All The Time Lost

He did.

June hated the warm feeling she felt as she saw the bouquet of flowers sitting on the counter.

It had been two months already. And yet he hadn't grown tired of it. She received flowers twice a week.

She felt ashamed at Julian's knowing look whenever he came over and found a new bouquet filling the vase but she couldn't find the strength to throw them away. So they sat on her counter until they withered and by then a new one had already arrived to replace it.

He came around too. Almost everyday. He'd stay outside, never forcing his way in after last time and she was grateful for it because she couldn't go through that again. She found him waiting, sharing a drink with Old Joe in the afternoon until she arrived and he'd stand straight up and come over to greet her. He'd have sweets or take-out with him but never stayed to share it with her.

One day, she came back from an afternoon of shopping with Beatrice to find him on her roof, fixing the leak she had planned to tinker with later on.

Another day, he was replacing her door. The new one had a peephole.

She tried to refuse, to stop him from doing all this but he just looked down at her with a soft look and told her to take better care of herself.

Fat Fanny would often come out of her house to glare at them with judgmental eyes but she never said anything. And she still accepted the food June brought over every other days.

When he had to leave for a few days for work, he'd show up with bags full of groceries.

The worst was when he showed up with their son. June hated the pleased, hopeful look on Julian's face as he watched his father. She hated that she'd have to disappoint him and feared she'd look ungrateful in his eyes but her kind son never brought it up. He just smiled when his father came along and tried to ease the conversation between his parents.

June was confused and disconcerted in front of this situation but she knew she had to get through Thomas sometimes. But that time wasn't now.

She had to work up the courage to confront him first and seeing she was back to avoiding his eyes, she had a long path ahead of her.

June busied herself with the accumulating commissions she had started receiving on instagram instead.

« That one is incredible, mom ! » Julian exclaimed as he looked at the painting she had completed and was drying in the living room next to the window. It was a renaissance portrait a man had commissioned for his wife. « You really can do anything. »

June blushed ans beamed at the impressed tone in her son's voice.

« Why don't you take the second bedroom and turn it into an art studio ? » Julian came back to the table to eat breakfast. « With all the work you're getting, you'll run out of space soon. »

« I can manage, » June smiled and ignored the squeezing in her heart. Elizabeth's room had never been used but she still changed the sheets once a week. Just in case. « The lighting is better here anyway. »

Julian smiled back at her with a hint of pity in the tilt of his lips but didn't say anything else. They moved onto another subject and the trailer was soon filled with laughters. June would do anything to protect this happiness she finally got.

—

Beatrice looked at the pictures sitting on the fireplace and smiled. Most had been taken before her seventh birthday.

« It feels like I never see you anymore, » her mother came over and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her in a loving embrace.

« Sorry mom, » she put her arm around her mother's shoulders and squeezed. « I'm busy with the café. »

« Do you need money ? You know your father is always grumbling about your refusal. He's always sulking on the phone with his bank manager so I know you're being stubborn. »

Bea laughed at her mother's admonishing tone. Her father was always trying to send her a few dozen thousands every other month and she was refusing it every time.

« I want to do it on my own, » she rested her head against her mother's.

« What are parents supposed to do with such an independent child ? » Her mom complained playfully.

« Be proud ? »

« We're always proud of you. »

It was true. Her parents supported every one of her decisions and helped her through every path she chose, no matter that Beatrice had changed her path ten times in the last five years after dropping out of college. They never put any pressure on her and agreed with every one of her choice. As long as she was safe.

She could drop out of the degree her father had paid fifty grands for. She could burn her allowance on this tea business that had no chances of working. She could go on a crusade against his father's politician friends over a minor law he was supporting. She could throw a tantrum and get him to miss an important business deal. She could be rude to her mother's friends. She could shave her head and get a tattoo underage. She could drink her way through her parents expensive wine cellar. She could invite friends over and wreck the house. She could sell her mother's favorite painting for weeds. She could do anything.

As long as she was safe.

She couldn't get on a bike. She couldn't go on trips with school. She couldn't move out of town. She couldn't ignore their call. She couldn't miss dinner. She couldn't leave their house.

At twenty-five, Beatrice Benson was stuck in the same place she had spent her whole life in. She had two great, loving parents who would take the stars out of the sky for her. She just had to live in their embrace and bear the excess of love they couldn't give their lost daughter anymore.

