Clarity (9 page)

I hear an engine start, and the sound of the car pulling away. I breathe a sigh of relief. It looks like I was waving closely enough in the right direction, and they were actually still waiting for me. It’s so hard to follow social protocol when you have no idea what’s going on around you. So many assumptions need to be made.

Turning back to the front door, I move forward with a hand outstretched. Beneath my boots, I can feel the fabric of the large welcome mat. When my fingers collide with the stylish beveled glass panel set within in the door, I feel the contours in the design for a moment. Compared to my tiny cabin, this house really was filled with a gorgeous tactile landscape. My mother made a point of making sure that the décor was not only aesthetically pleasing to the eyes of our sighted family members, but also pleasing to my senses. I am surprised when the door shifts under my hand; I am able to push it open without much effort.

Without any warning, a divine scent assails my nostrils. Releasing my suitcase, I walk into the foyer in wonder. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, turning my body around slowly in a 360 degree spin.

Flowers.

I can imagine the softness of the petals and the glorious colors, in tender pastels or vibrant, rich reds. I have no idea what these words mean, but if the flowers look anything close to the way they smell, they must be unbelievably enchanting. I breathe in again, sifting through all the different aromas in the room; I feel like I am pulling apart a piece of fabric and examining each thread. I can just make out the delicate, intoxicating fragrance of jasmine, along with the spicy sweetness of gardenia. Finally, an unmistakable musky aroma; the dizzying and deeply refreshing aroma of roses.

The perfumed air invades my sinuses and lungs, filling me with memories. I recall springtime picnics in the grass, and my mother holding my hand as we walk barefoot through a gurgling brook. I remember my sister laughing and dumping dozens of fresh, velvety blossoms into my arms. I remember pressing my face into the cool softness of the petals, and feeling happy to be alive.

When I was younger, I would rub my fingers over the dresses in my closet, trying to feel the difference in their color. I hoped that there was some kind of special energy in each color that I could grow to sense, if I tried hard enough. But flowers are different—they are alive! They are exuberant to the touch, and they sing loudly to boast of their beauty; you can’t
not
see the flowers in your mind when you smell them. 

I hungrily inhale the fragrant air, trying to drink in the memories and squeeze every last drop of beauty out of this aroma. It’s completely overpowering, and I stand there in the middle of the foyer, looking around in a daze. Have I really stepped into my old house, or did that doorway lead into a different dimension? It has been years since I have encountered a remotely nice smell. I have been content with merely agreeable aromas. But to be immersed in such hypnotic and mesmerizing natural perfumes, all mingling together in the perfect combination for my palate! It’s
almost unbearable. I almost want to cry at the loveliness of this moment.

I wish I had invited Liam and Owen in to see—but at the same time, I’m glad I did not. The fragrance is so uplifting that it’s almost spiritual, and I would not want them to make fun of me; not in this moment. I wouldn’t want anything to taint my enjoyment of the lush blossoms. I am almost trembling with gratitude for this moment alone with the posies. I feel like it was designed as a special gift, just for me. I stand in meditative silence for a few seconds, just breathing. I savor every breath.

When I am finally able to form coherent and practical thoughts, I realize that these must be decorations for the wedding. Carmen must have chosen to get married at home! This idea is both comforting and nerve-wracking. I am happy that the big event will take place in an environment that I know like the back of my hand; I won’t need to rely on anyone, for I could never forget the precise number of stairs in every staircase, or the angles of every twist and turn of every passageway.

“Meredith?” says a man’s voice questioningly.

I was so distracted by the flowers that I had not noticed the quiet footsteps of house slippers on hardwood. I turn toward the source of the sound, and I find myself facing the direction of the library. My father’s favorite room. My father’s voice. I feel my chest swell with nostalgia and tenderness. I remember the diligent man who was always up at the crack of dawn, working dutifully in that library before any of us had even considered getting out of bed. I remember him reading the best articles in the newspaper to me each morning over breakfast—and sometimes the comics, to cheer me up when I was down. My heart leaps a little, in hope that this could be a normal, happy morning. Like the way things used to be. I have a delayed realization that he has called me by my mother’s name. I swallow before speaking, to make sure that the emotion is cleared from my voice.

“No, Dad. It’s me.”

