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M. Jolie was sleeping by the doors when she walked in. She was honestly surprised to see him: the man was old as dirt, and she would have thought he would have been forced into retirement years ago.
She didn’t recognize the girl at the desk, but her papa had once told her the desk girls didn’t last long. Not like M. Jolie – Paul – whose mustache was as grizzled as it had been when she was a little girl, if a bit grayer.
“Good morning!” the brunette behind the desk chirped, her tone too cheerful for a place like this. “Can I help you?”
M. Jolie jostled at the voice, blinking weary gray eyes as he looked up. The irritation on his face faded when he saw her.
“…it’s all right, Courtney,” he said. “I’ll escort her.”
“But she hasn’t signed in,” the girl said, frowning at him. “Paul, you know she has to sign in.”
“It’s all right, Courtney,” he said, his voice gruffer as he pushed himself up. He waited for her by the door, and Harmony hesitated just a moment. She glanced back at the desk girl, but M. Jolie waved her over. “It’s all right, Harmony. It’s good to see you. I was sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man.”
“Th…thank you, monsieur,” she said stiffly, because that was what she was supposed to say. To most of the world, Luka Couffaine had been a good man.
She had often wondered if he was just as crazy as her mother.
“I was honestly wondering when we were going to see you,” he said, reaching up to adjust his cap. “Luka said he’d asked you to come by.”
“Wait…Luka?” the desk girl asked, perking up at the name. “Oh my gosh! You’re Luka’s kid?”
…Harmony flinched at that. She hadn’t been a kid in a long time.
“Courtney,” M. Jolie said, and the girl flinched.
“Sorry…” she said. “It’s just…thanks, I guess. For coming. Your mom’s been…it’ll be good for her to see you. I think.”
“Courtney, enough,” M. Jolie snapped. Harmony frowned as she looked back at him, and he sighed. He laid a hand on Harmony’s shoulder and squeezed. His hand felt all wrong, but the gesture was painful in its familiarity. “Come on, Mlle. Couffaine. It’s been too long.”
M. Jolie had never been one for idle chatter, and neither was Harmony, so the short walk down the hall was passed in relative silence. She could hear the other patients, shouts and manic laughter and speakers left up too loud coming from deeper within the house. She knew that, just down the hall, a large room that was used for group therapy and recreation spread out, but that wasn’t where M. Jolie was taking her. He was leading her to a room only a few doors down from the front, and she had never understood that. Why Marinette had been allowed to stay so close to an escape, if she was as crazy as they all knew she was.
…her papa had told her once it was because of the window. The tree her grandfather had planted outside the day she was admitted – the day Jagged Stone had turned philanthropical and bought up the local looney bin. All to care for a daughter-in-law who no longer knew his face.
The door was closed when they reached it, the room beyond quiet. There was an old painting hanging at eye-level, of a monogrammed M surrounded by flowers. Her grip tightened on the flowers in her hand when she saw it.
“I should probably warn you,” M. Jolie said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at the door, his mustache twitching as he chewed his lip. “She’s been…agitated. Lately.”
“Agitated?” she asked, looking at him.
“Your dad hasn’t been by to see her, kid,” he said, looking back at her. “It’s been almost a month, Harmony. She knows.”
“…how?” she asked, baffled. His smile turned sad, and he shook his head at her.
“Trust me, kid,” he said. “She knows.”
She didn’t believe him.
Even when he opened the door and she saw her for herself, pacing back and forth as she hugged a large stuffed…Donald Duck?
Why on earth did she have a Donald Duck plush?
“Your dad got it for her years back,” M. Jolie said when he noticed what she was staring at. “Or…I think she got it for him? That thing’s older than you are.”
He was chuckling when he said it. Harmony didn’t see what was so funny about it all.
Marinette’s fingers were twisted in the ribbon on its cap, tugging as she muttered something too low and too garbled for them to hear. When she reached the end of the room, by the bedside table, she pivoted on her heel and began pacing towards the other end. That was when Harmony noticed the other wall, which was…covered. Pieces of paper in all sizes, from little sticky notes to large swatches of butcher paper, were overlapped and peeling. Each was covered in chaotic blue scribbles, mindless drawings from someone her papa had once claimed used to be the most talented person he knew.
The whole wall was just…blue.
Except for one spot.
