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Maxim hadn’t meant to scare his daughter, but when his wife had descended the stairs, he could hardly tell whether it was his first or his second for one horrible moment. He remembered at the last moment that Rebecca was dead, that it had to be Ileana dressed as a perfect copy of the portrait of his great-grandmother. He had been so blinded with rage, the sting of betrayal piercing his every movement as he ordered her to go and change without a thought for how it would send everyone spiraling.
Lydia had screamed when she saw her, no doubt experiencing the same kind of terror he had, but by the time he had thought to address her, she had fled from the room. The first guests had arrived a mere few minutes later, and thankfully Bea and Giles had made quick work of making excuses for the absence of the two ladies of the house.
It was out of character for his daughter to make such a display of herself. Even when Rebecca was at her worst with her, she had the tendency to keep her chin up, brushing off anyone who asked why there were tear stains on her cheeks and red marks on her arms. She had continued to wear long sleeves long after they had gone out of fashion to avoid questions, though it usually brought on more questions. Even he had raised eyebrows at first, many years ago, when she continued this pattern into the summer months until she had told him with a disappointed edge that he should know by now why she had to cover up.
She was much like him in that regard. He had taught her well to push through the things that pained and burdened her. He had taught her a little too well, though at least he could say that he hadn’t been cruel. He was nothing like Rebecca.
He hadn’t wanted to think of her for another moment, and it was always inevitable that he would when she was around. They had spoken briefly during last night’s party, shortly after Lydia had slipped into the ballroom, putting on her usual air of practiced elegance and nonchalance that was typical of her when mingling with guests. She had assured him that she was fine, and he, still reeling and bitter about the earlier incident, had simply told her that if she was lying, she’d best commit to it if anyone asked, and then sent her on her way.
He had never laid his hands on her, that much was true, yet as she sat before him now, she looked the slightest bit afraid. One could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Neither of them knew where to begin the impending conversation, though he knew that it had to take place.
Ileana had practically bitten his head off earlier. According to her, Lydia had vented to her about him, and she had refused to let the matter drop until he agreed to resolve things with his daughter. Maxim had never seen her so incensed, so sure of herself. Clearly her friendship with Lydia ran deeply enough that she was willing to break through her natural timidness to make sure that Lydia would not continue to be crushed by the weight of her past.
His wife had been right, he had behaved abominably. He knew deep down that Lydia could not control her natural appearance, and that his fear of her was of his own making. She was not Rebecca, but sometimes it was hard to tell the difference, just as it had been with Ileana in her big white dress.
In the end, it was Lydia who spoke first.
“If you were going to tell me about the body, I already know,” she said.
“I had a feeling you would say that, it’s all everyone’s been talking about,” Maxim sighed.
Lydia’s hands, previously folded in her lap, began to fidget just the slightest bit. “Just when I thought the worst part was over, she finds new ways to surprise me,” she laughed bitterly. “First Ileana’s costume, and now this.”
He agreed with her on that score. Rebecca had always managed to get the upper hand in life, and in death as well. She would never truly go away, as much as he had tried to delude himself to the contrary. Those two blissful weeks in Monte Carlo, his honeymoon in Venice, had made him far too comfortable. His return home came with a punch to the gut. Seeing her face every day in Lydia, her smile in every shadow, her fluid movements each time the wind blew, had been too much to bear. Not even Ileana could make it go away, though she did soften the blow to an extent.
“Believe me when I say that I understand that,” Maxim told her. “Though I’m sure you don’t need that explained to you.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” Lydia replied, hands still fidgeting. She wanted to say more, Maxim could tell, so he motioned to her to continue.
That hint of fear crept into her features once more, and his face fell at the sight. He hadn’t meant to scare her, to make her wary of how he would react to something unpleasant she might say. He was not like Rebecca. He was better than that.
“Tell me, will you ever stop thinking of her when you look at me?”
Maxim had expected that question. Ileana had all but told him that it would come up, but something about the defeated way she had asked made him feel like the wind had been knocked out of him. The worst part of it was he couldn’t tell her that he would. It would be a lie, and that would do her a great disservice. He did not want to get her hopes up. She didn’t deserve to have her heart broken like that again.
Rebecca had done that enough already. She had never been an affectionate mother, but for some reason Lydia had held onto hope that that would change. She held onto hope until she physically couldn’t anymore. The scars had become too numerous, too painful, to the point where she only saw Rebecca as a harbinger of suffering.
He had done it as well. Ileana had made that clear to him, though it should have been in the back of his mind as well. He had made the excuse to Ileana that he had pushed Lydia away for her own good, but he couldn’t fool himself any longer that it held any weight. It was only partially true.
“I don’t know, Lydchen,” he said, using the nickname he had often called her when she was small and he had begun to teach her the German language, before the war had begun. She had been just four years old then. As much as he tried to let her down gently, she still looked crestfallen at his answer. He took a deep breath before adding, “but I hope you know that the fault lies with me, not you.”