“Helen?” he says softly. “Heavens, child. I could have sworn you were your mother’s ghost. You look just like she did on the day I met her.”

I struggle to fight back tears. “Didn’t Carmen tell you I was coming?”

“Yes. I haven’t been able to sleep since she mentioned it to me,” he admits. “But I have also been expecting your mother’s ghost to show up for the big day, so I hope you’ll forgive me for mixing up our party guests.”

Even through my sadness, he is able to coax a smile from me. He seems better than when I left—still wistful and brokenhearted, but in higher spirits. “I missed you, Dad,” I whisper, and this time the emotion does cause my voice to break.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” His gentle gait is almost noiseless as he crosses the room toward me. He places two big, warm hands on each of my shoulders. “Let me look at you. My little Helen! You’re all grown up.”

I nod, lowering my chin to look at the ground. “Dad, I’m sorry that I left…”

“None of that,” he tells me kindly. “You were unhappy, and your happiness is the most important thing in the world to me. Now stop moping and let your old man give you a hug.”

I don’t need to be offered twice. I dive forward, burying my face against his shoulder. His arms encircle me, and for the first time in years, I truly feel like I have a home. I smell his familiar fatherly cologne, mingling with the flowers all around us. I am filled with such a deep joy, that I am almost sure I must be daydreaming.

“Are you going to stay with us, Helen?” he asks me in a quiet voice.

A pang of sorrow strikes my heart, and I remember how miserable and melancholy he was when I left home. I suddenly realize that the man I am hugging does not feel anything like the man my father used to be. His frame is skeletal and gaunt. His arms and shoulders are no longer large and firm with muscle, but wiry with bone. His skin is paper-thin, stretched over his bones like saran wrap.

I am stricken with the knowledge that I could lose him, just like I lost my mother. Carmen mentioned that he had suffered a heart attack. Has she been taking care of him? The big house suddenly feels very lonely. I realize that my father has no one. Even if Carmen hasn’t been neglecting him, now that she is getting married, Dad will be even less of a priority to her. He needs me.

“I would like to stay,” I tell him softly. “That is—if you’re not too upset at me. If you want me to stay.”

“Of course, I do!” he says, tightening the hug. “Who else is going to keep your sister from driving me mad?”

I smile. A pair of timid footsteps distract me, and I pull away from him and look in their direction. “Carmen?” I say with anticipation, but I know that the footsteps sound nothing like my sister’s.

“No, no,” my father says. “That’s our new housekeeper, Natalia. She’s here to help out with the wedding.”

“Oh,” I say in disappointment, realizing that I am actually eager to see my sister. “Hello, Natalia.”

“Good morning, Miss,” says the housekeeper.

“This is Helen, my youngest daughter,” my father says, introducing me with a hand on my back. “She’s a writer. She is blind, but don’t let that fool you—she’s the smartest person in the family, and she will give you much less trouble than Carmen.”

I hear the tone of pride in his voice, and I am pleasantly surprised. This homecoming has been a lot less painful than I expected.

“Natalia, will you please take Helen’s suitcase up to her room and unpack for her?” my father requests. “I want to have breakfast with my daughter and catch up on the last few years.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Winters!” says the housekeeper. “It was nice meeting you, Helen.”

I nod, following her footsteps with my eyes. I turn back to my father. “So, where’s Carmen?”

My father laughs, a deep-throated rumble. “I don’t know what’s going on with that girl. She’s probably just hung over from drinking too much last night at her bachelorette party. I guess it’s just you and me, kiddo.”

I frown at this news. When Carmen called at 5 AM, she did not sound drunk or hung over to me. But it would explain her crying and sharp mood swings. I shrug, and decide to question her later about the strange behavior.

“I went to the bakery last night and got some delicious red velvet cupcakes for you,” my father says. “Will you join me for a completely unhealthy, sugary breakfast?”

My mouth begins to water, and my legs begin moving toward the kitchen. “Heck, yes!” I am still wearing my winter coat and boots, but I don’t even care. I want those cupcakes.

I ate five cupcakes. Really. Five cupcakes.

