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Eve is at work when she gets the phone call; Jean rarely calls first, so she knows it must be urgent. Something must have happened in Labyrinthia. Jean is still living in Father’s cottage, her property after his death and the re-settling of Labyrinthia’s residents into legal existence.
Eve had asked her once if she ever wanted to move out.
But Jean had said no, and said someone needed to tend to the garden. A garden could be anywhere, Eve had argued, but...well, despite it all, Jean carried Father’s heart better than Eve herself, and was determined to continue looking into other medicinal uses of the flowers that once produced the Story's ink, the mechanism by which Eve had once kept a town brainwashed. And she had left Labyrinthia, for a bit, pursuing medical studies to open a clinic on the island.
Eve, for her part, knows about not letting go. Her and Espella still live in that town by the sea, a short boat ride away from Labyrinthia. She took off her gauntlets over a decade ago, but it still feels like she leaves nothing but claw marks behind. She might work overseas, mostly, but it’s still her home, there.
She picks up the phone. “Jean?”
“Eve,” she says, “I have some important news for you.”
Arthur Cantabella is dead.
The phone nearly breaks when it falls out of her hand.
Eve, for her part, spent much of her youth wishing the Cantabellas dead. If she told herself at 16 that she would marry Espella in the future, her past self would likely ask first about marrying a woman before it sank in that she meant Espella Cantabella and she’d ask herself what she’d been thinking.
She'd been quite repressed in the past.
But with the news of Arthur’s passing — after a few tumultuous decades between the two of them — Eve can't bring herself to feel a thing.
Jean had called Espella first; it was likely a death from natural causes, they’d all been aware of how he had been getting older; authorities had also been notified, as a formality, but Labyrinthia’s police force is comprised largely of a fraction of the former Vigilantes and so Jean had conducted her own study of the body; his live-in housekeeper had found the body. Eve processes all this information. She understands it.
There's nothing more than a chasm in her at the information. She can't feel happy about it — but any grief she feels is distant, out of reach. She’s not going to cry for him. She doesn’t feel vindicated, either. She’s not twenty years old, plotting a betrayal. She’s thirty-two, and she’s old enough to be tired just thinking about what she’d almost done.
Arthur was not a good man. Over the last decade or so, he had been attempting to do better, but he had certainly stumbled along the way.
She can’t talk to Espella about it, not truly. Eve tried her best to let bygones be bygones, and more distant from her own adolescence she doesn’t feel consumed by the same anger, but, well…
She doesn’t let go of things easily. And closer to the end, her anger had turned from being over her lost adolescence (which, really, it wasn’t all that) and more towards his refusal to acknowledge her relationship with Espella. He hadn’t taken the news of their engagement well; even learning the reason hadn’t quelled her anger. He hadn’t treated them as wives, when he saw them again. He hadn’t tried to stop them, but he wasn’t there for Espella at the wedding.
It would be easier if he had been angry at her, as well. But, well, wasn’t that the whole point? That he never truly cared about her?
She has never been the kind of person to celebrate someone’s death when she didn’t care for them. She won’t do that now.. But she won’t grieve, either, not when he had been willing to offer her up as a lamb to the slaughter.
It’s just…empty.
And if there is one thing she is certain of, it is that Espella will need her. Espella will need her to be the rock to lean against, the light in the darkness.
Eve has gotten better at it, these days.
Being able to take the train from Paris to London is convenient, generally. Eve has to chart a path from where she's currently working back to the town they live in and the train makes it easier. But London is still quite a way from their home. She’d only taken the job overseas after they got married and things were more secure. She had thought, maybe, that something like this would happen.
It didn’t make her precognisant enough to see it coming. She’s not truly magic, and she isn’t some psychic like Maya Fey, either. She’s just another ordinary human, and she’s grateful for that.
Eve arrives home the day after hearing the news to find Espella sleeping on the couch, using her blazer as a blanket.
At least, by the look of things, it seems like she’s only just gotten home from work, not that she hadn’t even been able to change her clothes.
Eve lets out a sigh and sets about making dinner. From the look of things, it does look like Espella has maintained taking care of herself. She’s faring well, mentally. But it’s still better that Eve is here to support her, to handle the minutiae of settling the will, the funeral, things like that which will be easier with objectivity.
