After breakfast she hid out in the bedroom while Claire went downstairs with Søren. The wake would last all day and the funeral and burial would take place tomorrow morning. She’d packed books and homework to occupy her while all the family stuff happened.
“Let no one in the door,” Søren ordered, “except for—”
“Except for you and Claire. I know, I know. Am I going to get raped in the night if I leave the door unlocked?”
Søren had given her the most earnest of stares as Claire tucked herself under his arm and rested her head on his chest.
“You wouldn’t be the first person that has happened to in this house.”
Eleanor locked the door.
At about two in the afternoon, Claire returned to the bedroom carrying a plate of food for her. At six in the evening she brought another plate.
“Are you trying to get me fat, or are you looking for an excuse to get out of there?” Eleanor asked as she dived into her food.
“Mostly the second one. I hate stuff like this. I’m supposed to be sad and miserable. I’m not that good of an actress.”
“No offense, but why aren’t you sad? I mean, your dad died.” Eleanor hoped she didn’t sound judgmental. She wouldn’t be all that sad if her own father died.
Claire threw herself down on the couch next to Eleanor.
“I barely knew him. I’m glad I barely knew him.”
“Was he that bad?”
Claire sighed and grabbed a strawberry off Eleanor’s plate. Eleanor pretended to stab her hand with the fork.
“You want to know how bad he was?” Claire asked.
“Probably not, but tell me anyway.”
“Frater won’t tell me much, so I got all this from Mom.”
“Wait, stop right there. Explain the Frater thing to me.”
“It’s Latin for brother. Soror is Latin for sister. That’s what he and I call each other—Frater and Soror. He says he hates the name Marcus.”
“That was your dad’s name?”
“Right. And this is why he hates the name, and this is why I’m not sad my father’s dead.”
Claire took a deep breath, kicked off her black ballet flats and curled up against the back of the couch.
“My father is … was a very bad person. My mom says he abused Elizabeth when she was a little girl.”
“He hit her?”
“Worse.”
Eleanor’s heart stopped beating for a few seconds.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Elizabeth’s mom and my father got divorced over that. They got married in the sixties, divorced in the seventies. Everyone kept stuff like that a secret. Then he met my mom and married her. They had me. Elizabeth found out from her mom that our father had gotten remarried and had me. She didn’t know what to do so she wrote a letter to Frater.”
“What did he do?” Eleanor was careful to not call Søren “Søren.” Apparently Claire didn’t know his real name. Interesting that Søren thought her more worthy of knowing his real name than his own baby sister.
“This is what Mom told me. She said it was late November. I was three years old. My father was gone on one of his business trips. Mom said the doorbell rang one afternoon and she answered it. And standing on the front porch was, and these are her words, ‘a blond angel.’”
“A blond angel?”
“That’s what she said. He introduced himself as the son of her husband, which was a huge shock since she didn’t even know my father had a son. He told her that she didn’t have to let him in the house. He only wanted five minutes of her time.”
“What happened?”
“Ten minutes later, Mom was packing our stuff, calling her parents and getting us out of the house—this house. My ‘blond angel’ brother told my mom she’d married a child-raping monster and if she loved her daughter she would never let her spend a single second in their father’s company ever again. He had a friend with him, my mom said.”
“A friend? Who?”
“Some French guy about his age. They both helped her carry the stuff to Mom’s car. She said she offered to let him hold his baby sister. Me, that is. He said he didn’t know anything about children and was worried he’d hurt me. Apparently his friend held me instead while she packed up the car. He said he liked kids. Now I make Frater hug me all the time to make up for that day he wouldn’t do it.”
“That is crazy.” So a teenage Kingsley had gone with Søren to his father’s house. She couldn’t imagine Kingsley holding a kid. “So your brother left school to warn your mom about who she’d married?”