I don’t even regret it. They were so scrumptious and delectable that I could have died, right there in the kitchen. Death by cupcake. I could have just keeled over in a seizure of red-velvet-induced bliss. They were, hands down, the best cupcakes in the world. The best substance, period, that I have ever tasted in my life. I didn’t even try to be polite. No, I shoved my fingers in there, getting them all sticky and covered with icing. I shed my jacket and kicked off my boots to curl up in one of our upholstered kitchen chairs as I gorged. I stuffed my mouth full to the brim and closed my eyes and chewed very, very slowly. It was heavenly. It was like a celestial encounter with dozens of tiny deities, tap-dancing on my tongue.

My father has been sharing various details of events I’ve missed over the years, and I’m trying my best to pay attention to him and not to the perfection on my taste buds. It’s hard. Most of the conversation does not require my full attention, but I pause and grow worried when he begins discussing our financial situation. For a moment, I am regretfully distracted from my hedonistic joy as I listen to the story of how he lost his job at the pharmaceutical company shortly after my mother’s death. Combined with the market crash, our finances were in a sorry state. He had needed to take out a mortgage on the house, which had previously been paid off in full. He complains that he has been incredibly dejected by the looming feeling of moving backward instead of forward. I nod attentively as I chow down ravenously on the cupcakes.

“But things are looking up,” he says firmly. “I owe it largely to your sister’s fiancé, Grayson. He’s a smart boy, with a good head on his shoulders. He’s given me some really good investing advice, and it looks like we won’t need to sell the house after all.”

“So you approve of this guy? He’s decent, this Grayson?” I ask, nibbling the icing off the sixth cupcake. The sweetness is finally starting to overwhelm me, and my chewing begins to slow. I inwardly bemoan that I must be approaching my ultimate cupcake-capacity.

“He’s wonderful,” my father says with a solemn gravity. “I am so thankful, every single day, that he came into Carmen’s life. And my life, too. He’s been a blessing. He’s been a true gentleman to your sister—he’s been the son I never had. I am sure that he will also be an excellent brother-in-law to you. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

I finish off my cupcake, and sigh in contentment. This news is inspiring. Since I returned home, I have been greeted with breathtaking smells, tastes, and heartwarming news. What more could anyone ask for in life? My thoughts return to Liam. I feel so grateful that he convinced me to participate in his research and helped me get back home in time for the wedding. I can’t even remember what I was so terrified about. This is so wonderful. I should have come home ages ago! I can already tell that today is going to be amazing.

And I can’t wait to see Liam again.

Something inside my chest flutters a little at the thought, and I feel silly for being so excited. However, it is out of my control now. He said one too many nice things, and I grew just a little too attached to him over the few hours we spent together. While I can strictly enforce my thoughts to be logical and sensible, I cannot keep the girlish giddiness out of my emotions. I blame my childhood home, and the stupid flowers and cupcakes for reverting me to my former optimistic and dreamy state. My mind begins to wander, but I quickly quell the fantasies and remind myself that it’s only a fake date. He’s going to be my doctor, for god’s sake. Nothing can happen there.

But hearing about Carmen’s happily ever after is making me crave my own. At the very least, maybe sometime in the non-too-distant future, I could be brave enough to try…

My father chuckles. “If you’re finished binge-eating those cupcakes, darling, I’d love to hear about what you’ve been up to these past few years.”

As I gulp down the last bite, it occurs to me that he might be the perfect person to consult about the clinical trial that could return my vision. My father has always known everything about everything. I part my lips, intending to spill my guts and divulge the dilemma that has been bothering me, but then I surprise myself by clamping my mouth shut again. I don’t want to hear the downsides. I don’t want to be cautioned. I don’t want to give anyone a chance to talk me out of this.

I want to hope for the best, even if it’s illogical. For the first time in forever, I want to have faith in something. I want to have faith in someone.

Searching my mind for something less sensitive to discuss, I think of my career. “I’ve written a few more books since I left home,” I tell him instead. “Nothing special, just some thrillers. Conspiracies, spies, revenge, action. That sort of thing.”

“That’s really wonderful, sweetheart. You’ll have to let me read them later.”

“I don’t think you’d like them, Dad,” I say with embarrassment, feeling the heat of a blush in my cheeks. “They’re sometimes kind of cheesy, and not that intelligent.”

“You’re just being modest,” he accuses. There is a brief, but heavy pause. “Who have you been staying with all this time? Why couldn’t you come to visit? Is there a boy?”