Espella, haltingly, still sleepy, stumbles into the kitchen as Eve is plating their food.
“Welcome home,” she says, smiling slightly. This is real.
“How are you feeling?” Eve asks.
“I’m…” Espella looks aside. “I don’t know. I'm still sorting myself out, for that matter. I’ve been able to put things aside and go to work, but…”
“You’ve been sleeping a lot, haven’t you?” Eve asks. Espella shuts down when facing things that are difficult to face. Knowing that doesn’t stop it from happening. Napping more often is better than denial, and neither of them are children anymore.
“I have,” Espella confirms. “But…I would have been alright. You could have waited until the weekend to come back.”
“I wanted to be here,” Eve says. “It’s not a burden to me to come back.”
“I’m glad, then,” she answers. She takes one of the bowls from Eve, and makes her way to the table. Eve grabs utensils for them both, and they enjoy their dinner together.
In the morning, Eve sees Espella out the door to work (“Work is helping,” Espella says. “If I was at home I’d just sleep all day.”) and then takes out their little motorboat to Labyrinthia. It’s a bit of a tourist destination during some parts of the year; nowadays, they’ve brought back the annual autumn festival, though without the fire.
She remembers the last time she came, for Christmas. It was alright then, as well.
All the modernization efforts mean that there is a paved road to where Arthur lived before his death, but she indulges herself in a bit of nostalgia, walking over to Jean’s cottage instead, where she’d looked after Eve’s horse until its death, and the new horse in turn. It’s not a gift freely given; Eve covers all expenses related to its upkeep.
When she rides, she remembers what it was like in those brief moments of freedom. It had been euphoric, more euphoric than true freedom typically is — true freedom requires hard work to maintain it, and that work is not always so happy. Eve can’t be blamed for missing those few instances of happiness, amid the bleakness of her youth.
Arthur’s caretaker answers the door when she rings the bell, a woman by the name of May Bellflower.
“Espella couldn’t make it?”
Eve shakes her head. “She didn’t want to come. I certainly don’t blame her for not wanting to handle all of this.”
“I’ve contacted Labrelum’s lawyers for his will,” May says, “as well as a funeral home on the mainland.”
“Do you know what his will said about what he wished for us to do with his body?” Eve asks.
“He asked to be cremated, and for his ashes to be scattered by the bell tower.”
Perhaps it’s a form of penance. Her father is buried on the island, with the help of a few Shades, because Eve had refused to let go, in some ways, but also because he had asked to be buried. It seems Arthur, perhaps, had a change of heart upon realizing his sins.
“I…see.”
She’s not sure Espella will be capable of doing it.
“I’m sure Labrelum’s lawyers are going over Mr Cantabella’s will right now,” May says. “While he did take a step back in the company’s operations…”
“He still owns a large portion of shares,” Eve says. “I’m well aware of that, May. I’m certain I’ll be discussing those terms with Labrelum’s lawyers as well soon.” She’s surprised they haven’t called her yet, if she’s being honest. She’s never known them to waste time — though she is also aware that her name still floats around Labrelum’s offices a bit as a spectre of sorts. “I’d like to talk about you, actually. Firstly, I want to thank you for taking care of Arthur.” She’s certain that in another life it would have been her instead, and she would have hated it.
“It’s just my job, Mrs Belduke.”
“Secondly,” Eve says, “for obvious reasons, you don’t have much of a job left to do. As per your contract, we will be providing severance pay, but…you will have to find other lodgings.”
“Right,” May says. “Don’t worry about that too much. I’ve got that covered. Shall I pass on the contact info for the crematorium?”
“Certainly,” Eve answers.
When she guides her horse back to his stall, she spots Jean tending to the plants she’s growing.
“Hello, Eve,” Jean says. “I take it you’re here because of the news.”
“I am,” Eve answers. “Word travels quickly here.”
“Not truly,” Jean answers. “I’ve been preventing the spread of said news. It’s still a small town, and I doubt anyone is truly prepared for the press to start bearing down on things — potentially uncovering the project, as well.”
