Whispers

The wind outside howled past the car, both Harry and Rae sitting and staring at the house. Rae killed the engine of the car and sat, putting her hands in her lap. She waited patiently for Harry to open the car door. He didn’t move, his brown curls tucked under a black beanie and face tilted upwards slightly.

“Why did he leave me everything?” he asked Rae, voice distant. Rae shrugged before realizing that Harry wasn’t looking at her to see the response. “I just don’t- I don’t get it.”

“He had no one else to give it to.”

“He could have given it to my mum, or just- anyone but me.”

“He clearly didn’t want to. Let’s go look through everything, shall we?”

Getting out of the car, they both braved the cold wind, pulling their coats tight and hurrying up the path that lead to the house. Slate grey skies hovered above them, Harry fishing keys out of his pocket and turning them in the door. A click resounded before he opened it.

Inside was cold and silent. The absence of the air conditioning left and eerie ring to the quiet of the air. Rae pursed her lips. Everything looked exactly the same as before, a modest home with beautiful vases of flowers, pictures and a chandelier over the door.

Together, they spent three hours boxing Edward Styles’ possessions. Rae felt uncomfortable entering the bedroom, so she left that to Harry. She preferred to take care of the kitchen, spare rooms and the living room. The study was another place she felt best to leave to Harry.

Everything in the house was clean. Everything was placed in a specific order, the shelves free of dust, the shoes at the door lined horizontally. Place mats were vacuumed and the stacks of papers on the table were completely straight, piled neatly one atop the other.

Gathering the papers on the table, she saw that they were files from his office, cases he had won, cases he had lost. Firm papers were also folded neatly in an open, leather brief case. She shut it, clicking the gold claps in place to hold it closed.

Footsteps sounded down the steps. Harry appeared with another cardboard box. His face held no particular expression, though his posture was taught. Placing the box among seven others, he stood up, arching his back and placing his hands on his lower back.

“Will you take care of the study?” Rae nodded after a moment of hesitation. Harry didn’t look at her. He walked towards the garage. “I put three boxes outside of the door. Only take things you think are valuable. Leave the rest.”

“Don’t you want to look through it?” Harry turned, stopping mid reach for the door that led to where the cars and tools were left. He frowned and shook his head. “I just thought that maybe, maybe it was something that you should do.”

“No.”

Rae remained still. Harry turned around and opened the door, disappearing into the garage and shutting the door firmly behind him. She sighed. “Well, alright.”

The study was not like the rest of the house. Rae walked in, letting out a breath of air. There were black leather books everywhere, the volume number and edition printed in gold. Most of them had tiny, black text, stating laws, rules and Latin phrases that Rae assumed only a lawyer could understand.

Rae didn’t keep any of the law books. Instead, she placed the pictures in boxes. One was a family portrait. Harry couldn’t have been more than ten, his curls impossible to maintain as he smiled from ear to ear, dimples deep, eyes bright. His mother had a tight-lipped smile, eyes dull. His father did not smile at all.

On second thought, she put it face down on the desk, leaving it.

Rae finally finished placing things in boxes. She put in a few novels that looked like actual books, the desk light, glasses, pens and frames of degrees all in the box. Turning to carry the box out, a red, leather bound book that she had missed caught her eye. It was on the floor, missing her gaze the first time because she had swung the door open over it.

Putting the box on the desk, she bent over and picked up the book. It was thin, the pages inside slightly messy. Opening it, black, inky script flowed elegantly from page to page, dates at the top of them. Eyes scanning it, she read a bit. Most of it was pointless, about cases and certain things that Edward wanted to improve on.

Opening it to the middle, she caught something by chance. Harry’s name started off the page. Chewing her lip, she pulled the book fully open, it’s spine making a slight noise as she did so. Leaning against the desk, she began to read the entry.

Harry was falling off the tracks. I have no one to blame but myself, I should expect. Harry is brilliant. He has the mind of a scholar, loyalty of a hound and the heart the size of Asia. All his life we have pushed him to use his brains to his advantage. He no longer wants to be a lawyer, though. He’s only sixteen and he thinks that he wants to be a writer. But he does not understand that the life he wants will bring him little success, that the path we have presented him with is perfect for him, hand selected for him to have a life where he can provide for him and whomever he chooses to marry.

We decided that we were going to let him experience things on his own. We’ve turned a blind eye to him, funding his going on’s. There have been more important things than a boy who is being rebellious. I had no time to deal with a boy who wanted to be a writer, who wanted to go out and party with his friends and carry on. We thought that he would fall out of it and realize what he wanted to be in life. We expected that he would get so bad into it that he would turn around.

