"Come ta join me?" Julian asked, taking deep breaths. He smiled, but his eyes didn't connect with what he was saying.
Frances stared, her lips tight and her teeth cutting through her tongue.
"What're you doin' here then?" His slippery voice slurred the words together.
"Wha—what am I doing down here?" Frances scoffed. "The better question is: What are you doing drinking in the middle of the night? Your children are sleeping only a few feet away!"
He didn't respond.
She shook her head slowly. "Have you no sense of propriety?"
He blinked quickly and lowered his gaze down to her nightgown. He raised his brows and pursed his lips. She pulled her housecoat around her chest.
She stepped around the kitchen table and pulled the bottle of whiskey from his grasp. Her hands shook and the drink sloshed around inside the glass. For a moment she dismissed it as fright; Julian's eyes had never seemed so unfocused. But then she felt her cheeks burning and her jaw locked tight.
She was angry. Her entire body was on fire and her brain pressed against her skull. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this upset. She took a deep breath.
"Give that back." Julian lunged for the bottle but Frances pulled it away. His face darkened and he stepped right up to her. He looked down at her, his jaw shadowed with unshaved scruff and his hair mussed up as if he had just woken up. Frances' anger subsided, and discomfort took its place.
"I think—" Her voice squeaked and she cleared her throat. "I think you've had enough for tonight."
She turned into the parlor before her feet froze to the floorboards under his icy gaze. "Or week, month, year..." she added under her breath.
His footsteps stumbled after her. And a crash promptly rang out.
She turned around to find him scrambling back to his unsteady feet.
"I'm fine 'n my legs," he said, using a side table to pull himself up. "My legs're'nt drunk."
He stumbled forward again. "You've got ta give me that." He slurred, nearly throwing himself at Frances.
She braced herself, but he hit the center table, cursing.
She clutched the bottle to her chest. Was she doing the right thing? "I don't think so, Julian."
"I—I—I need that." His hands shook, as if someone had opened a window mid-winter.
Frances tightened her fingers around the bottle's neck. She shook her head and leaned back.
His eyes grew wide with fright and for a second, Frances thought he'd wrestle it away from her.
"Please," he said through gritted teeth as she stepped closer to her. "Give. It. Back"
Frances winced and took a step back. She could nearly feel the anger emanating from him. What had she been thinking? Confronting a drunk man?
He closed his eyes and lifted his hands towards her. "Fra—Fran—, listen to me."
She didn't move a muscle.
"I need that. Or it comes back."
She paused. "What does?"
He glanced up at her and, for a split second, she could almost see his mind tinkering away behind his eyes.
"Nightmares."
"What nightmares?"
"At night."
Frances carefully pulled the bottle behind her back. "Julian...what nightmares?"
"My wife."
"Helena."
He nodded and his eyes fell to the floor between them. "She's gone."
"Oh, Julian..." Frances put the bottle down on the windowsill and grabbed his arm, leading him to the sofa. "Sit."
He sat and took a deep breath. "What'm I gonna do?"
Frances sat beside him, keeping a few feet between them. "You don't have to do anything. Not right now."
"What'll I do with Winnie?"
He jumped to his feet, swaying for a few seconds. "What'll I do with all of them?" His eyes widened and he shook his head slowly. "Where will they go?" He whispered.
He staggered forward towards the fire, bracing himself against the mantle. His face gleamed in the light of the fire.
Frances followed him and nudged him away from the flames. She grabbed a nearby bucket of water and put out the fire. It hissed and smoke billowed into the room. She coughed into her elbow and steered Julian away from the ash cloud. She waved the air in front of her and Julian pulled away .
"Jul—" But he didn't go far. He paced the room as if trying to find a door to escape through. Frances knew that he couldn't escape from his thoughts.
"The children, Frances. What'll happen to them?" He yanked his fingers through his mess of hair. His leg shook impatiently, the heel of his untied boot tapping against the floor.
Frances rubbed her eyes; it was far too late to have any sort of conversation. "Julian..." She took a deep breath and grabbed his arm. She gently tugged him towards the staircase. "You need to go to bed. You need to sleep all this—" she glanced at the empty bottles on the table. "—off."
Julian's eyes narrowed, twisting his body to face Frances. She backed up, her back bumping against the wall. Her hands pressed against the wallpaper. She felt a rip, the ripple of the edge soft against her tense fingers. "Julian—"
"What will I do, Frances?" His eyes were locked on the wall above Frances' head, but his voice was surprisingly steady.
Frances swallowed hard. "You'll do what you've been doing this whole time."
"What's that?" His voice shook. His eyes darted down to Frances' face.
