Chapter 3
A framed picture of her smiling brother was on the library wall. Next to it was a picture of him in his army uniform, and below it wilting flowers that may have once been nice. Carmilla wasn’t sure what it was meant to make her feel, but she embraced numbness.
“He’d have hated it,” she said to Kirsch.
“Yup,” he agreed. “But I think it was more for us than him.”
“Do you think if I got blown up they’d put a picture of me on the wall?”
“Carmilla.”
“Ignore that. It’s nice. He’d have hated it. But it’s nice.”
“Should I not have shown you it?”
“No, I’m glad you did. The town really wanted to do something to commemorate him?”
“Everyone was proud. One of our own fighting for our country.”
Carmilla nodded, still encased in numbness. She’d done all the crying she could. “He looks good in that picture though. He would have liked that. The Karnstein’s are shallow people.”
Kirsch grinned and nudged her with his shoulder. He continued through the shelves of the library, and Carmilla took one last look at Will before going after him.
“You hate reading,” she told Kirsch as he flicked through the classics section. “You thought H.G Wells was a rapper.”
“I’m taking a night class,” he said it like it was a confession, “Creative writing. Telling stories, you know. I know I’m not smart, but I like it. I have to write three short stories inspired by a Dicken’s novel.”
“Good for you,” Carmilla picked up a book and handed it to him. “A Christmas Carol. One for each ghost.”
“Nice one, dude. See, that’s why I invited you.”
“You mean it wasn’t my charming company?”
“How’s it going with Laura?”
“Better,” She followed him and he made his way to the desk, “She no longer runs at the sight of me, and I would tentatively call us associates, if not even acquaintances.”
“Who’s an acquaintance?”
Carmilla nearly tripped over at the sudden voice near her ear. Laura couldn’t help but grin from behind them.
“Hi, L,” Kirsch said over his laughter, “Here for the readings?”
“Readings?” Carmilla wondered if her heart had actually broken her ribs or if she was just imagining it.
“I help out sometimes, read to the kids and stuff.” Laura told her.
“Kids?”
“Yeah, you know. Taller than babies, slightly smaller than adults.”
“Oh, those things.”
“Do you want to come?” Carmilla’s eyebrows shot up. “If you’re not busy. Or working. Or busy working.” Carmilla had missed the babbling more than she realised.
“Nope, not busy.”
“Okay,” Laura smiled, “What book do you want to read them?”
“I have to read them a book?”
“We always need new volunteers.”
“Can’t I just watch?”
“No. Pick a book.”
“War and Peace?”
“Not that one.”
“Lolita?”
“That’s sick.”
“The autobiography of Tom Jones?”
“If you’re not going to take this seriously I’m going to take back my offer.”
//
The cat streaked past her, and Laura hurtled after it. She realised too late it had gone into the Karnstein’s garden again, and had thrown herself through the bush before she could stop. She found Carmilla by the pool again, with the black cat rubbing itself lazily against her hand.
Laura went from staring at Carmilla accusatorily, to staring at the cat accusatorily, then back to Carmilla.
“It’s your cat.”
“Yup.” She grinned infuriatingly. Laura crossed her arms and huffed.
“I’ve been chasing it for months. You didn’t think to mention it was your cat.”
“Who am I to stop someone from chasing pussy.”
“That joke stopped being funny two months ago.”
Laura stalked over and sat at the edge of the pool. She looked at the cat in betrayal, who had skulked its way to the other side of Carmilla.
“He doesn’t like strangers. He’ll scratch you if you try and stroke him.”
“Sounds like his owner.”
“Only if you ask me nicely, cupcake.”
Laura turned her face to the pool, hoping to hide her blush.
“Moo Shu.”
“Excuse me.”
“My cats name.”
“Like the dragon from Mulan?”
“Like the pork.”
Laura looked at Carmilla to find her looking completely serious, and couldn’t help but laugh.
“Will named him,” she said defensively.
“It’s cute.”
“I wouldn’t do that, cupcake,” Carmilla said as Laura reached towards Moo Shu. She huffed as the cat took a swipe and Laura yelped back, clutching her fingers. “What did I say?”
“Even your cats mean.”
