Mr. Whitlock

3 - Visiting

"Your house is beautiful, grandmother." Marie said softly as she sat beside Charlotte. She had been visiting for nearly an hour, but her grandmother hadn't yet spoken. It seemed over time their bond had withered into something neither of them could see, which hurt Marie very much.

"You went?" the old woman turned her head, her expression a blend of surprise and terror. Charlotte's sudden remark caused Marie to jump, for she hadn't expected her grandmother to respond.

"Yes," she said with a smile, "Margot and I saw it yesterday." Marie refrained from mentioning the strange noise, not wanting to scare her grandmother any more.

"Hm." Charlotte nodded slowly, "I haven't been inside since I was a child. Tell me what you saw so I can remember."

Marie paused, thinking back to the day before. She pictured the large house and walked through it in her mind, imagining each of the rooms and what was in them. She recalled going upstairs and into a little girl's room. She didn't know why, but this was the room she felt held the most memories. Laughs and smiles trapped in the dusty air, a child's life tucked away beneath those four walls.

"Your bedroom was wonderful." She said slowly, "The walls were a pale carnation, adorned with pictures of you and your family. A collection of dolls sat on your window sill, looking as poised and beautiful as if a certain little girl had placed them so each night."

Charlotte didn't even slip a smile, yet Marie did notice a sudden glint in her eyes. The girl then took the long silence as a sign to continue.

"I noticed one odd thing, though, grandmother. There was a sweet stuffed bear, light brown with a pink bow around its neck. It had deep brown eyes and a kind face, seeming so perfect for any young girl. But I can't help but wonder why it was thrown away." Marie considered all the possible reasons, thinking it could have been an accident or perhaps the toy was just old.

It was an odd detail to bring up, yet Marie felt desperate to hear her grandmother tell a story after she herself had been talking for so long. And this seemed like the perfect thing to spark a tale.

The girl waited for some time, wondering if Charlotte had nothing to tell. She almost even considered leaving, thinking that her grandmother was nearly as bored as she was. But the old woman then cleared her throat, and looked out her window with a sense of wistful nostalgia.

"That bear was a gift. From someone I despised." Charlotte said, her voice void of any emotion, "My mother used to take it out of the bin each night and place it back on my bed, but sure enough each morning I would throw it away again." she smiled as she said this, and Marie laughed.

"Who gave it to you?" the girl asked her grandmother curiously.

"My father's science partner. His name was Charles." she answered shortly.

"And why did you despise him?"

There was no reply.

***

Perhaps it was unfair of Marie to expect more than a few words out of her grandmother, but she at least hoped to learn something new. Instead she now had even more questions than before, for never once had Charlotte mentioned a man named Charles. 

Marie thought over all of this on her drive back to her sister's house. And when she walked through the front door, still lost in her own mind, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her mother's voice.

If only Marie could have quickly left the room, she would have avoided the painful conversation that would surely follow. But instead she stood there, frozen, for a few seconds too long, and was pulled into her mother's suffocating embrace.

"Marie, dear, your sister and I were just talking about your inheritance from your grandmother. You and I haven't yet gotten a chance to talk about it yet, for you seemed in a bit of a hurry yesterday." Marie felt a twinge of guilt, remembering her selfish attempts to eschew her mother on her way out of the hospital. 

But the sick feeling quickly vanished as she listened to the tone of her mother's voice. Soft and slow, as if she was trying to convince her daughter that she had good intentions. Which Marie knew was just another one of her manipulative tactics.

"Oh. Well, what is there to talk about?" the girl questioned, showing no sign of comfort or trust. Some may call the way she acted cruel, but Marie had spent far too long forgiving her mother for her repeated mistakes to deal with it any longer. She wondered how Eve could be so close to their mother.

"I just want to know what you think of it. Are you planning to keep the house? Or perhaps give it to someone more experienced in owning property." again, her voice was light and cheery. Eve nodded along, agreeing with her mother's point.

"Yes, I do plan to keep the house. I was thinking to renovate it, and then sell it for more. I believe I'll be just fine on my own."

"Oh." Anne stared at her lap for a few seconds, "I don't expect you to understand where I'm coming from." Another pause. "But I was telling your sister about how hard this is for me. My own mother gave her home to my daughter, instead of me. I am the one who moved here to take care of her. I've provided for her, when she no longer provided for me. I feel she's holding on to some sort of false resentment, and gave the house to you just to hurt me." she wiped her eyes, before looking up at her daughter with a pitiful expression.

Marie nodded, trying to process everything her mother had just said. And after a few moments, she looked Anne in the eyes and asked her a question, even though she already knew the answer.

"So what do you want me to do?"

Anne tilted her head, and waited a few seconds before answering to act like she truly didn't expect Marie to ask this.

"I'd like you to visit your grandmother tomorrow, and ask her why she chose to give the house to you. Help her realize her mistake, tell her I need and deserve this inheritance more than anyone. You have no use for an old house, Marie. Please, do this for your mother." the woman's voice was pleading, yet stable; her gaze strong, yet pathetic.

Marie could feel her heart crumbling in her chest. She felt again like a little girl, when her mother would tell her to ask the neighbors for money. Saying not to leave until they gave her something. When she would cry at people's doors, not to convince them to give her money but because she wanted, oh so badly, to go home.

Finally, biting her lip to keep back her frustrated tears, Marie walked out of the room without another word.