“Right,” Eve says. It is something she’ll have to deal with at some point. Her and Espella have largely managed to avoid dealing with publicity — Espella has always lived in privacy, thanks to being in Labyrinthia, and while Eve’s dealt with public relations before, she had never been at the forefront of that. She was just responsible for dealing with occasional affairs in Labyrinthia. “I’ll have to discuss issuing a statement as well, I suppose.”
“How…is Espella?”
“Espella’s been doing well,” Eve answers. “I had prepared for the worst when I came home — I’m glad she’s held up. I thought she might regress with circumstances like these, but I’m grateful the techniques she’s learned have stuck with her. And I think it helps that this time it was natural.”
“In that case, I’m glad too.” Jean looks around. “If…if I could ask.”
“What is it?”
“What did you do with your father’s body?”
“I think it’d be simpler to show you,” Eve says. “It’ll be easier to make the journey on horseback — the location is…off the beaten path, you could say.”
“Oh,” Jean says. “Really?”
“Well, I had an autopsy conducted first,” Eve says. “It was under suspicious circumstances and believed to be murder, even if the method was certainly not actual witchcraft. So I got an autopsy done in secret, and they told me it was poison, that the bruises around his neck were made postmortem.”
“So you knew, then.” Her voice is solid and cold. “You never told me you knew.”
“Does it bother you?” Eve asks. “You came to know, as well, that you never killed him. Me telling you this wouldn’t have changed a thing. I was no one to you, and I was supposed to be no one to him. And no one suspected you, either, because you were in the closet. I might have exposed the truth if it became necessary. But I needed a mystery more than I cared about your feelings at the time. And besides, if I had managed to take down Arthur my way, the truth would still have come out.” She feels foolish thinking about what exactly that would have entailed, the ways in which she wanted to hurt them. It all feels so distant now.
“I don’t know,” she answers. Reasonable, probably. “It was a long time ago. I have my closure now.”
“Well, if we’re digging up old graves…”
Eve comes to a stop. The grave lies at the top of a cliff, in an area relatively clear from trees and their roots. None of the Shades she’d asked to help her with the labour would remember having done it now. She is the only one who knows this place — she’d never told Arthur about it, a bit of more petty revenge, and Jean had never asked before.
She dismounts, and then aids Jean in dismounting.
“Here we are,” she says.
A bunch of marigolds are planted over the grave. It’s her primary marker for where it is, followed by the tower of stones she’s built for a headstone when she could have nothing else.
Jean kneels behind the headstone, careful not to disturb the marigolds where they grow. She whispers something solemnly. Eve avoids listening to her speak. It feels odd, mourning someone she didn’t come here to arrange the funeral of.
But, well. If there is an afterlife, perhaps the two of them will be reunited there. Eve won’t count on that, though. She’s never been a believer.
Jean stands up, looks out over the cliffs. “You picked a good spot. I think he would have enjoyed the view here.”
“I know this island better than anyone,” Eve says. What she doesn’t: I knew Father better than anyone. Of course, the woman next to her is the first proof of that. But she’s not a fool. A picturesque location like this would make a perfect final resting spot. Perhaps that’ll be in her will. Bury her alongside her father, who died doomed and hopeless. At least she’ll make it to old age. Ask Jean Greyerl, or perhaps she’ll find out the exact latitude and longitude of this place and put coordinates instead. Or perhaps “look for the marigold patch atop the island’s cliffs”, if the marigolds survive the next few decades. “I wanted a private spot. A place that only I would know about.”
“It’s an honour, then, to be here.”
Perhaps this should have happened a long time ago. Eve doesn’t know why it never did. Perhaps this death is rototilling old grief fresh again, even if the emotions are detached from Arthur Cantabella himself.
“If anyone else deserves it, it’s you,” Eve says. “It’s expected that there will be some kind of ceremony in commemoration of Arthur’s death. Would you like to attend the funeral?”
Jean purses her lips. If anyone can understand how Eve feels about Arthur, the ways in which he destroyed her life — Jean probably comes the closest. Forced to put on a mask that hid everything about them to others by a system that was fundamentally wrong. That got angry, and lashed out at the only gears turning the system they could. Eve would never even have thought of such a thing back at the end of Project Labyrinthia. She’d never given Jean much consideration.
