The Truths We Make (House of Poe #1)

20. Heavenly Flames

Heavenly Flames

Summer, 8 years before

G raduation is the death of my childhood.

At seventeen, I feel the itch of maturity and long to shed the confinement of adolescent rules, just like all my peers. The thrill of university, of decisions that are solely my own, and the ability to live without parental rule, is appealing to us all. Unlike my classmates, though, I don’t want to say goodbye.

This is the last year I can call this place home. Where, even if the boys were off at college or traveling during their gap year, they were always destined to come back to during summer or holiday. But after this, I’ll be gone, and my free days will be spent in the boroughs of New York, in my mother’s new home. I will be entering adulthood, leaving parts of myself in the greying halls of Dellbrook.

“Evangeline Pierce! Where is your mind today? You’ve got to get dressed, child.”

Mother is losing patience with my procrastination. While she doesn’t want me to run off on my own in the city for college, she’s ravenous for the opportunity to finally leave Boston. Since the boys and I have grown out of needing her guidance, she’s had to stay on as a personal assistant of sorts for Alexander and Madeline. A kindness they gave to show we were more than just the help. We were part of their lives. While the money is good, Mother is ready for a life of her own. At least one of us is . I snort at my melancholy.

“What’s so funny? Perhaps you wouldn’t mind saving your internal monologue for later. We’re going to be late!” Mother cries.

“Isabel, calm down,” I say, knowing her name on my lips digs into her skin like a shovel to the Earth. “The only thing I’m missing is my cap and gown. Once I find where you put those, I’ll be ready to go.” She eyes me, wanting to pick a fight but knowing that if she does, it’ll only prolong our departure.

“One of these days, Evangeline, you’re going to regret how you talk to me. Once I’m dead, anytime you hear the wind howling, just know that’s me saying I told you so,” she says.

Mother likes to think the Poes haven’t changed her, that she’s been immune to their darkness, but in truth she’s embraced Madeline’s sharp standards and ability to talk of morbidity as if it is mundane. Her accent has softened, her posture more poised. She’s taken and wrapped the Poe armor around her heart gladly. It makes me satisfied to know that there are pieces she’ll carry with her, too. Changes that even her beloved New York can’t fix. She’s been talking about the city in reverence, as if it is the answer instead of the problem separating us from home.

“Knock, knock,” Alexander says from the open door to my room.

He’s holding in his hand the silken crimson gown and square hat in question. I wave him in, giving him my best smile.

“Come on in, Mr. Poe. You’ve got the last piece we’ve been looking for and then we’ll be ready to head out,” my mother says in greeting, but Alexander doesn’t seem to hear her.

His focus is on me, emotion already forming in his features. I’m positive he’ll have a dozen new poems about this moment in the morning, ones that he’ll slip over to Madeline at breakfast, who will no doubt pick her favorite to frame as a gift for my mother and me. His writing and emotional nature, something he’s passed down to Oliver.

“You’re such a beautiful young lady, Eve. I am so overwhelmed by my luck at being able to watch you grow into who you are now, and I cannot wait to see who you become,” Alexander says. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I will not melt down. Not here. Not now.

“Thank you, Mr. Poe,” I say with as much reverence and gratitude as I can.

For all the conflict I feel for the boys when it comes to their family name, I don’t blame Alexander, or even Madeline. Both have been good to me in their own ways, and I can never repay them for it. Thankfully, Alexander pops out of his nostalgic daze, clapping his hands together to jolt the rest of us with him into the present.

“Tad is downstairs with the car, ready to go. We must hurry if we don’t want to be late or hear the wrath of Madeline for making her wait any longer.” He gestures out the door and we both scurry through, the frigid chill of Madeline’s displeasure enough to make me forget any hope of lingering.

My heart stills as I walk through the main doors onto the front drive and see two handsome figures waiting. Oliver has both hands tucked into ash grey slacks. His hair has grown longer than I remember, the ends curling every which way like the leaning tree in the yard. He’s lounging on Tad’s freshly washed Cadillac as if he has all the time and none of the care of the world. Paxton is his opposite, arms crossed, legs at command, waiting to be called to move. His limbs have grown sharper, the athletic build he’s always been known for now stretching at his shirt with its bulk. They’re chatting as if they were always meant to be right where they are.

But they’re not. I got the call from each saying they had been held up, Paxton by school and Oliver by a rogue plane cancellation from France. Neither could make it. Apologies were given and the tears I’d cried were nothing short of an ocean. To see them in the drive, at ease, at home , makes me boil with the embarrassment of wanting them to be real and the deceit my sorrow feels at their unexpected presence.

Alexander clears his throat, and both boys turn to attention, catching me in smiles that I don’t return.

“Surprise!” Paxton hollers, stepping toward me, enveloping me in a hug.

He doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that I’m not returning it, both trains of thought in line with who Paxton is. Oliver is standing back, waiting his turn, while soaking in every overflow of energy from my mood. Every hair on my body stands, waving toward him as if he is the wind. World travel hasn’t changed the electricity he brings to me, something that both ignites and shatters my will to stay angry.

