Penance

Her arrival at Dad’s summer house in Jugon les Lacs in France was heralded by shrieks of “Aunt Emma’s here! Aunt Emma’s here!” and a stampede of blonde-haired midgets who immediately surrounded her and began making demands. She had to admit, it was nice to be wanted, especially by her horde of  - okay, four - nieces and nephews. Claire had gotten divorced, remarried, and preggers all within a year’s time and then spent the next nine years in various states of procreation. She said she hated being pregnant. Claire loved being pregnant. She was currently incubating child #5, swearing it’ll be the last. Privately, Emma thought Claire was trying to field a whole football team. 

“Back you beasts! Back!” She mock-glared at them. “ If you don’t give way I’ll return all of the gifts I brought you and get a mani-pedi instead!” 

“But we just love you so much Aunt Emma,” Clarice (and didn’t she torment Claire mercilessly about that name), the oldest, said sweetly. “And we missed you!” the boys chimed in. The trio aimed cherubic smiles her way. Adorable. 

They were obviously Klare made over. 

Isla, six going on forty-five, just glared at her, her expression 100% Claire. “You’re late.”  Emma would never, ever admit it, not under pain or torture or bad hair cut, but Isla was her favorite. There was something about a mini-Claire that made her heart sing with joy. Plus, Isla was even more fun to wind up than her mother. She supposed she should feel ashamed for winding up a five year old, but really, most days she herself wasn’t any older, mentally, than a mature 11. 

“I can’t possibly be late. I wasn’t even coming, remember?”  

She sniffed disapprovingly. “Mum said you’d say that.” Emma cackled internally.

Clarice, ever the peace-maker, admonished her sister with a shake of her finger, “Isla, don’t be mean to Aunt Emma! We barely ever get to see her (Lie. Emma visited once a month) and she’s not going to want to visit if you’re always fussing. C’mon Aunt E, everyone’s in the garden.”

The boys grabbed her bag - she’d packed light - and she followed Clarice towards the garden. 

Dad and Godmother had bought the property in France as a summer home shortly after their wedding. They’d begun spending more and more time in it over the last few years and she wouldn’t be surprised if they moved there permanently within the next ten. She had to grudgingly admit that it was a beautiful property. The main house was French country on the outside and Dad and Godmother’s eclectic taste on the inside. The old carriage house was the art studio/gallery and the grounds were beautifully landscaped. She frequently escaped to the paths and hidden grottoes when she visited. She’d come to terms with her relationship with her father thanks to years of therapy. Godmother? Well, that was more like detente. There hadn’t been open hostility since the wedding, but the two of them would never get along and it was best for everyone involved if they spent as little time together as possible. Godmother would always resent her for being a constant reminder of Margaret and she would always resent Godmother for being a cunt. 

She was about to step through the little gate that led to the garden when Claire came waddling around the corner. 

“You’re late.”  

“Hello to you, too. God, are you sure there’s only one baby in there? Aren’t you only six months? You look like you’re about to pop!” She hugged her sister (they hugged now. Awkwardly, but still - hugs) gave her belly a quick rub just to irritate her, then planted a kiss on her forehead. “You look lovely by the way.” She meant it. 

Claire blushed and swatted away the compliment. “You’re lying, but thanks. Look, I’m not sure if Dad told you about the festivities...oh. Oh shit!”  Claire’s face had taken on a decidedly green hue and she waddled off towards the house as fast as she could. 

“Mum throws up a lot.” Cade, at eight, took a great deal of pleasure in relating that tidbit of information, going so far as to mime the action, though she was fairly certain that Claire didn’t resemble an automatic weapon discharging when she sicked up. However, never having been pregnant herself, she couldn’t swear to it. Pregnancy was weird. 

She continued on to the garden, escorted by the babbling blonde horde, being regaled by all the adventures she’d missed since she last saw them and exhorted to join in their next caper. She had brought them each a little surprise and looked forward to whiling away the evening hours playing pirate or marauder or whatever terror they dreamed up. 

The falsely solicitous voice of her Godmother broke through the children’s clamor. “There you are, darling. So glad you could join us for the occasion. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”  Godmother floated over and kissed her cheeks, social smile painted on. 

She espied her father and someone else - Klare, she assumed, the hoodie he had pulled up made it difficult to see - ambling towards them, deep in conversation. Klare can win anyone over, she thought with a smile. As much as she had hated Martin, she adored Klare. He made her sister happy and she would love him even if she found out he clubbed baby seals or single-handedly outlawed masturbation. 

“Oh, but where is Penelope? I hope she’s not ill!” The false concern was sickening. 

The children took that opportunity to chant “Penny! Penny! Penny!”