“No,” she answers. “I offer my condolences to Espella, though.”
“I’ll be sure to pass them on.”
Eve goes back home after that. It’s good timing, as well, because her cell phone rings. She sighs and answers the call.
“Eve Belduke,” she says.
“Hello, Mrs Belduke. We’re contacting you regarding Arthur Cantabella’s death.”
Ah.
“I take it you work for Labrelum?” she asks.
“Yes. Preferably, we’d like for you and your wife to come to headquarters. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes,” Eve says. “We can arrange a meeting. I’ll talk to Espella. Expect an email tomorrow morning.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Oh,” says Espella, when Eve gives her the information she collected throughout the day. “I never knew Father would have wanted that. I…yes, I’m alright with doing that.”
“I’ll let you draft the invitations list for the funeral,” Eve says. She doesn’t know the other Cantabellas too well. Espella only has one living grandparent now, and she had been the one to walk Espella down the aisle at their wedding. Arthur had a brother, but Arthur cut himself off from his extended family during the project, and they’d never quite made the effort to reconnect. Espella knows her cousins, though, and she can ask if any of them wish to come. Eve probably knows some people from Labrelum that will want to come, as well — those associated most closely with Project Labyrinthia, the ones she’d acted as the middleman between. “I’ll likely have to add some of Arthur’s business associates, but you’ll have a better start of it than I would.”
“Speaking of his business…?”
“Labrelum called me earlier,” she says. “Legal wishes to schedule a meeting with us.”
“I can take the afternoon off in a couple days,” Espella says. “Did you…know anything he might have said?”
“I know the plans he made for his retirement,” Eve answers. “He still held a fair bit of power in the company, both symbolically and by being a major shareholder. I imagine we stand to inherit those shares, at the very least.” She taps her fingers on the table. “He never wished to involve you with Labrelum’s affairs. If he wanted to, he could have insisted that you study business. But he left power in the hands of someone he trusted in the company, and…I imagine the rest will likely fall to me.” She frowns.
Again — her relationship to Labrelum as a company is still mixed, mired in the fact that her experience with them took up so much of her life. She’d always been treated as the upstart nepo baby — the one who was in an unfair position of power that she didn’t deserve. None of them knew the whole truth about the situation that created Project Labyrinthia, or why she held such a central role in the project in the first place. Not many of those people still work for Labrelum — it’s been over a decade since then — but there are still some that remain at the company that remember who she was in her youth, and she still feels uneasy at the notion of having a hand in the company at all.
Labrelum is a fairly safe investment — it’s not as though medicine will ever grow unnecessary. So it would be unwise to sell everything. She’ll keep a couple stocks, a drop in the bucket of investment. Selling the rest shouldn’t be too bad, so long as she does it gradually.
Espella places a hand on Eve’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I am,” Eve says. “I’ve just been contemplating the logistics, still.”
“If it’s too much, if you feel stressed out…I’m here, too,” Espella says. “I think it’ll be…good once the funeral is over. Sometimes it almost doesn’t feel real.”
A wave of guilt washes over Eve. She’s been trying to keep Espella in mind, to check up on her, but — they haven’t really talked about it. Undoubtedly, Espella must have been devastated to receive the news. For all that Arthur screwed her up, they undoubtedly loved each other.
“I really am sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” Eve says. “If I could have teleported to your side, I would have been there in an instant.”
Espella smiles. “I know.”
“I…I know how I felt about Arthur. But you can still talk to me about him, if you want. I want you to.”
“Okay,” Espella says, “but not now.”
Espella rolls over in their bed. “I’m not sure we ever really managed to move on after the final spell was cast.”
“I did wonder why you moved out,” Eve says.
“It…was a bit of teenage rebellion,” Espella admits. “It felt suffocating to keep living in my childhood bedroom. I had to move out. It wasn’t really a falling out. We didn’t have a close enough relationship for something like that to take place. I’m not sure he ever truly recovered from how I…effectively left him. He was hiding so much from me, too.”