Lydia nodded her head, though she still seemed a little unsure.
Seeing as they had finally addressed the elephant in the room, Maxim felt he might as well elaborate. Elaborate as much as he could without revealing the one truth that was sure to break her. “Ever since she died, I began to worry that your resemblance to Rebecca was more than skin deep. You have her wit, her charm. You carry yourself the same way she does.”
“You don’t need to remind me of things I’ve heard all my life,” Lydia told him sharply.
“Please, let me finish,” Maxim implored her. “It was irrational of me, but I thought you would turn out just as cruel and vindictive as she was too. Whenever I looked at you, I saw her staring back at me, but I was so lost in my own head that I failed to remember that you are not and have never been anything like that. If anything, your flaws come from me. You hold things in until you burst, for one thing.”
Lydia laughed a little. “That’s true,” she said.
“But,” Maxim continued on, “you’re also one of the strongest people I’ve met. Not many people who have been hurt the way you have would be able to allow themselves to be loved and risk being hurt again, but you’ve done just that. You let Ileana into your heart. You trusted her with something important.”
“She told you to say that, didn’t she?” Lydia hummed. It sounded like she was partially in jest, which made Maxim laugh just a bit as well. He was glad he had gotten a positive reaction out of her.
“No,” he replied, “but she did tell me to speak to you.”
“She told me as much,” Lydia said. Finally she stopped fidgeting with her hands, her body relaxing somewhat. “You know, you chose well with her.”
Maxim smiled slightly at his daughter’s words. Of course, he knew that the two of them were on friendly terms, but still, it gladdened him to hear that she thought so highly of Ileana. That she thought so highly of his choice. “It makes me happy to hear you say that,” he told her.
“I’m sure you know that I never expected her to be so young, but I don’t mind that. Not anymore at least,” Lydia replied. “Sure, she’s a bit of a pushover, but she’s one of kindest people I’ve ever met. She didn’t judge me when I told her about Rebecca.”
At this, Maxim looked at her with surprise. “What did you tell her? When did you tell her?” It wasn’t that he was against Lydia getting it all off her chest, but Ileana had seemed genuinely shocked when he told her of his crime, of Rebecca’s true character. What had she known? Why hadn’t she let on that she knew earlier?
“I didn’t tell her much if that’s what you’re worried about. She just heard me talking to Rebecca once and thought I was talking to her. I told her that she appears to me sometimes. I didn’t tell her the reason why, and I think she just believes that talking to her is how I cope with my grief,” Lydia explained, as if she was trying to mollify him.
“I don’t mind that you spoke to her,” Maxim assured her. “But what do you mean she heard you talking to Rebecca?” That part confused him, though it probably shouldn’t have. Rebecca haunted his every waking moment, it would have been a wonder if she didn’t haunt Lydia’s as well.
It showed just how little he had been paying attention.
Lydia looked at him pointedly. “Do you think you’re the only one who can’t get rid of her?” she asked wryly.
He deserved that. He knew he did.
“She died, but she never really left,” Lydia continued, and Maxim was content to let her. “I know it isn’t real, but when she laughs at me and throws my insecurities in my face, it feels real. Sometimes she’ll hit me, toss me around, the usual things she did while she was alive. I shouldn’t be injured from that, why would a ghost be able to hurt you, but after she disappears my sleeves would be rolled up and I would always have marks on my arms. Sometimes there’s even blood…” she trailed off, and Maxim surmised that that was as far as her admission would go. There were no tears, only a resigned expression on her face. A hint of confusion as well.
Did she really not know? Even if ghosts were real, she was right that they would not have the ability to physically harm the living, but she was still talking of these injuries as if Rebecca had to have given them to her. Maxim was not fooled though, they could have only come from one place. “Lydia, show me your arms,” he commanded, though he hoped that didn’t go about it too harshly.
“What?” Lydia tensed up, crossing her arms on her chest.
“Show me your arms,” he repeated, more firmly this time.
Lydia did as she was told and rolled up her sleeves. What Maxim saw made his heart break a little. No, more than a little. There were bumps and scars all over both of her arms, even a few red marks as well. Many of them looked fresh, far too fresh. His jaw dropped, and he couldn’t tear his gaze from the wounds. “You did this to yourself, didn’t you?” Maxim asked, though the question was rhetorical. He knew the answer. He didn’t need her to say it. He didn’t know whether to be angry with her or to feel pity for her. The only thing he wanted to know was “why?”
Lydia did not meet his eyes. Her lip quivered, and she was clearly struggling to answer. “I…have done it to myself before, yes,” she whispered. “It helped numb the pain. It made me feel in control while she was alive. If I was constantly going to be hurt, if that’s what I deserved…I thought that I’d rather it be by my own hand rather than hers.”