Directly in the center, at about eye level. There was a hasty, almost angry splotch of red. And when Marinette reached that wall, and when she looked up from the stupid duck, she saw that spot and…Harmony winced as a guttural, caged sort of sound ripped from her. She threw the duck and scrambled for the dresser. Harmony hadn’t seen the red marker lying there, but it was in Marinette’s hands and uncapped a moment later. She watched, baffled, as Marinette screamed at the wall – as she stabbed the marker at it like a knife, adding a few more harsh lines to the scribble before dropping the marker and stumbling back.
She was still for a moment, panting as she stared at the mark. When another moment had passed, her eyes started to slip from the wall – and then she saw Donald on the floor, made a whimpering whine, and hurried to scoop him back up. When the doll was back in her arms, she resumed her pacing, muttering incoherently as she pressed her face against his hat.
When she reached her bed, she sank down on the edge and began rocking.
Harmony shook her head, baffled, until she felt M. Jolie’s hand on her shoulder again. She turned to look at him, and he smiled sadly at her.
“Like I said, kid,” he said, tipping his head towards her…towards Marinette. “She knows.”
Harmony swallowed as she looked back at Marinette, something unpleasant twisting in her stomach.
…her papa had been a dork. He loved old cartoons and crappy cereal her Papa Stone used to smuggle back from tour. He used to say Donald Duck was his favorite growing up because he lived on a boat, like him. She had always thought it was because Donald was also as volatile as her Granarchy. She didn’t remember him every saying her maman had liked Disney, too, though, or that she had liked Donald. She…
“You were going to have brothers, you know,” he said, early one Saturday morning as they watched old DuckTales episodes over a bowl of Lucky Charms. She looked up, her blue eyes blinking in wonder.
“I have a brother?” she asked, wiggling to better face him. He chuckled and leaned over, kissing her forehead.
“No, baby,” he said. “But…we wanted you to. When your maman was little – not as little as you, but…younger. She wanted two boys. She was going to call them Hugo and Louis.”
She scrunched her nose. Those names were ok, she guessed, but Hugoka and Louiska sounded dumb, if you asked her.
Papa leaned over and winked at her.
“But I was going to convince her to call them Huey and Louis,” he said, grinning at her. She frowned.
“…but I’m not Dewey,” she said. He chuckled and ruffled her hair.
“No, you’re not. I suppose you would have had three brothers, then,” he said. She was still frowning.
“Would I have to be Webby, then? I don’t like Webby,” she said. He laughed, nearly dropping his cereal as he scooped her up. She laughed as she squirmed. “Papa! I don’t wanna change my name!”
“Of course not, baby,” he said, kissing her head again. “You’ll always be our perfect Harmony.”
She sucked in a breath at the sudden memory. They had been coming more and more often, lately.
She wasn’t sure if she was grateful for that yet.
The hand was back on her shoulder, and she blinked as she turned back towards M. Jolie. He was holding an old handkerchief out for her, a sad smile on his face.
She was so sick of getting smiles like that.
She was fine.
“Thank…thank you,” she said stiffly, taking the handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. She hadn’t realized they were wet.
“She’s…I’ll be right out here. If you need me,” he said, nodding at her. “Just to be safe.”
She swallowed and nodded. She took a breath before turning back to Marinette’s…to her maman’s room.
The walk to her bed was…surprisingly short. She remembered it being so much longer. But she had crossed the room in no time, and then she was sitting down beside her. She was just…mumbling. Incoherent little sounds that might have been her papa’s name, once upon a time, as she rocked back and forth and squeezed the stuffings out of that poor, old duck. Harmony took another deep breath and laid a hand on her back.
“It’s ok, M…Maman,” she said, her voice thick. “It’s ok. I’m here.”
She had stilled at the touch.
She lifted her head slowly, like her neck was stiff from too many hours bent over a good book. Or a sewing table. She blinked hazy eyes at the window, at the branches of the cherry tree just beyond.
“Maman?” Harmony asked, squeezing her shoulder. Her head twitched, her fingers twisting in Donald’s shirt.
“…H…Harm…” she croaked, but then she was groaning as she doubled over on herself again. Harmony glanced back at M. Jolie, stunned, but the old man had his back to them. Affording them some privacy, just like he’d said he would. Still, she could see the edge of his mouth turned up in a smile.
Told you, it said.
Her maman groaned again and shook her head, and Harmony swallowed as she gathered her up into her arms.
“It’s…it’s ok, Maman,” she said, holding her tight as she sobbed. “I’m here now. I’m here.”