“So was I.”
“I know, but afterwards you made an effort to stop lying to me, and sort out the truth from the lies that I was told. And Father and I…he never made that effort with me. He was still the Storyteller. And then we moved out here, and it got easier to communicate. But then there was the debacle with the wedding…and I know he never fully believed me when it came to the two of us. And then we saw each other even less, and now…I regret that I didn’t try harder in the first place. I regret moving out with Aunt Patty. I…there’s so much time we could have spent together that we never got to, and I’ll never have that chance again.”
“Would it have changed anything?” Eve asks. “If you hadn’t moved in with Aunt Patty, she would never have developed her relationship with you, and that relationship was surprisingly critical to the end of Labyrinthia. And during that time, your relationship with him would always have been fraught, as he was hiding a great deal from you while trying to raise you as an ordinary civilian of Labyrinthia. And as for…our own relationship…he would always have held those views. It couldn’t have been truly prevented in that case, either.”
“I know,” she says. “I know in my head that everything happened the way it did for a reason, but I still feel as though I didn’t do enough as his daughter.”
“You don’t owe him a thing, Espella. Especially not now.”
“He’s gone,” she breathes. “I can’t do anything else now. I won’t be able to do anything else with him ever again. And I don’t remember any of the good times, either. Anything before the bell — it’s all a blur.”
Eve suddenly hates him all over again. She knows it’s unlikely that anyone would remember much before the age of six, but Arthur had made the choice to modify her memories with hypnosis instead of taking one of the many other options — options Espella now specializes in.
“I remember our mothers still,” Eve says. “I never paid much attention to Arthur back then.” She hadn’t paid much attention at all, until he came to her and said that he knew how to fix Espella. Back then, Eve had been desperate to have her best friend back. She never would’ve, under Arthur’s conditions. Maybe that had been the first crack — realising that she had been replaced in Espella’s eyes. “It’s alright that you can’t remember. I wouldn’t expect that from you, all things considered.”
“Every memory I have of him is complicated,” Espella says. “He…did everything for me. But it wasn’t just for me. It was because they had an idea, and it was an idea that would help me, but it was also something they could test. And that was what grew into the experiment.”
“I dealt with delivering the results,” Eve says. “I’m well aware of those aspects of the project.”
“You don’t have to hold back, you know,” Espella says. “If I’m being honest with my feelings, you should be honest with yours.”
Eve takes a deep breath. “Are you prepared to hear it?”
“I am,” Espella says. “As prepared as I’ll ever be, at least.”
“I’m glad he’s gone, for my sake. For yours, I recognise the impact he had on your life, and that you were bound to be left grieving as a result, and that was the main sadness I felt. You know I never quite managed to forgive him. I did try, for you. And we both know how that went.”
“Unfortunately,” Espella responds.
“It was quite stressful,” Eve says. “I started as the High Inquisitor when I was sixteen, when I appeared old enough to hold such a position. However, I was the Great Witch since the inception of Project Labyrinthia, so I was always critical to maintaining the illusion. I volunteered for it. Arthur told me back then that he had a way to help get you back, and he would need me to put it in place. But I…I was ten years old, and I didn’t know what I was getting into at the time. I jumped in without a second thought. And my father…perhaps he should have prevented it, stepped in to prevent my involvement. I don’t know what he was thinking, and I never will. Arthur was the one who encouraged my second persona, so that I would be able to be at his side without keeping our collaboration a secret. He was the one who divided myself, and he had a direct hand in my father’s suicide. I could never let that go. But I tried, because I knew you didn’t want us to be divided. And I know he forgave me for sabotaging the experiment and attempting to frame you as the Great Witch, but…your forgiveness was more important regarding those things, and I couldn’t forgive him for everything he did to me. His inability to properly accept our relationship was more so the last nail in the coffin, so to speak.”
“I…can’t believe you were holding all of that in,” Espella says.
“I never would have insulted Arthur to your face,” Eve says. “Of course, I’ve discussed some of these things with others.”
“I want to know it all,” Espella says. “Even the worst parts. Because I love you.”