I absorb the warmth of Paxton’s arms and, without thought, sink into them a little more. I missed this. Tension I didn’t even realize I was holding drifts off with the safety of him being home. My days cannot be so bad with my protectors in reach. They don’t know about New York. They don’t know about the breakup with Tyler, and the falling out with Liz, or the acceptance letters that have been burning holes in my underwear drawer since I got them. They don’t know that today is the beginning of the end.

Paxton finally lets go, and I have to stop myself from holding on. He steps back and Oliver fills the space. His arms don’t entangle me just yet. He stands, breath to breath, and chucks me under the chin once before pushing his chest against mine and nuzzling his face into my hair. The special blend of maple and espresso dissolves any chance I have at keeping my irritation, filling me with a different emotion entirely. I’m immediately wrapped up in him, and the rest of the world stops existing as he lifts me into his arms.

Even after miles and days of distance, being with Oliver is like this. He’s the first warm sip of the darkest chocolate on a snowy winter morning. The soothing rumble of thunder over sweeping hills of rain before the lightning ever shows its face. And just like every happiness I’ve ever known, even if I can never grasp him and make him mine always, it doesn’t stop me from basking in the joy of this moment.

“I’ve missed you,” he hums in my ear, sending waves of excitement through me.

“I know,” I reply.

I can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that I missed him too, not when it’s so clearly painted in the way my body clings to his. The phone calls and texts, while frequent between the three of us, have been brief and lacking the vibrancy their presence fills. My heart fractures as I remember that this feeling cannot last. Soon enough we’ll be displaced again, apart for longer than we’ll ever be together. It stings of impending pain, just like the last time I left a place I thought might be home. I step back, releasing Oliver and taking them both in.

“I thought you couldn’t come,” I say, the words fragile in a way that hope always is when leaning over the edge of oblivion.

Paxton smiles, reminding me of the day he last left Dellbrook, when he assured me he’d always come back. I would never leave you behind, Eve. We can’t be Poe without you. It’d become their oath to me, a fact of life rather than a baseless truth. And he always punctuated his promises with golden smiles, making them feel weighted with worth.

“It’s called a surprise. Although, if you ask me, not much of one. You really thought we’d miss your graduation? The last day of confinement before you joined us in freedom?” Paxton says .

He says this because he doesn’t know I won’t be joining them at Harvard. Not yet.

Oliver stares at me. I can’t tell if he wants me to be surprised, or if he’ll be offended if I say I am. Thankfully, Paxton’s ask is rhetorical. He doesn’t even wait for a response before he jumps in between us, weaving an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his chest as he guides me towards the waiting car.

“Your chariot, my lady,” he says before turning to my mother, who waits by the open door. “Is it alright with you, Isabel, if the three of us take this car and the parents ride separately? It’s been too long since we’ve been together and, as you can imagine, we have many stories to tell.”

He’s earnest in a way with my mother that he isn’t with Madeline. As if he feels like she should be treated like a mother, instead of simply a queen. Mother scratches her thumb nail against her pointer’s cuticles, although unless you knew to look for it, you’d never know. She’s told me it’s a habit she picked up when she was very young. Her own mother was always quick to slap her hands away screaming about the state her fingers were in, making her learn to shield the small anxious movement.

“I was really hoping to talk about her future some more, but I guess that can wait. If Madeline says it’s fine, I’ll agree,” she says, voice stretched with dismay. My chest releases one of the many knots it’s been tied into at the thought of a half an hour without her hovering.

“Mads?” Paxton asks, and I cringe, sure that she’ll say no at the nickname.

Over Christmas, something big had happened privately between Paxton and Madeline, and they had reached a level their fighting never had before: silence. Neither spoke to the other, only casting occasional dirty looks or worse, indifference. They pretended the fight had not existed, and with it, the others’ existence altogether. Amongst the holiday cheer, or what could be considered as close to it as the Poes came, there was tautness. Paxton was never one to be quiet. Passionate and angry? Absolutely. You could expect that. Deal with it. But when he went still, everything sat coiled, waiting for the strike of his piercing teeth to come.

As far as I knew now, that still hadn’t happened. What had happened was Paxton now referred only to his mother as ‘Mads’, which spurned Madeline to her core. The more she flinched from it though, the further he dug in his heels. Thankfully, she was in a good enough mood to ignore the misnomer, at least for today .

“That’s fine, dear. You all have fun. We’ll see you at the venue. Come now Isabel, I have a special bottle, 1858 Croizet, waiting for us.” Madeline loops her arms through my mother’s, showing she both understands her hesitancy and is insisting she move.

“Oh no, Madeline, I couldn’t…” I can hear Mother whisper, but she lets Madeline whisk her further down the drive to wait for their car, Alexander close at their heels.

