Carter's War - 25. Chapter 25

Marc leapt over a low handmade couch, grabbing from the bookshelf the shirt he had borrowed from Will's wardrobe with the crest on it. He loved the feel of the real cotton shirt as he slipped it on. He had only a few minutes to get ready before he was supposed to be picked up by Libbet, and he still had to wrestle with the green tie. He fumbled with it once or twice, till he closed his eyes and remembered the lesson in tie tying that his mother had given him all those years before. Over under, up through, down through, tie and pull... He opened his eyes and beamed, perfectly tied. As if there was ever any doubt. He slipped into the denim jacket, a beautiful blue colour only lightly distressed so that a touch of yellow appeared around the seams. He looked presentable; well, almost, his hair flatly refused to stay swept back, and it stuck roguishly from his head. He sighed in frustration as he wandered into his bedroom, grabbing a watch from the nightstand. Libbet's father would expect him to be on time.

The door rattled as she let herself in, and he took a moment to look at her. She was so graceful, so stylish, and so beautiful. What was she doing with an unemployed guy like him? Self-consciousness suddenly pulled down his natural high.

He fidgeted as he sat in the passenger seat of the Volkswagen, waiting for her to finish locking up the beach house. He felt uncomfortable, overdressed and beginning to get nervous. At least she looked beautiful, her hair pulled up to reveal her long graceful neck and accent her eyes.

He rubbed his forehead as he turned away from watching her and looking up the street squinting at the first flakes of snow falling. He was going to be playing happy couples, pretending everything was normal just to keep everyone happy. Except himself. And that was the heart of it, the lie.

When had he started to develop the headache? Some time after the realization had set in that he would have to attend the party. Libbet's father would be there, and there was something in the way he looked at Marc. His eyes filled with the hatred of a father towards his daughter's lover.

Marc plucked at the denim jacket wishing he owned a suit, but he had to admit he looked good--young, but good. He wore a mismatched tie that didn't quite sit under the collar of a shirt never designed to go with a tie in the first place. It was an awkward ensemble, and the flat dark green only clashed with the blue of the denim. Like his personality, conflicted.

She got into the car, and Marc swallowed tightly. "Can we stop at the store?" he asked feebly. "I'm gonna need cigarettes."

She sighed audibly, and for the first time Marc realized she was also tense. "Yeah, whatever," she said as she started the car and drove the short distance across to the convenience store.

He tensed again; she was angry with him and he wasn't sure what he had done. He was going to the party despite the fact that he didn't want to. He was putting her first again as he always did, being the dutiful boyfriend. Why exactly did he deserve the cold shoulder just because he wanted a packet of cigarettes to take the edge off?

He got out of the car and slammed the door without meaning to, mumbling a curse as it slammed shut, and looking up at Libbet who had affixed 'the look' onto her face. It was an expression that made men throughout the ages wince. It was the look that said pure and unadulterated hate.

He felt his shoulders sag in defeat as he followed her into her brother's store. He rubbed his head as he walked up to the counter and motioned to the wall of cigarette packages behind it.

"Belmont Regular."

Tyrone already had the pack in hand, looking over at his sister who was over at the magazine rack browsing the glossy covers. "Going somewhere, guys?" he asked cheerfully.

Libbet turned and smiled for the first time when she recognized her brother, "Dad's hosting a big party up at that house."

Tyrone's smile fell slightly as he punched the price of the cigarettes into the register, "Oh, cool."

Libbet walked over to stand beside Marc, ignoring him as she focused her attention on her brother, "You should come, Dad would probably be happy to see you."

"I doubt that," Tyrone said as he accepted Marc's money for the cigarettes. "I haven't been welcome there since..."

Libbet nodded sympathetically, "Yeah, I know, but when are you two going to sit down and talk about this? You can't hide in this store forever."

Tyrone closed the register a little too sharply, and he looked down at it in wonder. "Look," he said taking a deep breath, "I don't want to get into this here, go enjoy the party. Show your boyfriend off to your friends, I have to watch the store."

* * *

The snow drifted down upon the lake, forming a blanket on the vale that nestled around the old mansion. The grounds, covered in the snow, were a wintry place of wonder for the visitors who attended the party that night. Music could be heard from within the aged stones, a warmth that exuded from the merriment within. The party had been set up so that anyone who wished to attend had to walk up the gravelled driveway to the front doors, to be greeted by the house staff, their coats taken as they were shown into the great hall.

Even the stones of the old mansion seemed to sing of a glory long faded into history, of the passage of ages that came and went, passing around the stones like so many countless rain storms. The snow-coated Canadian flag flew proudly from its flagpole before the great house, defiantly streaming in the wind, announcing itself boldly to the elements that threatened it. The very house itself, moved from old Scotland itself and rebuilt there nearly a thousand miles from its birth place, stood as a testament to the resilience of a proud heritage, that also withstood the test of time.

Standing rigidly flanking the great double doors, two old stone lions perched leaning on their forepaws staring out across the gravelled driveway that led up to the Avery house steps. Standing proudly, their chiselled features were stark against the light dusting of snow. Oblivious, they watched over the entrance to the residence like perfect still sentinels.