“Let me see,” She gently took Laura’s hand as Moo Shu stalked away. “I’ll go get some wipes. Try not to bleed in my pool.”
Laura stared out over the vast garden as Carmilla went inside. A part of her suspected the pool was bigger than her living room.
Carmilla returned a moment later holding a first aid kit. Laura noticed how tight her jaw was as she sat back down, though her hands remained soft as they took Laura’s.
“Idiot,” she muttered.
“Hey!”
“I told you to be careful,” Carmilla snapped. Her eyes were hard as she gently dapped at the wound.
“Is everything okay?” Laura asked carefully.
Carmilla said nothing for a moment. “Mother and Mattie are arguing again.”
“Again?”
Carmilla nodded. “They’ve always clashed. Mattie’s headstrong and mother’s controlling. It doesn’t make for the best combination. But it’s getting worse.”
“What are they arguing about?”
Carmilla kept her eyes on Laura’s hand as she spoke, carefully clearing away the blood and applying slight pressure to stop the bleeding. “Mattie’s being groomed to take over the business. Karnstein’s run most of the stuff in this town, and mother wants to keep it that way.”
“Mattie doesn’t want that?” Laura flinched as Carmilla dabbed some cream on her hand, who grimaced apologetically as she did so.
“No. I don’t know what Mattie wants, but it doesn’t involve this town.”
Shouting from the house could now be heard by the two girls. Carmilla’s eyes hardened even more, and her hands shook as she wound the bandage. Laura held onto Carmilla’s hand before she could pull away.
“If you ever wanted to talk,” she said, suddenly feeling a bit awkward that she was now holding hands with Carmilla Karnstein, “About anything. Then I’m here. I mean. I know we’re not friends. But we are kind of friends. And if you did want to talk to someone I know it probably wouldn’t be me but I’m just saying if you did I’m here. And…” Carmilla was watching her without even trying to conceal her amusement. “Most people stop me when I ramble,” she grumbled.
“It’s just too cute, cupcake,” She sobered up as more shouting came from the house. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
Laura beamed, taking her hand back once Carmilla released it. They both were drawn from looking at the other by a smash.
Carmilla sighed deeply. “I’d better go split them up before some heirlooms are destroyed.”
“I’d better find my way back home.”
“Try not to get mauled,”
//
“Did you have to tell the kids that Goldilocks is, at best, a teenage deviant, and at worse a home invader with a life of kleptomania ahead of her?”
“I didn’t want them to idolise her.”
“How about saying that if a boy is more interested in your shoes then your face he, and I quote here, probably swings for the other team.”
“How many hearts did you break by misleading boys?”
Laura coloured. “None. You’re going to scar the children.”
“I did tell them the merits of Red Riding Hood.”
“Always be on the side of the person with an axe is not a valuable lesson, Carmilla.”
“But an accurate one.”
Carmilla’s stint as story reader had been, in her opinion, quite successful. The children agreed, even if the parents and Laura didn’t.
“So when do I get to do it again?”
“Never,” Laura said, paying for their coffee at the library café, “Never again.”
“I’ve got a great bit about how the three little pigs are the true villains.”
“Never. Again.”
Carmilla laughed. It was cut short when a sandwich was thrown in front of her and the server stormed off.
“Is it me or is service really going downhill.”
“It’s Mrs Johnson,” Laura said, helping herself to half. “You did sucker punch her son.”
Carmilla shrugged. “Totally deservedly, I might add.”
“What did he say?”
“Just some shit about Will. It’s not important.”
“Ah.”
“Went to see the nice memorial thing they’ve got here for him.”
“He’d have hated it.”
“He would have.”
“He looks good in the photo though. He’d have liked that.”
Carmilla grinned. “He would have.”
There was a moment of silence, not awkward, just slightly heavy as they both ate.
“Tell me something happy,” Carmilla said.
“My dad wants you to come round.”
“I said something happy.”
“He doesn’t hate you, Carm.”
“Are you sure about that?” asked Carmilla, ignoring the jump in her chest at the nickname.
“Dinner one night.”
“Will you be there?”
“Yes, Carmilla, I did not just invite you on a date with my dad.”
“How is he?”
Laura shrugged, suddenly very interested in the sandwich. “He’s okay. Likes to pretend he’s better than he is.”
