It’s the fact that he always seems to be leavingme behind.
* * *
Oliver comes back once more only, to say goodbye and to remind me to take a walk. “If we hurry, I can help you dress—”
“No need. I’ll manage. Off you go.” I even summon up a warm smile as I send him off to this loathsomeworkplaceof his.
After that, the morning passes both slowly without him and painfully. I can’t work. I can barely think, my mind flicking from Arden Hall to Oliver to my heart and around again, so that the only thing I can hear is white noise, and the theme song for the film gets not a note further by noon.
Daniel comes in with a tray at half past, and I look up in surprise. “I didn’t call down,” I tell him.
“No, my lord. Oliver asked me to take this up to you at twelve-thirty. He organized it this morning before he left.”
I smile. It’s involuntary, and it seems to catch Daniel by surprise, the tray rattling slightly in his hands.
“Thank you,” I say quickly. “Just—set it down over there.”
After doing so, Daniel says nervously, “My lord?”
“Yes?”
“Oliver also asked me to remind you that you need to take a walk, if you haven’t already.” He says it quickly and quietly, with aDon’t shoot the messenger airto it.
And I haven’t, of course, taken the walk I promised to take. I did do my mandated hour in the gym, but I feel a sudden need for fresh air. “Thank you, Daniel,” I say again. “I’ll do that.”
The intense relief on his face makes me regret my past behaviors. Have I really been such a monster that the staff fears to even pass on a message? I should be ashamed of myself.
Zee was quite right in what she told me several weeks ago—this is supposed to befun.
“Daniel,” I say, as he turns to leave. He turns back with a poorly-concealed expression of dread.
“My lord?”
“You do a very fine job in this household. I’ve always thought so. I—I appreciate the service you’ve provided to me over the years.”
His mouth opens. After a moment, he stammers out, “Th-thank you, my lord.”
I give him a nod, and he scarpers from the room as though I might at any moment shed my skin and reveal a new nightmare beneath the mask.
I deserve it, though. I’m beginning to see that now, and I think about it further as I stroll around the grounds. I’ve projected my own pain onto others instead of dealing with it. Three wasted years sitting around feeling sorry for myself…
I give a frustrated grunt and make for the maze, an imaginary Oliver by my side. And then I stop dead.
An imaginary Oliverby my side.
Not one pace behind? Not showing physical deference to me?
No. By my side.
Oh, dear.
* * *
In the maze, I set about my usual route with a little added ducking of gauze and plastic bones sticking out here and there—and then I think better of it. Usually, of course, I take the long way. As though thatprovessomething about me, when all it proves is that I hate change. But if I am to move forward—if I am to survive—Idoneed to change.
I will need to accept my responsibilities toward Arden Hall. I will need to accept and incorporate idiotic critiques from the director and producers of this upcoming film franchise when they hear my theme song.
I will need to accept that Oliver has his own responsibilities, too. His ownlife.
