Yielding Secrets


edgar_icon.gif lydia_icon.gif

Scene Title Yielding Secrets
Synopsis After fifteen years of saying nothing, sometimes it's just time to yield the truth.
Date September 21, 2010

Biddy Flannigan's

It's early in the day, and Biddy Flannigan's Irish Pub is quiet thus far — nearly empty this time of day, although there are the occasional patrons smattering the area to watch sports on the flickering televisions. Near the back of the pub, situated as far from any of these eyes as possible, Lydia sits across from Edgar. A mug of tea rests in front of her — earl grey, extra hot. There had been an unspoken disappointment when the waiter said all they had were tea bags, no loose leaf, but she didn't let it register on her face, issuing him nothing more than a polite smile in turn. She sips at the mug of tea, feeling mildly cheated by its cozy perfection — the allegory and beauty of broken and chipped teacups not lost on her, although likely on most. Her hand reaches across the table to squeeze his. "I missed you," the bare honesty is unusual for her, having grown so accustomed to speaking riddles and turns of phrase, simple statements meaning exactly what they mean are a rarity in her speech.

Yet, there's an edge of distrust at the circumstances, even now, days later. The surreality of him finding her after so long has only made these days feel more like a dream and less like real life. After so long in a kind of melancholic waiting for any semblance of family, trusting that it's returned has been a difficult task, but she's easing into it. So much that the smile she gives him is all warmth and admiration, an extension of the affection she feels for him, and an odd, albeit slow, return of her good humour. After sipping her tea one more time, she poses a question, a faint blush tinging her cheeks, "Do you remember the night we met?"

"I shared my orange soda wi' you. On the 'ay bale next teh the Wild Little People…" Edgar's voice sounds somewhat distant as he talks, it feels like so long ago. Gale called it three lifetimes, but now it seems more like ten or twenty. He clasps her hands between his fingertips and squints slightly as he looks at her. "You 'aven't changed a bi'… 'cept more art. Looks beau'iful on you, then again… You always did." After the years spent apart, he isn't wasting time telling her everything he should have years ago.

Unlike Lydia, Edgar seems very much as ease in the booth for two. It's sheltered, away from the door and windows, and with the painted lady's hand in his, he's more at ease than he has been in a while. "I ne'er did ask you wha' you saw in the crystal." She never asked him either, they never shared much back then aside from a glance between trailers or a brief touch on the arm or hand.

The memory is easing, and the compliments only redden her cheeks further as she stifles a girlish giggle, "Samuel was so mad! And it wasn't even magic!" There's a pause before Lydia's voice lowers, the memory creating a similar distance in her thoughts and voice, "It felt like it though." Her smile flickers as she returns to the present, those dark eyes seeking out his blue ones, "I guess I didn't really understand what I could do." The words of the fortune teller had only given her a taste of her own ability.

His statement turns the smile to something bittersweet, but she bides time to collect her thoughts and courage a moment longer, outright asking the question implicit in his statement, "What did you see?"

Edgar's eyebrows twitch downward at Lydia's denial of the magic of the crystal ball. "I .. No, you're probably righ', probably no' magic at all." His red face betrays the shame he feels at the revelation that he's been believing in something that wasn't real for over a decade. "Uhm… I, it weren't nothin', I mean… It weren't real anyway, righ'?" With her hand still clasped tightly in his, the tattooed lady knows exactly what it was he saw.

If the ball were at the table between them, it would still be what he sees.

With a harrumph, the carnie's eyes avert toward another area of the pub, following the server bringing over their food. His food. Edgar's always had quite the appetite. "Food's comin'… 'Ey Lydia, wha'dya think about me becomin' a wai'er, eh? It'd be sum'thin 'onest…" He'd probably be good at it except for all the people, all those people being so close all of the time.