“I get that.”
“I know you do. I got him a new wheelchair for Christmas.”
“That’s a very niche gift.”
“He wants to paint flames on it but I won’t let him.”
“Spoil sport.”
“So, dinner?”
“Do you promise he doesn’t hate me?”
“Well, he doesn’t, but I wouldn’t expect a banner.”
//
Laura’s mother opened the door when Carmilla knocked, and frowned at the girl on her doorstep this late at night.
“Carmilla,” she asked gently, noting her darting eyes and nervous hands, “Is everything okay?”
“Is Laura in?” Her voice was steady despite her body looking as though it was about to pull apart.
“She’s at Lafontaine’s. She said she’ll be back at eleven, which means half ten in Laura’s panic.” Carmilla didn’t smile, as Sarah had intended, instead looked more skittish. “Do you want to come in and wait for her?”
“Sarah?” Laura’s fathers voice came from the house, followed by the man himself, smiling a little confusedly at Carmilla. “Oh. Carmilla. Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. It’s fine. I’m sorry.” She started to back off, but Sarah called her back.
“Carmilla, wait. Laura won’t be long. And whatever it is, if we can help we will.”
Sarah sounded so sincere, and both of Laura’s parents were looking at her urgently, that Carmilla found herself nodding and being shepherded into the Hollis house.
“Do you want anything? A drink, some food?” Laura’s father cast around for a way to be helpful. “There’s a lifetime supply of cookies in Laura’s room if you want to help yourself to those.”
Sarah smiled at her husband fondly. He was a sturdy man, but not one you wanted in a panic. Carmilla was looking so sad, and nervous, and both had grown exceedingly fond of the girl over the year Laura has been tutoring her.
“Why don’t you make some tea?” she suggested. Michael flashed her a grateful look and hurried to the kitchen. Sarah motioned for Carmilla to sit down.
“You can talk to me, if you want,” she told Carmilla carefully, “Or we can watch the rest of The Chase and you can wait for Laura.”
“I’m failing math again,” Carmilla said quietly, not looking up from her hands, “I got another letter. My mother found it.”
“I thought you were doing better?”
“I am. I was. But then it got harder.”
“Did you tell Laura you were struggling?”
Carmilla fiddled with a cushion. “She gets so excited when I do well. I didn’t want to disappoint her.”
“She’s there to help you.”
“I know. I should have told her.”
“You never could disappoint her, you know that, right?”
Carmilla shrugged. “Mother wasn’t pleased. We had an argument. I’m sorry I ruined your night.”
Laura’s father came back in with three mugs. “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he said, his wife nodding in agreement. Carmilla smiled gratefully. The mug warmed her cold hands as she took it.
“Does your mother know where you are?” Sarah asked.
“I’ll text Mattie. Tell her not to worry.”
“You’re welcome to stay here tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“Why did you argue? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Carmilla took a sip of tea before she answered. “She thinks I’m not reaching my full potential. I think she has some too grand ideas about my full potential. She thinks she knows what’s best for me.”
“Parents always do,” Sarah said.
“Yeah?” Carmilla smiled, “What do you think is best for Laura?”
“You.” Sarah answered quickly and sincerely, and Carmilla nearly choked on her tea.
“I think she might disagree.”
Laura’s parents just smiled at her, a bit too knowingly for Carmilla’s liking.
//
After deliberating between wine and spirits for an unreasonable amount of time, Carmilla elected for whiskey. It was more expensive, and she remembered Michael Hollis drinking it on weekends when she would be tutored by Laura. This showed her as both wealthy and thoughtful. Carmilla felt like she was on to a winner.
The confidence faded as she knocked on Laura’s house. Michael could hate her for leaving, be disappointed in her for hurting his daughter. He could have invited her over just to shout.
Laura opened the door and instantly frowned. “You look constipated.”
“You look lovely.” The response was automatic, and made Laura blush. She smiled as her nerves faded a bit. “I brought whiskey. For your dad.”
“Suck up,” Laura said, taking the bottle. She led Carmilla inside, where her dad was watching the tv. He looked up, seeing the girl that had been a permanent fixture in his life for four years, and smiled.
