THE HARBOUR [EDITING]

The Strongs -Edited

AUGUST 19TH 8 PM

Eleanor Strong lies awake next to her husband Marcus, unable to sleep. She shifts restlessly underneath the sheets, thinking back to the dinner they had with their daughter earlier that night. "Did she seem off to you?" She says, "Hm?" He mumbles next to her, "Daisy, I mean," she looks over at him. He simply shrugs, taking off his glasses, placing them on the bedside table next to him, and pulling the blanket up to his chin. She looks at him with frustration. "You never notice anything," she mumbles to herself, too low for him to have heard.

Daisy did seem anxious, jumpy even as if something had been bothering her, or someone she shudders at the thought. Daisy has always been able to take care of her business. Not that anyone had ever seriously bothered her enough for her to be that anxious.

Eleanor is the district attorney, and her husband Marcus is the mayor, whose family ties to the town span decades. Their status and influence easily make their beloved daughter, Daisy, the most protected person in town. Again, it isn't like she'd need protection. Everyone adores Daisy. To them, she's charming, smart, and beautiful. Not to mention, always ready to lend a helping hand. She is undoubtedly what every parent would hope their child would be. So why did she seem like that earlier?

As much as Daisy is the "perfect daughter," She isn't without her flaws. It's those flaws that have always given Eleanor migraines, worrying about what trouble Daisy would bring to their door.

Eleanor had always believed every child had flaws and that those flaws usually fell under the categories of lying, underage drinking, and maybe some teen sexual activity. Things she'd done growing up. Things she could easily handle. But her daughter's flaws had been more volatile and startlingly unpredictable.

Eleanor shuts her eyes hard, trying to push away the memories- she is unsuccessful in the matter, and the memory comes flooding back. It had been a warm Sunday afternoon when Daisy was no older than six, Marcus had been out of town for work, so Eleanor thought it would be fun if she and Daisy had a picnic just the two of them. She'd planned the whole thing meticulously- she's always been somewhat of a perfectionist. She'd packed a basket full of Daisy's favourite snacks and cool drinks, a picnic blanket, and a Polaroid camera she'd use to capture the beautiful memories they'd make that day. She'd done everything. All that was left was to find her daughter.

Basket in hand, Eleanor made her way out of the house through the back door searching for Daisy, where she supposed she'd be, somewhere in the backyard chasing butterflies or picking flowers. So when Eleanor found her daughter standing over the corpse of the family cat Chamomile, who had been stabbed to death repeatedly, she'd almost been knocked off her feet from shock. She'd rushed towards her daughter to make sure she wasn't harmed, but to her surprise, Daisy had been grinning, and in her little palms had been a pair of kitchen scissors.

Eleanor didn't know what to do or whom to talk to about it. She could've talked to her sister, Katherine- but Katherine has never been able to keep a secret. No, that's not true; Katherine has never been able to keep Eleanor's secrets. She is surprisingly close-lipped when it comes to everyone else. But with Eleanor, it seemed as though Katherine could never wait to let everyone know her business.

She couldn't tell her husband, no, Marcus would've blamed her for Daisy's outburst citing "it is the mother's duty to make sure the children know how to behave," so after racking her brain for people she could've asked for help from and drawing a blank-Eleanor picked her daughter up, bathed her and buried their cat Chamomile. She hadn't spoken to her daughter about the gravity of what she'd done either, she thought if she simply acted like it hadn't happened and buried the memory along with the cat, everything would be fine.

It was days later when Eleanor came home from work to find her daughter crying and distressed looking for the cat she'd buried not long ago. She hadn't known what to do then either, her husband would be home soon, and he wouldn't be happy about his daughter being so upset. In a panic, Eleanor had dismissed the babysitter- sat her daughter down and asked her what she thought had happened to their cat. "I think he ran away. We have to find him, Mummy," it was then that all of Eleanor's pent-up frustration had gotten the better of her, and she'd struck her daughter hard across the face knocking her off her seat and onto the floor.

For a moment- she did not care whether her daughter had been hurt. She'd only been satisfied with herself, that was for but a moment. When she'd regained control of her emotions, Eleanor watched with increasing guilt and worry as her daughter picked herself up off the floor- her palm cradling her cheek. She'd expected her to cry, or scream or curse- (not that she'd ever cursed) like most children her age would. But she did not.

Daisy simply got up onto her feet and said, "I won't tell, Mummy," It was then Eleanor knew something was seriously wrong with her daughter.

From then on, Eleanor had been at her daughter's beck and call, giving her whatever she wanted. Sometimes without her even having to ask. Albeit, Daisy had never mentioned the incident nor spoken of the cat to her or anyone else. Shed never threatened Eleanor nor tried to guilt-trip her either. Nonetheless, Eleanor had never been able to let her guard down around her daughter. "I won't tell, Mummy," those four words had shifted the dynamic of their relationship, and Eleanor had never seen her daughter in the same light again.

So if the cunning Daisy she knows is worried about something- they all should be.

AUGUST 19TH 11 PM

Daisy paces restlessly in her kitchen. She's been drinking. Three glasses of wine during dinner at her parents' house didn't seem to calm her as much as she thought they would, and the scotch in her hand isn't doing the trick either, matter of fact; it has only made her feel more on edge.

Her mother had visibly been worried about her, more like worried about what she'd do. Daisy thinks sourly. Despite Daisy's attempts to bond with her- her mother has always walked on eggshells around her and treated her like a grenade she should steer clear of.

She has been like that for so long she doesn't think she even remembers what exactly had caused the shift, only that one day her mother wasn't the same loving mother that she was- Daisy wonders if her mother had ever been loving.

Eleanor has always been so unfeeling, with the only emotions she displays being either feigned interest in Daisy's activities and achievements or disingenuous dotting. Daisy constantly compared her relationship with her mother and her peers' relationships with theirs and it was always clear to her that her mother did not act out of love, but more out of necessity, like Daisy was her duty and nothing more.

She'd grown used to the performative dotting- but the nervous glances she'd occasionally toss Daisy when she'd felt she was on edge and about to do something reckless (Eleanor could always sense it like Daisy was an extension of her) she could never get used to. She did not quite like being treated like a gas cylinder on a stove at low heat- one that could blow at any moment.

Why her mother had always acted like that, she could never figure out. Daisy has always been impulsive, but she's never done anything most teenagers didn't do themselves. So why-. If only she knew what Daisy had done for her, she'd be grateful.

Daisy shakes her head, attempting to push all thoughts of her mother out of her mind. She has bigger things to worry about right now. What's taking so long? She thinks to herself.

She rushes out of her kitchen, practically running as she climbs the carpeted stairs, making her way to her bedroom. Once in the room; she walks towards her vanity, pushing it out of the way, revealing an awkwardly placed crawl space. She takes the shield off the vent and pulls out the prepaid phone she'd purchased and stashed earlier in the day. It has but one contact in it, she dials the number. He answers on the second ring, "It's done," he says before she can ask, "Toss the phone," he adds before abruptly hanging up.

"Well, that's that," she says to herself. "One less thing to worry about," she hides the phone and decides she needs to see her boyfriend Luke. With everything going on in her life, the last thing she needs is a boyfriend.