I am a little upset by these questions. I wipe my fingers on a napkin, taking a moment to compose myself before responding. Of course, due to my blindness, he assumes I needed to live with someone so that they could help me on a day-to-day basis. Yes, I am more than a little miffed. “I was living by myself in New Hampshire,” I respond quietly. “I bought a small cabin in the mountains, far away from society. I have been living on protein shakes and granola bars, so I haven’t really eaten anything tasty in years. That’s why I went nuts on the cupcakes.”

“Good gracious, child. Why would you do subject yourself to such a life?” he asks in horror.

I shrug awkwardly. “I guess it was what I needed. It was a restorative little reprieve; very nun-like and ascetic. Also, very good for writing.”

“You’ve always been an odd little bird,” my father says fondly.

The old nickname brings a smile to my lips. It erases my previous annoyance. I have always adored my father, even if he often considers me to be mortally weak and incapable of basic tasks. I suppose that parents will always see their children as infants and invalids, regardless of whether they possess any glaring disabilities.

My father’s phone receives a text message, and I hear him pull it from his pocket. “This is going to be a very busy day,” he tells me as he responds to the text. “The ceremony won’t start until 4 PM, but we need to do plenty of preparation beforehand. Guests will be arriving all day. The groom and his family will be arriving around noon. We had the florists come over early this morning, and the caterers are going to start making their deliveries.” He laughs to himself. “I should keep you away from Carmen’s wedding cake! You might scarf the whole thing down before the guests even get a chance to look at it.”

“I think I won’t be able to eat a bite of cake,” I say, holding my stomach. “I’m all caked-out for at least a decade.”

“I have no idea where you put it all,” my father says in wonder. He receives another text message, and clears his throat. “You should probably go and wake your sister up,” he encourages me. “Please help her out with anything she needs today—she can be quite the fussy bride. But I’m sure she’ll be overjoyed to see you.”

“Sure, Dad. I’ll try to keep her calm and stop her from stressing out,” I say, rising to my feet.

“Wonderful, darling. I have no idea how we got along without you.”

When he moves out of the room, I move in the opposite direction, heading for the staircase that leads up to Carmen’s room. I do not even bother counting the stairs, or using the banister as a guide. I just let my muscle memory carry me up the stairs, and automatically stop me when I’ve reached the landing. I am impressed at how flawless my spatial memory is. Even if I’m not conscious of this knowledge, it resides deep in my brain, along with dozens of other secrets that I hope will surface as I need them. It’s reassuring to know that my brain is far smarter than I am.

I stroll down the hallway toward Carmen’s bedroom. It’s adjacent to my old room; while we were growing up, I probably spent more time in her room than my own. I used to idolize my older sister, and try to be like her in every way possible. She was my hero and mentor for the longest while. I’m not sure exactly at what point we discovered that I
was actually the more mature one. We were probably teenagers before it happened, but somehow, our dynamic changed. She began to rely on me.

Guilt floods my chest. She relied on me. And I left.

I push these crippling thoughts away as I knock on her bedroom door. “Carm?”

There is no response. I open the door and walk inside, but I do not hear her breathing coming from the bed. I move over to the empty bed and place my hands down on the unkempt sheets. It’s still warm. A muffled sound nearby startles me.

“Carm?” I say again, turning around and listening closely for the direction of the sound. When there is no response yet again, I begin to grow annoyed. “Carmen!” I call out. “We’re too old for hide and seek. Also, you always had an unfair advantage with the seeking part.”

The muffled sound grows louder. It sounds like something between a cough and a cry. I move toward its source, and find myself at the door to Carmen’s bathroom. I knock again, politely.

There is a silence, and some heavy breathing, followed by more strange noises.

“Carmen, what’s going on?” I demand. When I hear the guttural, incoherent vocalizations once more, I begin to feel afraid. I push open the bathroom door. The sound becomes clearer instantly, and I grow aware of the fact that Carmen is on the ground near the toilet, and vomiting into the bowl. I stare in surprise for a moment, before moving forward and placing my hand on her back. “Carm?” I say with concern.

She continues retching for a moment before sighing and resting her face tiredly on the toilet. I know this, because I hear her metal earring clink against the ceramic bowl.

“Hi,” Carmen says weakly. “I swear—this isn’t what it looks like.”