Maxim pulled her sleeves down, no longer wanting to look at his daughter’s scars. “You…” he stammered, “you wanted control, so you punished yourself?” He truly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Rebecca had been worse to her than even he had known. At that moment, he was glad he had killed her. He would never forgive her for putting that idea into Lydia’s head.
He hoped that bitch was rotting in hell.
“All this time, I thought you wore those long sleeves to cover up what she’d done to you. This whole time…how long have you been doing this?”
Lydia mumbled the answer, so he asked her again. “A few years,” she said, only just loudly enough for him to hear.
A few years. To think she had kept this from him for years. He had never thought to question her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” his voice tremored as the words left his mouth.
“I don’t know,” Lydia said. She began to wring her hands, looking down at her lap. She was lying, he knew that, but he remained silent, waiting to see if she would eventually admit the truth.
To his relief, she did. “I didn’t think you’d want to know. I didn’t think you’d care.”
“Of course I would have!” Maxim practically shouted. How could she even think that he wouldn’t care? He hadn’t been perfect, he had practically neglected her, but if he knew she was doing this to herself, he would have liked to think that he would have intervened. He would have at least tried to wean her off that habit, assure her that she didn’t need to punish herself in Rebecca’s place, that she didn’t deserve to feel constant agony.
But would he really have done so? Would that have snapped him out of the incessant belief that his daughter would grow into the reincarnation of his late wife? It was hard to say. He knew that made him a terrible father, a terrible person even, but what would he really have done? If he could go back in time and talk some sense into the man he was this time last year, he would do that in a heartbeat.
In protecting her, he had helped to destroy her. Rebecca may have built the coffin, but he had placed the final nail in it. He was no better than Rebecca. If he had allowed this to continue, sitting by and doing nothing to quell her despair, he could have easily lost her. She could have quietly left this world, and he would have been left wondering why. He would have thought that she’d have no reason to attempt anything of the sort now that Rebecca was gone. He would have thought that she should have tried harder to forget, though it was an impossible task for him.
He had been so blind. How had it taken Ileana pointing it out directly to him for him to come to this conclusion? He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw the most breakable object he could find and let it shatter to pieces. It was too bad that ugly little Cupid had already been broken. He knew, however, that that was not what was needed. Lydia didn’t need him to get angry.
“You would have…” Lydia repeated, as if testing how the words sounded, whether or not she believed them. “Or would you have shut me out further?”
No, she did not believe him. Why should she when he had behaved as he did?
Lydia sighed when he did not give an answer. Clearly she had taken it as further confirmation of the latter. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter now,” she told him. “If it bothers you that much, I won’t do it anymore.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Maxim said sharply. “And clearly it matters if you’re bringing it up to me now.”
“Fine,” Lydia relented. “Let’s say it does matter. But how was I supposed to know to come to you when your priorities clearly laid elsewhere? For the last year, you would hardly speak more than a few words to me. Hell, you would hardly even look at me.”
Her brown eyes had gotten big, pleading. It reminded him of when she was a little child and she would seek him out after a particularly bad beating. She would beg him to make the pain go away. She would do her best not to cry as she asked in that tiny voice of hers why Rebecca did not love her, what she could do to make her love her. He hadn’t offered much in the way of comfort, only a warning to avoid her mother when it looked like she might get angry, sometimes an unconfident assertion that Rebecca would have to come around one day, that she didn’t need to change to be loved by her.
But I do, she would say with so much more frustration than a child of that age should feel. Being myself isn’t good enough!
He remembered her asking if he loved her. It broke his heart to hear the uncertainty in her voice back then, but he would always scold her for asking such a silly question because of course he did. Sometimes it got a little smile out of her, and she would say that she loved him too.
He missed those days, and he had only himself to blame for the fact that things had changed so drastically between them.
“You’re right, Lydia,” he said quietly, “I haven’t been good to you. I’ve failed you tremendously. I know that there isn’t anything I can do to change that, but I’d like to make it right if you’ll allow it.”
The look in her eyes told him that she was still skeptical, but he could detect the slightest trace of hope. It was gone as soon as it came, but it was better than nothing.
“For the record,” he continued when she said nothing, “you never deserved what I did to you, nor what she did to you, but especially not what you’ve done to yourself. I don’t want you to ever feel that you have to resort to hurting yourself again.”
He reached out to take her hand, taking care not to grip it too hard. “I hope that you’ll forgive me one day,” he spoke tentatively. “Please, say that you will.”
Lydia squeezed his hand, her lips turning upward ever so slightly as she said “One day, one day I will.”
Maxim smiled back at her. He did not let go of her hand, and she didn’t seem to have any intention of doing so either. “I hope you know that I love you,” he said.
At this, Lydia beamed, like she had been waiting to hear him say that for an eternity. She must not have realized the full scope of it, for she replied with “Thank you.”
It dawned on him at that moment that this was the first time he had told her he loved her without any prompting in years. He had done damage to her that he could not take back, but this, this was progress.