We were both wrong and right. Harry pulled out of his drug abuse. But he didn’t do it for me. He didn’t do it because he wanted to get a good job, to come work for me. I had been waiting with a business proposition for him. Instead, he took the money we gave him and moved out, began working at a Bakery instead. I thought maybe he needed more time.

If there is anything I have ever learned about my son, it is that I ruined him. I thought I was doing good by ignoring him, letting him teach himself that he would never amount to anything if he did not follow the plans his mother and I made for him. Instead, he found more worth in himself than I ever could have shown him. He has found some meaning in life that makes little sense to me.

I have permanently damaged my son forever. He will never be the same, young boy who would constantly check to see if I was home, if the light in the study was on. Truth be told, many times I was not in fact home. I set a timer on the light, because I wanted him to sleep, I wanted him to find comfort and be at peace. I could not give him more than that, I am afraid.

But my son is going to be worth ten of me, I am sure of it. He writes, he reads. I expect he will be a writer one day. I hope that he stays strong in his desire to never be like me. I hope that he never once regrets hating me and I hope that he forever keeps me as a reminder of who he does not want to be as a father.

I have failed in loving my son. But I hope to God that through my failure, I have some how given him the path to being the best person that Harry could ever be. It will be my only redeeming feature.

Tears spilled over Rae’s eyes. She dog-eared the page, putting her hand over her mouth and crying for a moment. Every ounce of the entry made her heart hurt and she wished a million times over that Edward could have said all of that to Harry, that he could have just said it.

Wiping the tears quickly, she sniffed and put the book in the box Harry would take home with him. She knew that he would read it out of interest, and she hoped to God that it somehow made him feel better, that somehow Harry would find solace that his father, at the end of everything, could admit to what he had done to Harry, that he had made Harry someone afraid of other people’s touch and care.

The boxes were placed with the rest of them. Rae found standing in the kitchen, looking out of the window. A cold rain was beating down on the window. A few more weeks and it would be snow. Harry was quiet, his eyes far away as he stared at the glass.

“It’s torture,” Harry said. His voice was dull. Rae frowned, reaching forward to place her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, deepening her frown. “I hate him. He never cared about anything that I did. He just gave me money to destroy myself and he didn’t so much as care. I hate him for it. But I’m still upset.”

Harry looked at Rae. His face contorted. “Do you know what it’s like to feel sorry for someone you hate?” Rae shook her head. “It’s awful! It’s the most useless thing in the fucking world! I hate him but I’m so upset!”

Quickly, Rae took several steps away from Harry as his voice began to crescendo. He turned away from her, sweeping his hand across the counter. Glass sugar jars, a ceramic coffee holder and a row of mugs were knocked clean off the counter, shattering on the ground into sharp pieces, black grounds mixing with white sugar.

Harry let out a scream, filled with anguish, pain and frustration. Tears were falling down his face, the skin red as he fought with himself, raging. Rae made a sound of protest as he turned and hit the fridge. He dented it, another yell escaping his lips as he beat at the fridge like a savage.

Rushing forward, she grabbed him around his waist. She felt him tense as she squeeze him around his stomach, pressing her face flat against Harry’s back. Closed her eyes, just hugging him tightly as his movements stopped, the muscles in his stomach pulled tight before they started twitching. She realized he was crying.

If possible, Rae hugged tighter. Harry brought his hands up to hold onto her arms, hugging her arms into him. His shoulders shook, Rae shaking with them. She felt hot tears drip from his face, hitting her hands. Rae felt hot tears slide down her face, tasting the salt.

Harry was breaking in front of her. And it was breaking her in turn. They were a single unit made up of two parts, and one part could only function as long as the other was. When Harry wasn’t working at full capacity, Rae would work for him. She would put in extra effort to keep the unit working. But there was only a certain amount of time before she began to falter.

Harry turned to face her, wiping tears with the backs of his sleeves. “Why did he do this?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Harry.” She reached up around her neck, unclasping her necklace. Harry’s brows pulled together as she removed the leather necklace she never took off, the one with the gold piece that her mother had always worn. On her tiptoes, she placed it around his neck, clasping it. “But I do know that sometimes parents don’t mean to leave us. So wear this as a reminder that even though he’s gone, you’ve got me.”

Harry nodded, sniffing. “Can we leave? I want to go home.”

She brushed her lips across his. “Of course. Come on.”