She turned her attention back to her Godmother and tried not to show any emotion. The trick with Godmother was to avoid giving her any ammunition. 

“We broke up, actually.” The pronouncement was met with gasps and cries of denial from the Finland crew, who ruthlessly took advantage of “Pennapee’s” fondness for children. 

Godmother tutted. “I really thought this one might last. She was so...unusual. Just perfect for you. Didn’t you think they made just the most delightfully odd couple, darling?” Godmother turned to Dad with that provoking little smile that was just this side of polite. Emma kept her eyes laser-focused on Godmother while Dad stuttered through his non-response. 

“Well, er, yes, Penelope was, ah…” 

“I’ve been busy with the cafés, working a lot. Penny wanted a little more routine. It was all amicable. She’s still consulting on the countertops for the Soho location.” 

“So the café is doing well, then?” asked a familiar, lilting voice she hadn’t heard in over a decade.  She rotated towards that voice and saw that the man she thought was Klare was actually her Priest, the one she had fallen in love with in another life. 

He smiled. “Hello there.”

“Hi?” she tilted her head to the side. 

“Emma, you remember Father James, don’t you? He presided over our wedding.”

“Yes, I remember now. Nice to see you again, Father.” She held out her hand and was surprised when he actually reached over and shook it, enfolding her hand between both of his. His touch sent a familiar buzz up her arm. 

“Likewise.”  He withdrew his hands and tucked them into the pockets of his hoodie. 

The children, bored with the adults, began tugging at her hands and the hem of her shirt, anxious to drag their favorite playmate off for an afternoon of adventure. 

“Children!” Claire’s voice rang out from the garden entrance. “That is no way to behave. Leave Aunt Emma a few minutes to get settled.” The children quieted, though there was a faint air of mutiny in their tiny faces. “Then you can attack.” They brightened and ran off deeper into the garden with a parting Woop!

Klare - the real one this time - escorted his wife down the path, a gentle hand cupping her elbow. 

“Dear sister! You have arrived! We have missed you!” He deposited his wife next to her father and swept Emma up, laughing, into a giant bear hug. 

“Aw, I missed you too, Klare!  But what have you done to my sister?! I swear, I’m getting her a chastity belt for Christmas this year!” Claire blushed and Klare laughed. 

“It is not me! My Claire, she is insatiable! I do not dare disrobe in front of her for fear she will eat me alive!” He curled his hands into a semblance of bear claws and growled, then gave his wife a resounding kiss on the cheek and cuddled her close. She made a token protest and pretended at embarrassment, but the pleased little smile she wore gave her away, if you knew how to look. 

“You say the same about me, don’t you darling?” Godmother drew her fingers down Dad’s arm as he smiled and ducked his head. Emma and James shared an amused look. Godmother noted it and hated it. “So I guess with Penelope gone we’ll be meeting lots of new lovers again? Commitment is such hard work. I admire your ability to flit from romance to romance.”

She took a calming breath. “Actually, I think I’m just going to focus on the cafés for a while. They’re a lot of work and I haven’t really had the time to go out. No one finds endless discussions about sales models and supply chain challenges interesting and that’s the sum total of my conversational ability at the mo.”

“Good for you. Keep your chin up. Not everyone is meant for long-term relationships. I’m sure Claire would love to have you stay with her when you’re older. It’ll be just like when you were girls!” She clapped her hands in feigned delight. “Speaking of commitment, your father and I decided to renew our vows for our tenth anniversary.”  Emma had to do the math, but yup! Ten years. Damn. Evil must be hard to kill after all. “Father has graciously agreed to officiate again.” James nodded his head affably, and Emma caught him trying to peek at her out of the corner of his eye. “Everyone will arrive tomorrow evening at five and we’ll have a little reception after. Now please excuse me, dears, I feel a little artistic inspiration coming on and need to go to my studio.” 

She sailed off, husband in tow, leaving everyone else to stare after her. 

The Priest cleared his throat. “Hm. Well, that was…”

“Shite. That was shite. Emma, ignore her.”

She waved off Claire’s concern. “Eh, it’s fine. She’s said worse.”

Klare reached over to squeeze her shoulder. “I am so sorry to hear about Penelope. We liked her a great deal.”

She could practically feel the Priest’s eyes boring into her. “It’s fine,” she repeated. “Really.” Claire looked like she was about to question her further but the children appeared to claim her for the promised adventure.  “These ragamuffins and I have some scrapes to get into. Don’t hold dinner - we’ll raid the kitchen later. Bye!”

She beat a hasty retreat and committed herself to hours of devising escapades - which was a lot more fun than being pitied by your sister or avoiding an extraordinary sort-of ex you hadn’t thought you’d ever see again. 

If her life was an emoji, it would be the facepalm one.