I wait until they’re a little further down before I round on Paxton. “Why do you insist on needling her? Today of all days!” Paxton’s face draws back, redness filling his cheeks. He looks as if he’ll crumble in an apology that is so unlike him, but Oliver steps in, cutting between us.

“Madeline is enough of a force. She doesn’t need you to come to her defense.” His eyes are narrowed, daring me to continue before they sweep over to his brother. They share a look of understanding and connection I will never know.

You’ll never be one of them. Paxton must have told Oliver about the fight. Told him his reasons and showed him his heart. They’re family, of course he did. My heart pumps thickly with the thought, bile rising again into my throat. It seems that’s become a constant as I fight with what my future holds. I just never realized the same reaction could come from my past, my history, with the boys. Since they’ve been gone, I’ve idealized what we’ve had. And that I’ve been stupid not to know what it would always be.

“I’m leaving,” I blurt out.

It isn’t the time or the place, I know that, but there’s no shoving the words, or the tears that are now forming, back in. Paxton is quick to shoulder Oliver out of place and grab my hand.

“It’s ok, Eve. We’re all going. Oliver’s sorry. You can defend Madeline, and I’m sorry I said it. I shouldn’t have. Not today. Today is about you,” he coos.

He’s so wonderful when I cry, giving me the warmth I need to stop the tears. But Oliver knows. He knows me. He knows heartbreak. And he knows that if you don’t let it hurt now, the pain will only intensify. So, like any unwanted infection, he demands that I bleed.

“That isn’t what she’s saying, Pax. I think Eve is trying to tell us she’s leaving Dellbrook. Boston. That she’s leaving us, ” he spits the word.

Paxton’s face morphs into one that matches his brothers. Now both Poe boys are narrow eyed and angry, looking down at me from their larger- than-life frames, demanding that I explain away Oliver’s accusations. Instead, I nod my head.

“Two weeks. My mom already found a place in New York. We leave in two weeks.” My breath is rushed and straining, feeling like I’ve run a hundred miles to get to these words. The car beeps twice, our driver letting us know our parents are at the gate waiting, and that if we don’t get moving, we’re going to be late. I step back to the open door, readying to get in, but a hand on my elbow hauls me to a stop.

“Paxton, get in. Have Tad drive you to the gate, let our parents know Eve forgot something, then drive around to the backdoor to grab us. We’ll be ready when you get there,” Oliver instructs. To my surprise, Paxton just nods, then slides into the car. Oliver twists his fingers in mine and tugs me back into the foyer.

“Oliver, where are we… I didn’t forget anything,” I protest, but don’t drop his hand.

He doesn’t stop. We sweep through the hall, past all the stairs, and head straight for the kitchen. As soon as the picture window from the breakfast nook is in sight, Oliver spins me around, palms grabbing onto my elbows to keep gravity from tearing us apart. The force of Oliver’s hands alone brings us together; first hips in fingertips, then chests breathing as one, and finally, his lips are catching mine.

Gravity is nothing compared to this.

Before I can enjoy or even question what is happening, he steps back, our breaths still mingling as his palms circle my face, thumbs pressing in as if I’m slipping away.

“ The moon is distant from the sea, and yet with amber hands she leads him, docile as a boy, along appointed sands, ” he whispers into my mouth, lips catching on every syllable, begging me to understand.

But it’s been so long since I’ve lost myself in Emily Dickinson’s pages and I’ve wished for something like this too many times to misunderstand.

“Oliver…” I sigh, wrapping my palms to his knuckles, ready to push them away.

It’s unfair of him to do this, to give me hope in the face of a future that’s already set. We both know whatever this is between us, reality will never allow it. Hasn’t allowed it. A few stolen kisses don’t change a thing. Madeline expects the boys to marry well, to carry on the name and the legacy, and she wouldn’t tolerate teenage crushes that grew into love in adulthood. That’s why, until now, we’ve never even pretended to try.

“Shh, Eve. Listen.” He looks at me with those heavy green eyes that contain every hue of love I will ever know. “Convince Isabel to give you one more summer at Dellbrook. I’ve missed you . More than you know. More than I knew. I’ll call off the rest of my trip and we’ll stay here. Together.”

His words grow more frantic with every one that comes out. I’ve never been on the receiving end of Oliver’s desperation. It is intoxicating, and I know that if I hear one more plea, I will give him anything he asks. Even when I know I’m only delaying the heartbreak.

“Tad is coming up the drive. We’ve got to go…” I say, scooting even farther away.

But those hands… there’s no stopping them and he stills me with the invisible weight tied to his fleeting touch.

“Eve , stay with me ,” he whispers against my ear, but I can hear the panic. I can hear every word he isn’t saying.

You can’t leave. I need you. You belong with me. Here. Stay. I love you.

I don’t know if they’re really his, but the hope inside me at the possibility that they are blinds me into an overwhelming sense of fearlessness.

“Stay?” I ask and he smiles.

“One more summer… together. You and me.”

And he knows I’m his. He always has.