room, softly closing the door behind him. I pin my gaze on Sylvie who looks slightly abashed. She most certainly knows I heard their conversation. “Having a tough time?”
Sylvie looks away and doesn’t answer.
I don’t press her and instead walk around the room, taking in the décor. “Your room is lovely. I can see why you enjoy spending time in here.”
“The only place I can have privacy,” Sylvie mutters.
I turn to face the little girl, clasping my hands before me. “It seems to me the Blackburns are making great efforts to give you the things you need. Privacy, a safe beautiful space, a lovely home, good food.”
“They’re not my family.”
I lift my shoulder, considering her words. “Maybe not in the traditional sense. At least not right now. But families can be built. If you only give it a chance.”
“I don’t want to give it a chance. I want to go back and live with Lionel and Rosemund.”
I don’t respond right away and instead move to the edge of the bed where I sit. I pat the spot beside me and Sylvie reluctantly moves to climb up. She fiddles with the edge of her shirt, her eyes downcast.
“I’m not even going to say how much I understand what you’re feeling, because I don’t think anyone can. This might be the hardest thing you’ll face in your lifetime and it’s definitely not fair for a girl your age to be going through this. But your father—”
Sylvie’s head whips my way and she glares. “He’s not my father.”
“He is.” I stare her down until her gaze falls away. I reach out gently, placing my fingertips under Sylvie’s chin and force her to look at me. “He is. By science and by law. Maybe not in your heart, but he is your father in all the ways that matter right at this moment.”
“I hate him.”
My hand falls away and I smile at Sylvie. “Good to know. Did you know the word hate is an old English term that means to regard someone with extreme ill will or someone you have a strong aversion to?”
Sylvie makes a scoffing sound. “That sounds right.”
“Also, rooted in sorrow,” I say. “And I think you know a little something about that.”
Sylvie remains stubbornly silent.
“Do you know who Nelson Mandela is?”
Sylvie frowns, thrown off guard by the history lesson. She shakes her head.
“He was the former president of South Africa and is widely regarded as one of the wisest, kindest men. He basically said hatred was taught but that if people are taught to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”
Sylvie looks away and I can tell she understands what I’m saying.
I take her hand in my own and pat it. “You don’t know anything about Ethan Blackburn or his family, and by all appearances they seem to be lovely people. I would only ask you to consider the basis of your hatred. What have you personally observed about them that would warrant that? Think about all the horrible, mean things they have done to you. The ways in which they abuse you. The ways in which they deprive you. If you can latch on to those and give me solid examples of why you feel this way, Sylvie… I will do whatever I can to help you out of the situation.
“But if you look inside yourself honestly and say that the reason you hate the Blackburns is because of what other people have told you, I’m going to implore you to think carefully about whether your feelings are justified. I’m also going to tell you there are two sides to every story. So whatever you may have heard, please at least be open-minded that it could be wrong. Or even semi-wrong. We all know the truth typically lies somewhere in the middle of two opposite lies.”
I wait a pounding heartbeat to see what she does. I fully expect her to dig her heels in deeper and dismiss everything I’ve just proposed. Instead, her green eyes fill with tears and her lower lip trembles. “I’m just so angry all the time, it’s hard for me to feel anything else.”
My heart shreds for this little girl and while I bear tremendous sympathy for the family downstairs, my loyalties lie with Sylvie. “I have an idea… Would you like to leave with me right now? Let’s you and me go get some dinner by ourselves and maybe talk about this some more?”
“Ethan won’t like that.”
“Oh, I think he’ll be just fine with it.”
CHAPTER 10
Marcie
My heart breaks for the child sitting across from me, picking at her slice of New York–style pizza. A mere three months ago, Sylvie Mardraggon’s life was nearly perfect. She had an adoring mother, I’m sure many wonderful friends, and I have this image of her spending her free time running through the vineyards of her mother’s winery.
It seems like a good conversation starter.
“I’d love to know more about your life back in France,” I say as I pick up my slice. “I’ve never been there but I’ve always wanted to go.”
A faint smile plays at Sylvie’s lips and her gaze rises to meet me. “We lived in Saint-Émilion.”
I heave a dramatic, dreamy sigh. “Oh, tell me you lived in a grand château.”
Sylvie laughs but nods. “It was very old but looked like it belonged in a Disney movie. The windows were large so it was always filled with light and no matter what room you were in, you could see the hills with their rows of grapevines.”
“Did you come to the United States to visit often or did your grandparents visit you in France?” I ask.
She shakes her head, smile faltering a bit. “Lionel was always too busy and Rosemund wouldn’t travel without him. My uncle Gabe would come to visit when he could, but because he was in charge of running the US side of the business, he was very busy too.”
I study Sylvie as she takes a hesitant bite of her pizza. I do the same, chewing thoughtfully. After wiping my mouth and fingertips with a napkin, I cross my arms on the table. “How come you don’t call Lionel and Rosemund something like Grandpa and Grandma? Or maybe even the French equivalent?”
Sylvie looks perplexed at the question and shrugs. “Because they told me to call them Lionel and Rosemund. So I do.”
