Chapter Fourteen

The Clemonte family stood by the doorway, saying goodbye to each other with the exception of aunt Florence who was sick in bed, and was expecting her doctor to arrive and diagnose her.

Ophelia pulled her little brother into a tight hug, ruffling his hair when she pulled away. “Listen to dad and have fun okay?”

William nodded back, a huge grin plastered across his face. He wore his favorite sweater, and his favorite shoes; the ones with the dinosaurs on them. He was obviously excited and hyped up about the trip. In his view, it was a big adventure.

“Dad, can I please talk to you?” Ophelia asked, urging Will to enter the car, where Sam was sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting to drive them to the airport.

He didn’t have breakfast and was in a bit of sour mood, so he kept his eyes ahead, his jaw clenched, impatiently waiting for their father and Ophelia to finish their goodbyes. He kept revving the engine.

“Please keep yourself and Will safe. And I think Sam is on the verge of a depressive episode. Go easy on him, you know how he is on bad days.” Ophelia said, pulling her father into a hug, and patting his back.

“I will.” He assured, ruffling her hair. “I would’ve wanted you to drive me, but you need to take care of affairs here. The doctor will be here thirty minutes or so. Pop in to check on Florence will you?”

Sam sounded the horn, glaring at his father and motioning for him to get in the car. Will had settled in the back seat, his seatbelt clicked into place, focused on solving a Rubik’s cube.

David rolled his eyes, and Ophelia gave him a sympathetic look. They said goodbye once more and David moved into the front passenger seat of the car.

Ophelia watched until the car pulled out of the driveway, through the gate and disappeared out of her sight. She kept waving at them until they were completely out of sight.

She sighed, pulling the blue sweater around her tighter; against the cold August morning and light fog, and jogged back into the house. She didn’t have any plans for the day, and felt too scared to finish the cleaning and redecorating project she had embarked upon in the music room. The tiredness still hadn’t worn off, and she wanted to snuggle back into bed, but decided to brew a mug of coffee instead.

Mug in hand, Ophelia made her way to aunt Florence room, which was on the west side of the mansion, two rooms away from the door that led to a storage room and the downstairs basement. The location of the room felt gloomy and secluded from the rest of the mansion and she passively pondered on why her aunt had chosen that particular room.

There were many empty rooms in the mansion; ones that were closer to each other and weren’t as secluded as this one. Why didn’t she move into one? It was just another question to add to her already growing collection… and add to their aunt’s creepiness.

Maybe aunt Florence liked her privacy, she reasoned.

Ophelia knocked twice, and when she heard the muffled sound of her aunt telling her to enter, pushed the door open.

The room smelled of excess menthol, and was very hot. The furniture was vintage –exact replicas of the ones Ophelia had banished from her room to the storage. Except for the new chandelier and absence of the brown rug, everything else looked exactly like Ophelia’s room had looked like before she redecorated the space; gloomy, old-fashioned, and boring.

Florence lay in bed, the sheets dragged up to her chin.

When Ophelia came close enough, she noticed the little beads of sweat that coated her aunt’s forehead, like transparent little pimples. “How are you feeling auntie?” she asked with concern, gingerly taking a seat at the edge of the bed being careful not to move too much. She knew from experience that when you’re having a fever or headache and someone plops on the bed, the movement worsens the pain.

“I’ve never been better… like my head is being torn apart with a scythe.” Florence murmured, lowering the covers down to her chest. “Doctor Isaac is still not here?” she asked.

“No, not yet. Would you like something?”

“A cup of water please.” She replied, trying to sit up.

Ophelia propped pillows behind her carefully, and helped her sit up and rest her back on them. “Have you taken any pills yet?” she inquired, looking carefully at the ghostly face of Florence which seemed hollow and in pain.

“From yester night to today, I have taken Advil three times. The medicines have stopped working.” She wheezed out, her face contorting in pain as she tried to rest her head on the bedframe.

Ophelia nodded, quickly leaving the room. She returned shortly with a bottle of water, and helped her aunt take a sip of it.

“Do you get the headaches often?” Ophelia asked, setting down the half empty bottle on aunt Florence’s nightstand, which was spotless.

“They started two months ago…”

A knock sounded at the front door.

“That would be the doctor. Let him in.” Florence said, but Ophelia was already on her feet, halfway to the door.

Seeing aunt Florence weak and sick made her scared. She liked the strict Florence better; the Florence that appears behind her like a ghost, the Florence that scowls every time that someone was liable to break the rules, the Florence that was creepy, but strong… not this sick and struggling woman that looked like she was slowly being drained of her life source. She could vaguely remember her grandmother struggling with headaches, and she wondered if it was a disease her aunt had inherited from their grandmother.

Ophelia discarded her old blue sweater on the nearest couch, and smoothed down her hair, quickly crossing over and swinging the front door open.

A middle aged man probably a few years younger than her father smiled at her. His bronze skin gleamed in the rising sunlight, his friendly and easy smile showing rows of perfect white teeth.

A vague sense of recognition flashed in Ophelia’s mind. She felt she had seen the man somewhere, or maybe a picture of him, but couldn’t fit his looks to a particular time, place, or name.

“Doctor Isaac?” she asked meekly.

“That’s me. You must be Florence’s niece. Nice to meet you.” He replied, extending out his hand and giving her a firm handshake. He politely waited for her to invite him in.

Ophelia stared back at the doctor, trying to remember where she had met him, until she realized she hadn’t invited him in, and aunt Florence was in her room waiting to be diagnosed and treated.

“Please, come in.” she said, a little bit embarrassed, opening the door wider ajar and stepping aside to let him in.

“Ah, thought you’d never ask. Where is she?” he kept his smile, pushing his black rimmed glasses further up on his nose and stepping into the house.

“In her room… Three rooms down the west wing.” She directed, distracted by the two people that were stepping out of the brown rusty rundown Vectra.

The doctor made his way into the house, already familiar with the space.

A curvy fun-sized teenage girl skipped to the front door, her black curly hair which was styled into two pigtails bouncing along with her steps. When she got closer, Ophelia noticed the features that resembled the doctor’s and immediately concluded she was his daughter.

“Hi. I’m Andrea!” she beamed, giving Ophelia a wide grin as if she was being reunited with a long lost best friend.

“Ophelia…” She replied, thrusting out her hand for a handshake.

Andrea ignored the hand and pulled Ophelia into a bear hug, crushing her tightly. She giggled, and let go, bopping Ophelia’s nose and skipping past her into the house, yelling “Flo, where are you? I’m here to save you” as she made her way deeper into the house, towards aunt Florence’s room.

“I knew it. You didn’t look like an Adele to me.”

Ophelia took in a sharp breath, her eyes settling on the guy that was now standing by the doorway, looking down at her with a lopsided smile. She instantly realized why the doctor looked so familiar to her. His son was a striking resemblance of what he would look like if he was twenty years younger.

“I’m an Adele at heart.” She whispered, still surprised at what a coincidence it was that the boy she had met at the coffee shop was now standing on her doorstep as the son of the doctor who treats her aunt.

He threw his head back and laughed, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and his shiny black afro flopping back, exposing his forehead for a spilt second. “Well, I’m Fidel. But you already know that…”

Yes, Ophelia decided. Fate had funny ways of showing people that they weren’t in charge of their lives.

Or their feelings…