Libbet parked her car off to the side, tucked away beside her father's, thankful that a spot had been marked out for her. They both walked up the steps to the main doors to the party, greeted by a tired-looking doorman who had been hired for the evening.

"Names?" he asked tiredly. Even though they were still early and the party had only just begun there were still a large number of guests moving about.

Libbet supplied their names and the doorman instantly came awake, "Miss Avery, Mister Avery wanted you to join him in the study as soon as you arrived." He looked over at Marc, "Alone, ma'am."

Libbet shrugged out of her coat, "That's no problem." Her tone was harsh, and she didn't even look at Marc as she walked off, her heels clicking on the tiled floor accenting her angry steps.

Marc looked at her back, and sighed seeking out the bar. Perhaps after a drink or two...

* * *

"What's wrong?"

Robert moved around the oak desk, setting the mug of coffee on the edge of it, looking his daughter up and down, a puzzled expression on his face. She was embarrassed, and was trying to hold it back. Not letting it show, the way Avery had taught her. And had it been anyone but her father, the girl might have been believable.

"I...it's nothing," Libbet managed. "What am I doing here, I thought this was a social party not a business one..."

Avery frowned, "I invited a mixture of both, I'm using this as a chance to close an important business deal." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "I needed you here to help me host this event."

"You don't need me here to charm your clients, I'm not another asset you can exploit to make money," Libbet snapped back.

"You still didn't answer my question," Avery fired back at the girl. "What's wrong? Is it something to do what that boy you've been seeing?"

"That's none of your business," Libbet raised her voice. "Why must everything I do be studied by you?"

"Because I am your father," Avery replied, his voice remaining at the same dangerous level.

Libbet rounded on him, "But you don't control my life. I'm old enough to make my own choices."

Avery recoiled from the verbal blow, it caught him off guard; he struggled for something to reply with, and he chose his words with caution. "I am your father, I am the man that feeds you, clothes you and ensures that you have an education. I am the one that stands at the doorway when you are dragged home between two police officers and explains to them that you really aren't that kind of girl..." Avery slammed his coffee mug on the edge of the desk, "The day you prove you're old enough to make your own choices, that will be the day I let you make them."

Libbet paled, her father never lost his temper. She swallowed and tried to think of a way to save face, but coming up short she balled up her fists. "I am not one of your employees, I'm not someone you can just order about at your whim."

Avery stared down at the buckled metal of the mug, realizing that in his anger he had dented the mug out of shape. He couldn't bring himself to look up; his voice had dropped again, back to its calm tones. "You have a party to host, you're my daughter, start acting like it." He pointed to the door, "Now go."

Libbet bowed her head. "Yes sir," she murmured in a petulant tone, turning and walking from the room. The door would have slammed, but the oak was too heavy to swing that fast.

Avery ran a tired hand over his eyes and walked out a moment later. He needed to calm himself, and he collected his great coat from the cloakroom.

The old man walked out into the cold gardens, striding up the snow-covered steps to the upper gardens at the rear of the house. The Italian-styled gardens were barren in the winter, and he walked between the Romanesque columns and empty flowerbeds, remembering that when he had last seen them they had been full of life. He owned a beautiful home, well-cared-for, and he missed it. For once he regretted spending so much time working, he was feeling his age again.

He flipped up the collar of the great coat against the chill, feeling rather than seeing the snowflakes falling around him. His boots crunched in the crisp white snow that lined the path leading to the lakeshore. And he stopped when he came to the end of it.

A square grey brown stone was set up above the snow-covered ground before him and he reached out to brush the snow off of it, clearing the words etched there for so many years. `For my beloved Kathryn, Now I watch the horizon for your return.'

He paused, his hand tracing the letters of her name, feeling the bite of cold, but intent on something more personal, more spiritual. He always felt closer to her there.

"...I'm here again," he said aloud, his voice gruff with the emotion. "I'm sorry that I can't be where you are... I got a little lost." He turned his eyes to the barren trees and then back to the stone, "...Libbet is growing up, again... I don't know what to do with her. I can't protect her from her own choices anymore."

He lifted his hand and placed it back into his pocket, "I've never been very good at this; I missed Tyrone's growing up, I was too busy working. It was as if I blinked and he was a man starting his own life..." He blew out a sigh, "After...after I lost you, I lost him as well. I swore I wouldn't let that happen to Libbet. It was my turn, I raised her as best I could... and I will, I just don't have you to temper me this time."

He strengthened his voice, "I know... but you're gone now and I can't talk to anyone...I have to raise her alone..."

"I just don't want her making the mistakes that led to my losing Tyrone, but I can't guide her if she won't listen to me, or tell me what is going on. I'm lost, Kat, and...and I need you here..."

He turned his eyes back to the stone, "You would say I was being to tough with her, blaming her for Tyrone's choices." He shrugged, "You're probably right, I should go easy on her. I could say that when I retire, I can give her more time, but by then she will have finished growing up, be a woman, and I would have missed out on what we share. I love the girl, I want to see her happy..."

He trailed off, turning and hanging his head, "I miss you, Kat, and I miss the light you brought into my life... I am fortunate to have had a chance to say good-bye to you one last time. Your luminescent eyes shine in my heart, I know you're watching over us, and I hope that now you're protecting the boy in a way I can never do."

With that he began the slow walk back towards the house.