“And what do you call your Blackburn grandparents?”
“They suggested GiGi and Pop Pop.”
Very cute. Very southern. “And do you call them that?”
Sylvie shakes her head. “Not yet. But when my mom would talk to me about her parents, she always called them Papi and Mamie. Those are French endearments.” The little girl’s voice quavers as she stares down at her pizza, and when she gives me her regard again, my heart is wrenched hard to see tears glistening in her eyes. “I miss my maman. But no one wants to talk about her. The Blackburns hate the Mardraggons so they don’t want to talk about her, and Lionel and Rosemund don’t mention her at all. Uncle Gabe does, but I haven’t really seen him that much. It’s like one day she existed and the next she was gone, and I am supposed to forget her.”
“Oh, honey.” I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. “I’m so sorry. You should never forget your mom. Would you like to tell me about her? I can tell you loved her very much.”
Sylvie stares at me with those verdant green eyes, still shining with tears, but I also see relief. “I knew my mom was sick because she kept having headaches and she was tired all the time. I would tell her something in the morning and she’d have forgotten about it by the afternoon. She went to see a lot of doctors and it scared me, but she always told me it would be okay and I believed her.”
“She was protecting you,” I murmur.
“She was lying to me,” Sylvie says, but it’s not with bitterness, almost with respect that she knew her mother was trying to preserve as much of her happy childhood as she could. “She finally told me the truth one day. We were having tea out in the courtyard garden, and it was the first time I ever saw my mom cry. She told me she was sick with a disease called cancer and it was in her brain. I didn’t know what cancer was and she explained it as best she could, but I didn’t really understand what it meant.”
“If you’ve never had any experience with it, it’s hard to process.” Especially for a little girl.
Sylvie nods earnestly. “But I learned. I knew it was bad when we left France and traveled to North Carolina to see a special doctor at Duke. That’s when we found out there was nothing that could be done to save her. She sat down with me and told me she was going to die.” Tears well up in my own eyes but I don’t say anything. Sylvie is being vulnerable with me, so I give her hand a squeeze. “That was the second time I saw my mom cry, but then she never cried again after that.”
“She sounds like an incredibly strong, fierce woman. I see that in you.”
Pulling free from me, Sylvie puts her hand in her lap and drops her gaze. “I didn’t believe her. I knew she’d beat the cancer because if she died… well, then, I wanted to die too.”
Tears start dripping and I scramble out of my seat and slide into the booth next to her. My arm goes around her and her head drops to my shoulder as she weeps. But she’s not done talking and I have a feeling she’s not had one single person to talk to about any of this so far. She needs to purge.
“We moved in with Lionel and Rosemund rather than return to France. I couldn’t understand that because Maman had so many friends back there. But she said she wanted to die in Kentucky and be near her family. Which was weird, because she’s never been close to Rosemund and Lionel, but she was to Uncle Gabe. I pretty much stayed in her bedroom with her, reading a book while she slept.”
I hand Sylvie a napkin from the table and she wipes her eyes, lifting her head from my shoulder. I loosen my hold and angle my body toward her, a silent indication I’m still listening.
“There were many hours where Maman slept so deeply, I would put my cheek near her nose to make sure she was still breathing. They’d squirt medicine into her mouth to keep her comfortable, but it made it hard for her to stay awake.”
“Morphine.”
Sylvie nods and looks at me with a question in her eyes.
“My father died of cancer and he was under hospice care. I’m assuming that was what your mom had at your grandparents’ home?”
“Yes. There was a really nice nurse who came every day to check on her. And sometimes, Maman would wake up and she was able to talk to me. She’d pat the bed and I’d climb in with her. We’d hold hands and talk about how much we missed France and the winery. I knew things were getting bad. She wasn’t eating or drinking. Her lips were so chapped and her eyes were sunken in.”
And this child was in that room, alone and watching her mom die? I can’t even fathom such a thing.
Sylvie smiles though. “We’d speak in French together and I tried to memorize every word, because I didn’t know when it would be her last. One day though, it felt different. I remember she tried to brush my hair off my forehead and that was even too much for her to do. But she said she wanted to tell me something very important. Her voice was so soft, I had a hard time hearing her, so I snuggled in close.”
Sylvie pauses, turns her head to look directly at me. “That’s when she told me about Ethan.”
My eyebrows shoot upward as I wasn’t expecting that. I hadn’t even considered how Sylvie had been given that information.
The raven-haired girl gets an almost dreamy, nostalgic look on her face. “She said to me, ‘My sweet little girl having to grow up so fast.’ She told me I was her proudest accomplishment.”
“I’m sure you were,” I murmur.
Sylvie nods, her smile turning wry. “She told me I was brave and strong, and I’d need to continue to be that way because she had something to tell me. That’s when I knew things could get worse.”
“You found out the truth about your father?”
“She told me about a man named Ethan Blackburn here in Kentucky and that I looked exactly like him. She said that her family and his family hated each other and that’s why she never told anyone that Ethan was my dad. Maman tried to prepare me as best she could. She warned me that she was going to tell Lionel and Rosemund and that they would be very upset.”