"Being a loving father. The children may lose their mother, but that only means that they'll need their father even more. A father who is always there..." She tried to smile reassuringly. "Especially at night, when a bottle seems more urg—"
Warm lips swallowed up her words. He tasted oaky, as if he had swallowed an entire forest of golden leaves. His fingers laced around her neck and pulled her close. She didn't resist. She couldn't. Her hands reached up to his face and cradled his scruffy cheeks. His arms dropped down her shoulders and wrapped around her waist.
Everything had stopped. The world. Time. Everything. Pinned between the cool wall and the heat of Julian's chest, Frances could barely tell if she was still standing or if he was holding her up.
A bright light flashed behind her closed eyes. It slowly morphed into the figure of a beautiful woman: long chestnut hair, pale skin, flushed cheeks, sitting up in a bed...
With a gasp, Frances pulled away, slipping out under Julian's arms. She stood on the second step, her eyes burning at the sight of him, her lungs desperate for air. Her legs and arms tingled.
He didn't say anything, but just watched her, his eyes glimmering in the nearly black room.
She turned and raced up the stairs. She didn't even care if she woke up the children; her bedroom door slammed behind her. She leaned against it, catching her breath, willing her heart to start up again.
What had she done?
Tears pricked at her eyes. They still stung from the smoke. A dry sob croaked out of her throat. She couldn't stop the ones that followed. Tears blurred her sight as she crawled into her bed. The cool white sheets felt like ice against her burning skin.
What have I done?
She had been so determined. So determined not to let the Fellowes family in. Not to let herself into the family.
What have I done? She cared about the Fellowes family, that much was clear. But this? This was destructive. She was pouring salt into the fatal wound of this dying family.
She couldn't be the one to pull the trigger. This family had enough problems without her adding to them. She wouldn't be the one to drop a matchstick in this house of straw.
It was time to leave.
***
She barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, Helena would appear, crying and begging her to stop. By the time the sky had turned pink, she completely gave up. Instead, she forced herself out of her bed and to her dresser.
She inspected her face in the small hand mirror she had brought with her. It had been her older sister's, before she had gotten married, and was encrusted with small crystals all around the border. Some had already gone missing; the empty holes now caves of sharp metal.
Her face wasn't much better off. Her eyes were swollen from tears and her pale skin accentuated the dark circles below. She looked like death incarnate. She washed her face and pinched her cheeks for a bit of color. Brushing out her braid, she re-tied it in a knot at the base of her neck. Already though, strands were flying out around her face. She tucked them behind her ears, but moments later she felt them tickle her neck.
She slipped out of her nightgown and housecoat, tearstains dotting the collars. She stood in the middle of her room, with only her undergarments on, the open window letting in the nippy morning air. She closed her eyes and the memory of the night before played out behind her eyelids. The shame and disappointment flooded back.
The cold only accentuated the heat that burned through her face and settled in her chest. She quickly dressed, choosing an old blouse and green skirt.
She quickly peeked into Helena's room When she walked downstairs, Julian was already up, sitting at the kitchen table, his back to her. He didn't acknowledge her presence. Just over his shoulder, she could see the bottle of whiskey that had caused so many problems the night before. The line hadn't lowered and his breathing was steady and deep.
"Julian?"
He raised his head but didn't turn around.
Frances stepped closer. "Are you alright?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm fine."
She walked around him and took a seat the table, facing him. His arms were crossed on the table, his eyes staring dazedly at the bottle. She folded her hands on her lap and leaned back in the chair. The wooden rungs dug into her back. She pressed harder; the discomfort helped.
"I went to see Helena before coming down."
His eyes focused and his jaw tightened.
Frances tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't think she'll last past the week."
Julian nodded. "We knew it was coming."
"Julian."
He looked up and locked eyes with her.
"Hmm?"
"As soon as Helena is gone, I'll be leaving."
He didn't move. His face didn't even twitch.
"I'll be going back home. For good."
He cleared his throat again and sat up straight. He rubbed his face. "Please don't feel as if you have to leave because of what happened last night."
Frances pressed her lips together. There had been a small part of her that had thought he wouldn't remember.
He continued. "It was a mistake. I wasn't aware of myself. It will never happen again. I'm sorry."
Frances smiled sadly and looked down at the table. "That's very kind of you, Julian, but I can't stay." She traced a dark knot of wood with her finger. "You might not have been fully in your senses, but I was. I wasn't intoxicated. It wasn't an accident for me."
His eyes lay heavy on her. She could imagine the stinging drops of his judgment raining down on her. There wasn't a single part of her that didn't throb with her heartbeat, dis-grace, dis-grace.
Julian didn't say anything. Frances couldn't bear the silence. She stood up and quickly walked out. His chair scraped against the floor as he turned to watch her.
Dis-grace, dis-grace...