The therapist had told her she was lucky. It could have gone a thousand other ways. They could have lost the will to live. They could have started resenting her for surviving. She could have been stuck into her sister's shadow forever. Yes, Bea was lucky her parents grew through it so well and were able to go on with life. So what if they were a bit overprotective. She owed it to them for all they lost to bear with it.

And she would have.

If not for this dark, incomprehensible feeling she had carried around for the last eighteen years.

Post traumatic stress disorder. It was to be expected. Suffering such ordeal at seven years old. It was too much for such a young, fragile mind.

And yet Bea couldn't shake the awful feeling that she was missing something.

She still remembered the police inspectors, the psychologists, the lawyers. She still remembered the judgement. She remembered the cold, flat, wooden sit the child psychiatrist had helped her onto before her family lawyer had come over to ask simple question in a sweet, saccharine voice.

She had answered truthfully then and everyone had looked so pleased with her.

June Dylan had gone to prison. Twenty years, twelve without parol. Too light of a sentence for her parents but enough for the jury who reminded them that they were sentencing a seventeen years old pregnant girl to adult prison. Twelve years was a long time.

June Dylan had gone to prison and yet Bea's nightmares had grown worse. She stood down the stairs, caught a glimpse in the mirror and stopped dead and something dark and frightening grew with the shadow in the mirror but she couldn't make it out and then the scene shifted and she was standing in the flames again and June Dylan was covered in her sister's blood and sobbing.

« The guests arrived, » Bonita, the nice maid who had been with them for over thirty years came into the living room.

« Thank you, » her mother turned to smile at her. « Let's go. »

Beatrice shook her head and followed her mother out. She knew all those people. Important people from the community. Close family friends her parents invited over at least once a month. And yet, she found herself feeling more comfortable at the trailer park, drinking Old Joe's cheap booze and crushing June at poker than she ever was sipping on priceless wine here. Amongst people she had known her whole life.

« Hey bumblebee, » her father kissed her head as she joined him next to the firepit.

The garden was perfectly tended too, not a grass growing the wrong way. The pool was still cleaned every week despite the cold weather and the jacuzzi had been turned back into a fireplace for winter. Nobody grilled marshmallows here though.

« Greg was just asking me about you. »

Bea smiled at the dentist. He was one of her father's closest friends. Greg was one of the few who had dared to pull her parents' out of their lockdown after what had happened. He had brought his family over every week and forced some warmth back into their home. It had tremendously helped.

« How are you uncle Greg ? » She smiled and hugged him.

« As well as I can be after marrying off my baby, » he joked but she knew he loved his new son-in-law.

« She's living next door, » Bea rolled her eyes.

« That's all thanks to Dr Erting, » Greg laughed loudly.

« What about me ? » The gynecologist paused as he passed by.

« I'm telling Mark how grateful I am that you took my Jenny as your associate, » Greg patted the man on the back.

« I should be the grateful one, » Dr Erting laughed. « I was losing hope in finding anyone good enough. » He turned to Bea and smiled warmly. « Hello, Beatrice. »

« How are you Dr Erting ? » She smiled back politely.

Greg was one of the exception around whom she fell at ease. He was practically family. Despite the many years she had known him, Dr Erting remained a stranger, she had nothing against him but she didn't like the man either.

« Are you done travelling around ? » Her father asked the doctor. « You have to train Jenny well. »

« I don't think Jenny needs any more training. She's brilliant, » he smiled at the proud Greg beside him. « But yeah I don't think I'll be running around any more. I'm getting old. »

« Shut up, » Greg laughed.

Dr Erting was a few years younger than Greg and Bea's father but the man had aged pretty well.

« I convinced him to stop replacing around the state, » his wife appeared and slid an arm around her husband's waist. Dr Erting looked down at his wife lovingly. « His charity work is over. »

« Charity ? » Greg grinned. « I'm not sure charity paid your mansion and summer house in Los Angeles. »

« No, this was paid by his office here, » Vera Erting grinned back. Dr Erting may not have been a close family friend but his beautiful wife was from one of the eldest family of Tarmain and had been around for as long as Greg had.

Bea was about to ask where exactly Dr Erting volunteered when her mother called everyone around the table. Dinner was ready.

It was weird and probably psychotic that Beatrice thought she'd much rather be sitting in a rocking chair next to Old Joe and eating June's warm food.