Forbidden Echoes

Chapter2: Harrowing Handkerchiefs

The funeral service unfolds beneath a canopy of somber clouds, as the sea of mourners draped in shades of black fill the pews of our make-shift chapel in the great room. Amidst the crashing waves of sympathy and a dramatic eulogy from my mother, the red roses echo a deep mystery and passion into the room.

I look over my left shoulder to the unknown faces, wondering what my father had meant to them.

“A great father and an even greater lover” my mother says in between the sobs.

A sudden movement from a crimson-lipped woman at the back of the room catches my eye. A small black veil covers her face, withholding any information on her jolt reaction to my mother’s words.

A thin satin-gloved hand raises a black handkerchief to her masked face, and right there, I see the initials embroidered in red.

R.A

Richard Alden.

A shudder makes it’s way down my spine. Those handkerchiefs were from my father’s personal collection. Not once has he ever offered that to a stranger, no matter the circumstances. For those ‘emergencies’ he carried standard white handkerchiefs sans any personalization.

My mind races at a million miles an hour.

I only remember my father giving one of those special handkerchiefs to my mother when I was little, but as they grew apart, she too would become a standard handkerchief receiver.

Who is this woman, and what is she doing with my father’s personal stationery?

“Serena, darling?” my mother’s words yank me back to reality.

Her gaze is fixed on me from the pulpit, inviting me to deliver a few words on my father.

I’m not prepared for this. I inhale deeply, putting the mysterious woman in the back of my mind. I prop myself up and brush the wrinkles from my dress. When I get to the pulpit, she places her hands on the side of my arms, giving me a controlled, distanced hug. When she pulls me in, she whispers in my ear, “Try to keep it together now, darling.”

I step up to the pulpit and my public speaking skills kick in like muscle memory, overriding any emotion left dwindling in my mind.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen. I’m sure we’ve all come to know my father for the enigmatic man he is, and whilst we’re all here today to mourn the passing of such a dynamic man, we are also here to celebrate his life.”

“By now, you will have all heard many tales about what a great man my father was, or in the case of my mother’s eulogy, what a great lover.”

The audience hums in soft laughter.

“But before we disperse to wash the Beluga Almas caviar down with Goût de Diamants champagne most of you’ve been eyeing all morning, I’d like to share a short summary of my experience as the daughter of the great Richard Alden.”

The veiled woman slides from the mahogany pew, keeping her gaze down. Her frail figure, draped in an elaborate black fur coat, suddenly meets another veiled woman at the side door, dressed as if they’re twins. The second woman lifts her hand to dry a tear, and as sure as I am standing at this pulpit, a black handkerchief with the red embroidered initials R.A boasts proudly from her hand. In one swift movement, the first woman grabs the handkerchief from stranger number two, shoving it in her purse.

I feel the air leave my lungs when her icy blue eyes pierce over her shoulder into mine. In a moment, without a shadow of a doubt, I realize what these two women were to my father.

My head starts spinning, and I feel as if the ground beneath me has opened up and is trying to swallow me whole.

A quick “uhum” from my mother in the crowd brings me back.

“I…”

“My father…”

Words elude me but my mother steps in to save the day. She wraps her arm around me, leaning forward to speak into the microphone.

“How about we all go enjoy the caviar and champagne Serena mentioned?” she says with a smile.

The sea of mourners pull out of the room like low-tide, but my eyes stay fixed on the mysterious women. Their presence feels incongruous, and as their gazes meet mine for a second time, they vanish into the shadows.

I feel my heart sinking into the platform of my pumps.

“Mom, who are all these people?”

“They’re all friends, darling. Business associates, people from his legal team, politicians, even a few directors from the business boards he was on. Why do you ask?” she asks curiously as her hands grip my face as if she could expel the truth from my eyes.

“It’s just that I’ve never seen some of these people. And the w-” I interrupt myself before finishing that sentence. What if she doesn’t know? I couldn’t be the one to break my mother’s heart.

“And the way they all seem deeply engrossed in grief, as if they all knew him on the deepest level?”

“That’s your father, darling!” She says with a soft smile. “He always made everyone feel heard and seen. You know that spending time with him felt like he gave you all the attention in the world. As if what you were saying was the most important thing to him at that moment.”

“You’re right.” I squeeze out a forced smile.

“Now let’s not neglect the guests, darling. I’ve got a funeral to host!”

She leaves me with a quick, pretentious hug. The type you give to guests at a party.

I make my way to the side exit of the room, but something just doesn’t feel right. I turn around to gaze over the room once more before I leave and a tear escapes my eye, running down my rosy cheek.

“Serena?”

I turn around to meet a concerned expression spilled across Alexander’s face. If this were any other day I would hate bumping into my ex-boyfriend, but on a day like today, after the history we’ve shared, nobody knows me better in this moment than him.

“Alex!” I swing my arms around his neck, burying my face into the collar of his Eaton Shirt.

“I’m so sorry S! I wish I could have gotten to you sooner, but my jet got delayed at JFK and I-” I unfurl my arms from him, interrupting him mid-sentence.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Alex! We’re not together anymore, it’s not your responsibility to be here. But you are here. Today. And that’s all that I could ask for!”

“We might not be together anymore S, but you know that the great Serena Cordelia Alden and Alexander Harrington will always be a pair!” he says mockingly.

The slight chuckle between us simmers down and the air thickens with tension.

High-society has never looked as good as it looks on him right now. The way his black suit hugs his muscular physique makes it look like he was born for a life on private yachts and cashmere.

How much I would like to get him out of that suit.

He leans in, wiping away a stray tear with his leather-gloved hand. I can feel the heat radiating from his skin and all that I can think about is how good we were at this. Our eyes meet and, as if we’re in agreement, he hastily presses forward, grabbing my face as he plants his lips right on mine. Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing him into me as his lips part and his tongue swipes across my bottom lip.

“Not here.” I interrupt his movement. “The house is full of people, including your family, and I don’t want to start up the rumors again.”

We release each other, his mind racing.

“I’ve got an idea” he exclaims as he grabs my hand to lead me out of the room.

We sneak along the walls of the foyer, past the already-liquored up mourners and staff who pretend to see nothing. He gently tugs my arm as we brush past guests and up the grand staircase to the upper level of the house.