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Iwake up in the morning and there's a knock at the door shortly afterwards.
"Come in."
"Morning Miss Orla." It's the first time that I hear the maid speak. "My name is Lydia. The master of the house has asked you to join him on the patio for breakfast if you'd like." She smiles, and it's the warmest smile I've known in months.
"Of course, please tell him I'll be down in a few minutes. I just need to get dressed." I say. She nods and turns to leave. "Lydia."
"Yes, Miss."
"Please, call me Orla."
CHAPTER 21
Kase
Iwait in the solarium for Orla to join me for breakfast. It's the part of the house that's far from where I killed Alex. I'm still plagued by questions and musings about us what was real and what wasn't. It will take me a while to figure out and for now I need to focus on making amends to the woman upstairs. No matter what I've been through or who I've lost, the only actual victim here is Orla. A complete innocent, subjected to the horrors of our depravity and her only crime is being the daughter of a man who took responsibility for something that wasn't his fault.
He's old school Joe, and he raised a wonderful daughter. I can at hope it helps mend their relationship by being open about what went down with her dad and the arrangement. Her mom's role; her relationship with her mother might not be salvageable and she may never trust me again. There's still hope for her and her father. Maybe it's because I don't have the chance to be with my dad again or maybe it's simply just the right thing to do. I don't know, but I have to try. I know forgiveness may not be on the cards, but redemption might be up for grabs. That's what I'm hoping at least. She can't remember me as a monster.
She comes down after a few minutes and we wait for breakfast to be brought in so I can I apologize to her because I didn't ask what she wanted by leaving the normal order, which was Alex's favorite.
"Don't worry about it." She says.
"Thanks."
'Listen, about your family..." I start and she looks down. "I think you need to know what happened."
She waves her hand.
"That's not necessary, really." She protests.
"Ok. How about you? Let me tell you what went down, and you decide what you want to do with that information." I offer.
She nods, but I can see she's still conflicted.
"When I thought that your father was responsible for my father being murdered; he tried everything, offered me anything I wanted to make up for it. He took responsibility for what happened to my dad because he believed that when he walked out of the meeting that night, it set the Russians off and they killed my father." I pause to see if she's taking any of this in. The chef brings in our food and I wait until he's done before I continue. She takes a sip of orange juice. "Anyway, I rejected every offer he made because I was hurt and lashing out but I wanted him to suffer. I didn't know that he already was. I saw your photo on the mantel behind him at one of our meetings, and that's when the idea was formed. It's obvious he loves you deeply. He lights up at the mere mention of your name. He rejected the offer. It was your mother who wore him down and convinced him to make you do it."
She sits quietly for a while and moves her food around the plate. She spears a mushroom and plops it into her mouth.
"That tracks." She smiles and shakes her head.
"It does?" I ask, confused.
"Yes. It's complicated and the subject of ongoing therapy. This should ensure that I'm on that couch until I'm 85." She laughs.
"I'm sorry."
"No need. It's just the way it is."
"It's hard to wrap your head around it." I say, finally diving into my breakfast.
"Maybe for a person who had normal and only mildly disappointing parents. Not a mother who is overly critical and sees you as competition for her husband's affection." She says. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Sure. What do you want to talk about?" I don't look up from my eggs.
"You still haven't told me about what happened that night and how Alex fits into the picture?"
"Wow. You don't beat about the bush, do you? Ok. Here goes."
