Way Down We Go

Chapter Eighteen

"Mary?" my eldest half brother asked, coming into the small space I was inside. "Are you here?" he asked. I looked up from the small book upon my lap and to my brother James. My protective, elder half brother smiled in relief as he saw me.

"Hey," I smiled, closing the book and placing my lone lit candle to the burner, lighting up the tiny library-study I was inside. "Why're you up so late?" I asked. James took a seat in front of me, handing me a large, steaming white mug with a dark brown liquid inside it. It seemed firmilar.

"Coca," he indicated with a tilt of his head, looking at my mug, then at his own. "Just like father used to make." he smiled. I reciprocated it, albeit a little sadly. I didn't remember our father much. Of course, I would never forget witnessing the end of his life and his body afterwards. I could never forget something like that. And it's a shame that most of the memories I have of a man who had been told to be so honourable and good and honest and kind were sad ones. But I had good ones, too. It was just a shame I didn't have more than bad.

And I never met James when I was a girl and our father was alive. All of his kids didn't meet until long after his death, we didn't even know about each other until out of high school and college. And there were a few more that we didn't know or hadn't met, but Jamie was more than enough for me. I wished I knew him as a child, as he did me, but it just wasn't meant to be.

I took a sip of the familiar hot coco. That, I remembered. Sweet and chocoaltey and caramelly and hazelnutty and warm and comforting and just home. Every night and twice on Sundays, father would make it for me and we would sit at the window or in bed and laugh and gossip with each other. I wished that he was still here, more than anything sometimes.

"Just like father used to make." I agreed, sipping from my mug, before placing it on the small table near my overstuffed, green velvet chair, next to the silver tray of cookies and cakes and a jug and goblet of wine. Old school, I know, but it came with the castle, and I adored all things medieval.

"Are you okay?" he asked, after a rather long silence. I looked at him, silent. "It's been two weeks and you've been-" he cut himself off. I frowned. What was it with people telling me how I should feel? All things considered, I'm perfectly fine. "different," he decided. "I suppose. More withdrawn and bizarre. You've been drinking more, too." he nodded to my red wine. I covered it with a hand, somewhat defensively.

"My husband cheated on me with my friend and got her pregnant with twins." I coldly reminded my half brother. "I don't think I should be jumping for joy right now, do you?" I glared. "I'm hurt, Jamie. I'm betrayed and humiliated. How would you act if Emily-" I mentioned his troublesome, married girlfriend, "did something like that to you if you were exclusive and not just a side piece."

"I'm not a side piece," he said softly. "I love her and she loves me."

"She's married, James. She hadn't told John. They're not getting a divorce. It's still a marriage and you're the mistress." I huffed.

"This isn't about me, Mary." I huffed back. I blinked at him. "Do you think he would have told you about what happened, if you hadn't confronted him about the paps' pictures?" he asked. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to see the visual images of my husband and my friend pressed up against the wall and-

No. I scolded myself. There was no point to that.

 "No." I said. "I don't." I wiped my face with the back of my hand, as if looking for something to actually do, instead of another deep conversation about personal feelings. I had enough of those to last a lifetime. "If I hadn't seen those pictures, I would have had no suspicions. And there was a few weeks in between where neither said anything. They didn't know the paps caught them and posted the pictures online. That's how I found out. Not from my husband or friends' mouth. From pictures from the paparazzi. How am I supposed to act, Jamie?" I asked. All of a sudden, tears bubbled to the surface and I sniffled, blinking them back. The time for tears was over.