“Of course it matters,” is Lydia’s quiet reply. “It matters more than I’d like to admit.” Her own lips press together in quiet discontent. She’s too aware of how unfair her ability is. Hiding desires, disappointments, and secrets from her is difficult, not impossible, but difficult. The change of subject to the food is followed, that insecure feeling building inside her. “I think you’d be wonderful,” the words are quiet, smooth, but sincere nonetheless. She squeezes his hand again, that first meeting still heavy on her thoughts; he helped her smile again. Her skin is soft against his, containing the light scent of lavender oil.

Her head tilts as she watches him carefully, longing just to say those words, that silent secret she’d not shared with any of them, to Edgar, especially now after so much time apart — somehow time itself seems short. Her eyebrows furrow as she studies him, unsure of herself or how what he’ll say. “I have a daughter. I saw her in the crystal ball that night.” Her eyebrows furrow with the truth; it's brings its own vulnerability that she so often hides.

There's so many things that run through the average man's mind when he finds out that the woman he's in love with has a child. A child that he doesn't know about. It's been about fifteen years since that night. Fifteen years for the woman that he's been in love with for fifteen years to tell him about a daughter that she's had…. for fifteen years. Fifteen years.

There's no countenance or demeanor known to mankind that could adequately express the tumultuous effects of the news that Lydia decided to impart at this precise moment. If one were to think about it, she chose a good time. They're alone, but in public so he can't react the way one would be afraid of. It's not the day they reunited, but a nice comfortable medium where it's not quite old, not quite new. Fifteen years.

There's a neutrality about his face; calm, collected, stunned. Slowly, he pulls his hand away from hers so that she can't peek into his soul anymore. His greatest desire right now? At this very moment?

He turns to look at her, that eerie calm expression still mired against his features. Catching her eyes he slowly tilts his head to the side as if seeing her for the first time. "Why?"

Lydia watches him carefully as he breaks the contact, relying on nothing more than her own intuition now. His calm draws that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, an unknown wariness amongst her normally calm seas. Eyebrows remain furrowed above those dark nearly unreadable eyes as she leans away, trying to give him his space, even in this small area.

When she moves, the server turns up with the food, setting it in front of them, the growing silence becoming downright awkward even to the outside spectator.

The question is loaded. So many whys surrounding one situation. When the server has, essentially, disappeared, she tries to catch his gaze. "Why did I leave her? Why did I see her in the crystal ball? Why am I telling you?" She's explicating the why, extending it beyond the one word he's used.

A single hand combs through her thick hair as she sighs at the first why she's identified. There's a vulnerable stillness in the words, "You think I wanted to leave my child?" It's not sarcastic, or rhetorical. It's a genuine question; she's certain he knows her better than that. "I was young. Very very young. And… stupid." Her smile strains considerably as she retracts her hands to her lap.

"I was only fourteen when I had Amanda. Her father…" she shakes her head slightly and actually feigns to stifle an ironic chuckle, raspy and rough in the back of her throat, before listing the assumed next in line, "…my parents…" she actually scoffs at the word. "My sister took her. She wanted her. I was… terrified… I ran away."

Her gaze finally flits away from Edgar to the table now, it's easier to talk to inanimate objects than explain her too-hidden past from the man she loves. "Joseph saw that I had been damaged. Hurt by…" she cringes at the thought of JC. "…rejected by my family… just… hurt. I told you I'd forgotten to smile — it had been seven months at least…" There's a quiet firmness in her voice when she adds, "I'm telling you now because I love you. And… I want you to know me… in every way. This is part of who I am. Imperfectly flawed. And I'm afraid, Edgar. I'm terrified. I've been afraid for years, but I've also loved you for years…" her eyes well with tears, but she gently closes them, bottling everything like she's been so accustomed to do.

There's only one answer a man can give when a story like that is dumped on him in a never ending stream of talk. There's no room for him to interject, no space for him to give a few words of comfort, or even a breath of air to allow him the solace if silence.

So he does exactly what Edgar would do. Placing his large hand around his glass, he pushes the orange soda in front of her. His eyes meet hers and again, there is just one word. One word that he only hopes can make everything better.


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License