“Did your mom ever explain why the feud started in the first place?”
Sylvie shakes her head, looking slightly glum about the lack of knowledge. “Only that it was something that happened very long ago. I tried to get details, but she said that didn’t matter, only that I had to be prepared that the bitterness still existed, and it was going to make things difficult. I didn’t understand why that had anything to do with me but then she said that it was her wish for me to live with Ethan after she died.”
“That must have been such a shock,” I posit.
“I was so angry. I told her I wasn’t going to do it and I was going back to France. But I knew deep down I had no say in the matter. She tried to explain it but speaking was getting hard for her. She told me that she felt Ethan could stand up to his parents and give me the most normal life, and I had no clue what that meant. I asked her to explain but she was tired and wanted to sleep. I waited for hours by her bed, sleeping beside her, waiting for her to wake up so we could talk more about it. I had a million questions, but…”
Her voice trails off and she lets out a tiny sob. My arm goes back around her. “She never woke up again?”
Sylvie shakes her head violently. “She never spoke again and died a day later.”
“I can’t imagine how confusing all of that was for you. Watching your mother die, a revelation that was hard to understand, and no one who could answer any questions for you. It’s not fair you had to go through that.”
There’s a hint of anger in her tone. “I have no say in any of this. I just have to go where people tell me and no one cares what I want.”
I take a breath and decide to put some distance between us. I want her to listen to what I have to say and I want her to see me more as an authority figure than a nurturer. So I move back to my side of the booth and push my plate aside, ignoring my food.
“Sylvie… let’s try to reason out the best way to handle your situation. I understand you don’t want to be with the Blackburns, but maybe if you could tell me why you want to stay with Lionel and Rosemund, we can come up with a solution. You’ll be talking to the judge in a couple months and he’s going to take your wishes into consideration. Tell me what you love about being with them.”
I get the answer I was expecting simply by the blank look on her face. I wait patiently but she can’t articulate one solid reason other than she likes her uncle Gabe, but then admits he’s hardly ever there because he works so much. It’s patently clear the child has no emotional connection with either of her Mardraggon grandparents.
I pounce on this moment of doubt to transition to her current living situation. “If I could wave a magic wand, I would help you get back home to France, but I can’t. The only thing I can do is try to help you acclimate here. But one thing I know about Ethan Blackburn… if it’s important to you, I bet he’d take you back to visit.”
It’s clear I’ve shocked Sylvie by the flaring of her eyes and parting of her lips, but she still looks distrustful.
“Can you tell me all the ways in which the Blackburns are making life hard for you? Since your father has asked me to intervene, I need to be able to talk to him to help resolve those issues. For example, does he yell at you a lot?”
Sylvie frowns and shakes her head. “He doesn’t yell at all. No one does. But neither do the Mardraggons.”
I nod in understanding, giving her a smile. “Does Ethan call you names, belittle you? Does he make you feel bad about yourself?”
Her face screws up as she considers the question and I can tell it’s with great reluctance she has to admit, “He’s been nice to me. All of the Blackburns have.”
I level another smile at her. “I think you understand what I’m aiming for, Sylvie. If you are in a stable home right now, there’s nothing I can do to get you out. If you are not being treated well by the Blackburns and you feel the Mardraggons treat you better, then I will do everything in my power at the end of those two months to help get you back there. I’ve got some advice for you if you want to hear it?”
There’s only a slight hesitation before she says, “Okay.”
“I’m going to suggest you give the Blackburns a chance. Sit back, evaluate and compare. And make your own determinations. Don’t let anyone tell you how you should feel about the Blackburns, especially because of a history that you don’t even know anything about. You’re old enough and smart enough to assess the situation for yourself. Give the Blackburns the time the judge ordered and if you are unhappy when that time is up, I’ll advocate for you to go back to the Mardraggons if that’s what you want.”
Sylvie huffs out a sigh of frustration. I know she wants instant gratification, but that’s just not going to happen. So I pull on what I’ve learned tonight. “Your mother made this choice for you. Not Lionel and Rosemund, and not Ethan. And I know you trusted and loved your mom like no other. So I’d suggest you call upon her memory and trust that she’d never send you somewhere that was bad for you. In fact, I think we have to consider that she felt this was the absolute best for you and that you need to trust in it.”
That knocks the wind out of Sylvie’s sails and she sags a little in her seat. But she also lifts her gaze to me and nods. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”
CHAPTER 11
Ethan
It’s almost seven thirty p.m. when Marcie and Sylvie get back from their dinner. I made sure the family would be gone, settled into their own abodes before their return. I don’t want Sylvie feeling self-conscious about the serious discussion that will surely come on the heels of involving her school principal.
I have no clue what to expect but shore up my resolve that I’ll follow whatever direction Marcie DeLeon gives, because everything I’ve tried so far hasn’t worked.
I push up out of the recliner in the den, the only place on the first floor with what I consider livable furniture. It’s where my dad, brothers and I all congregate to watch football or my mom sometimes reads a book on the overstuffed sofa. It’s where the family gathers to watch movies, although it seems as if no one has had time to congregate in a long while.