“I love you too,” Eve says. “I’m always aware of how I hurt you. I try, every day, to avoid repeating my mistakes. Which is why I avoided discussing Arthur with you, as well.”
“I understand.” Espella strokes Eve’s cheek. “But I’m glad we talked abut this tonight.”
“I am as well,” Eve says. It feels like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.
She drifts off to sleep with a sense of relief.
Labrelum presents very few surprises. It’s easy enough to arrange everything — the stocks being sold to avoid causing a panic in the market abut Labrelum, other things like that. Eve extends an invitation to the funeral to the head of the legal department, who says he will be unable to make it.
So it’ll be just them, and whichever extended family members decide to come along.
Eve privately hopes it’ll be just the two of them, and she won’t have to deal with arrangements for everyone.
She thinks it’ll make it easier to put everything to rest, so long as she has the space to do it in her own way.
“It doesn’t seem like anyone else will be able to come,” Espella says. “I just heard from Belle, she recently had a child, so she won’t be able to come to Labyrinthia.”
“Congratulations to her, then,” Eve says. “I suppose it’ll be less of a funeral and more so a performance of his last rites, then.”
“I suppose,” Espella responds. “It’s…well, I think some of them were just looking for excuses, a bit. You know Father was…a bit controversial in the family.”
Eve will probably never forget the drama surrounding the wedding, even after the proposal had been rejected by Arthur. Some of them had some similar views, but they didn’t try t d any f the things that Arthur did. “Yes, I’m aware.”
“So it does make sense to me that none of them truly wish to come, but…it does still feel a bit sad to me.”
A little vindictive part of Eve says that he’s getting what he deserved — an isolationist, hateful man is getting the same sort of treatment in return. But…if Espella is the only one who will truly mourn Arthur, it likely doesn’t help Espella work through her own grief.
She unties the boat from the dock. Espella holds the container filled with Arthur’s ashes. Together, the two of them ride out to Labyrinthia, Eve driving the boat. She’s made this journey a great many times on her own — since they trusted her to learn to drive a boat for herself. It was a bit more freedom, an opportunity she treasured greatly.
Espella seems a bit queasy, though — she doesn’t take the boat as often as Eve, leaving the town they live in a lot less frequently than Eve does for her job.
“Are you alright?” Eve asks.
“I’m a bit seasick,” Espella confesses, “but I’ll be alright.”
“I have some anti-nausea medication, if you’re interested.” Eve reaches for the compartment that also contains the paperwork for the boat. “Here.”
Espella smiles. “Thank you, Eve.”
“Anytime,” Eve says. Anything, really, for Espella.
She’d contacted Boistrum some time ago — the Vigilantes, nowadays, are still primarily responsible for the preservation of the town square and the bell tower, though that mostly takes the form of event organization and coordination. Especially when it comes to the annual autumn festival.
At any rate, she’d contacted him asking if she could reserve the town square for the two of them for this time. After she’d said it was for the Storyteller’s funeral, it was simple enough to get the permissions.
But now, it’s just the two of them, here underneath the tower that doomed them the first time.
“Would you like to scatter them from the top of the tower?”
“Just the first level,” Espella says. And so the two of them climb up the stairs, Espella ascending first.
It’s still a good birds-eye view of the town. It looks very different than it had twelve years ago — or even different from the hazy memory she has of being here at eight years old.
Espella opens the container with the ashes.
“Well,” she says. “we’re here, Father. I hope you can find what you’re looking for here.”
She withdraws a handful and scatters them over the edge of the railing. Eve watches them drift to the ground. It’s certainly the least conventional form of snow she’s seen, and that includes the fake freezing spell she’d tried once. Afterwards, she’d replaced it with Goldor, since the preparations were much easier to make, and she’d removed the stone for Iceeze from distribution among Labyrinthia’s witches.
After the first handful falls, Eve grabs a second ne, and throws it as far off as she can. It doesn’t make it far, but the effort makes Espella laugh, and that’s what matters. Espella proceeds to tip the container on its side to dump the rest out instead of feeling around in the jar.
“Okay,” she says, once it’s all been emptied. “Shall we go?”
“Actually,” Eve says, “there’s one more thing I would like to show you.”
She takes them ut t her father’s grave. It is still an enjoyable ride — even more so for Espella at her back.
“I used to think I would die with the secret of this grave’s location,” Eve says. “But I showed Jean the last time I was here, and now I’m bringing you here, as well.”
“I’m not going to remember where this is,” Espella says. “I couldn’t take someone else here.”
“It’s alright.” Eve kneels by the patch of marigolds. “It isn’t because I want the world to know that it’s here. If I had, I would have used my money to commission a proper gravestone. But I didn’t. I wished for this place to remain a secret.”
“Because you were trying to be the only one who would truly mourn him,” Espella pints ut.
“I…yes, that’s true. I didn’t think anyone could understand,” Eve says. “But Jean could always understand. And now you can, as well.”
Espella brushes the bottom of the container and comes up with smears of ash on her hands. She brushes her hand on a stone, transferring the ash to it instead.
“I think Father would want to be with him,” Espella says.
Eve swallows the part of her that wants t rage. Espella means well, and— she is right. Eve had never wanted Arthur to know abut this place — it’s why she’d never professed to him what she’d done with her father’s body, no matter how hard he pressed. But Arthur is dead now, and there’s no real meaning to any of this. No such thing as an afterlife. It’s just over. He can’t harm her anymore — he won’t truly taint this space with a bit of the dust made from his remains.
“You’re right,” Eve says quietly. “I do think, in the end, they would have wanted to be together.”
“What do you think will happen when we die?” Espella dies, just as solemn.
“I don’t know,” Eve answers. She’s just been flying blind since she left Labyrinthia’s reconstruction/modernisation. In her mind, there had never really been a next after wrapping up her plan. She’d get her freedom, and she didn’t know what she would have done with that freedom. It hadn’t mattered to her back then.
It matters now. It certainly matters now. Imagining the future has always been difficult. She knows it’s been difficult fr Espella, too, to live with everything. But they move on.
“Let’s go home,” Espella says.
And they do. It’s as easy as that to walk away, to go back home, to not feel like she’s leaving something behind as she leaves.
It doesn’t quite feel over, though, somehow. She doesn’t know why. Nothing has really changed at all. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone. It doesn’t feel like he was here in the first place. And how fitting that is, in the grand scheme f things. He had such a large impact n her life — and nothing’s come of it now that he’s gone.
If she went back and told herself at 16 where she is now, her younger self would probably wonder how in the world the fact that Arthur was dead meant nothing to her. But there’s not anything — there’s not that once-consuming anger, there’s not any true sadness, and there’s not a lot of true happiness either. It doesn’t mean anything to her, beyond the legal arrangements, and what it has meant to Espella. It means nothing for her, at least. She’s grown beyond her hatred and her anger.
She can just move forward. It’s that simple. She doesn’t have to beat herself up in any way for not feeling the way other people think she should. She can just feel as she does, and not preoccupy herself with everything else.
“You’re going back to work?” Espella asks the next morning when she wakes up, voice slightly rough from sleep.
“I am,” Eve confirms, packing her bags again. “I’ll see you in December.”
“So long?” Espella asks.
“It’ll go by faster than you think,” Eve answers, placing her forehead against Espella’s. “I already know you’re strong. We’ll see each other again soon. Unless something else like this happens, but…I doubt there will be anything of this nature. At any rate, you can always call me if you need anything. And, of course…”
“Every weekend,” Espella says, with a smile. “I’ll be waiting by the phone.”
“I’ll call on Saturday,” Eve says. “See you soon.”
“Bye,” Espella says, a little smile still n her face.
Eve leaves their house, feeling lighter than ever. She drives to London and takes the train back across the channel to France. Her coworkers ask her how she has been, how she’s dealing with the death in her family, how her wife is.
She tells them that she’s doing alright, and so is her wife. And the funeral was small, but peaceful, and she feels as though she can let go now.
None of it is a lie, even as she knows the assumptions they’re probably making will never encompass the full truth. Arthur Cantabella was a man who had a great impact on Eve when she was younger, and an even greater impact on Espella’s life as a whole. But he’s gone now, and nothing has truly changed for her.
He has no more power over them.