“Carmilla,” he greeted, wheeling over to her, “When Laura said you were back I must say I was surprised.”
“Just couldn’t stay away.”
“How have you been?”
“Not too bad. You?”
He smacked his hands on his legs. “Still haven’t got a handle on how to work these things again.” His smile remained, but Laura’s brow furrowed as she wondered around the kitchen. “But other than that I wouldn’t complain. You wouldn’t mind if I finished watching the game would you?”
Carmilla looked over to where one guy was hitting a ball thrown at him by another guy. “Go ahead. I’ll help Laura.” They both snorted, and had the decency to look at bit sheepish. “I mean,” he quickly covered. “That’ll be great.”
“You know,” Carmilla leant against the counter as she spoke, “I get the feeling you two doubt my cooking abilities.”
“Remember when you burnt soup?”
“I blame the quality of the pan.”
“And broke a handle because you made too much pasta?”
“Is there such thing?”
“What about the oven you made me set on fire trying to make brownies?”
“We were drunk. I mean,” She cast a glance over to where Michael might have been listening, “tired from all the studying.”
“As long as it wasn’t my oven,” he said over his shoulder.
Carmilla sniggered, watching Laura as she stirred a tomato sauce. “Can I help?” she offered.
Laura hesitated. “I’m cooking chicken. I don’t know if I trust you with chicken.”
“How about potatoes, do you trust me with potatoes?”
Laura made a show of considering it. “Fine. Think you can boil them?”
“In water?”
“Carmilla.”
“Just watch me.”
//
It turned out that Carmilla’s fears were unfounded. There was a point, when Laura was upstairs, when Michael confessed he had been incensed when his daughter had told him, sobbing, that Carmilla had left. But soon his own sadness at her departure and understanding of why she had gone had overcame his anger.
“Even if you hadn’t left with someone else,” he commented casually, “It still would have hurt her as much as it did.”
Carmilla had explained, urgently, that it was never about Ell. That if Laura had wanted to leave with her she would never have even looked Ell’s way. But it had turned out how it had, and now all Carmilla could do was let Laura forgive her in her own time.
“It almost feels like it did back then,” she confessed, careful in case Laura entered the room without her knowing. “But different, too.”
Michael nodded wisely, which made Carmilla smile.
After dinner Laura volunteered to drive her home. Carmilla accepted gratefully.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Michael told her seriously. She bent down, slightly awkwardly, to hug him, and Laura kissed his cheek before leading Carmilla to her car.
“That was really nice,” Carmilla said as Laura unlocked it. “Thank you for inviting me.”
Laura shrugged. “It was my dad’s idea.”
“Still. Thank you.”
The awkwardness returned momentarily as silence settled in the car, but Carmilla defused it by the age old trick of mocking Laura’s music choice.
“I see it hasn’t improved over the years,” she said, as a boyband sang about something or other.
“Not angsty enough for you?”
“No.”
“Can’t brood as effectively?”
“What goods a song if you can’t brood to it?”
“Why did you stop living with Ell?”
“What?”
They drove through the winding track that led to Carmilla’s house. Laura remembered chasing the cat through the trees, and spending warmer days with Carmilla on the grassier parts. The first time she broke her arm was from trying to climb a tree higher than Carmilla, the second because Carmilla had fallen out and Laura had acted automatically to try and catch her.
“I get a question. Your rule. Why did you not stay with Ell?”
“She broke up with me.”
“Why?”
Carmilla didn’t answer for a while, and Laura let her. Finally she spoke. “You already know the answer.”
“Maybe,” Laura said. The radio had been turned down and forgotten, “But I want to hear it anyway.”
“I can’t take it back.”
“Good.”
“She left me because she knew I would never love her the way I did you. She knew she would always be second. Because she wasn’t you, and no one would ever be you.”
Carmilla watched Laura’s jaw clench and her hands tighten on the wheel. She wished she hadn’t made Laura turn down the radio.
They arrived in front of Carmilla house and Laura killed the engine.
“Why did you leave?” Laura asked quietly.
“Because this town was destroying me. My mother wanted too much. I was no good here.”
“Nothing made you stay.”
“We wouldn’t have been good. I was no good.”
“And now? Are you good now?”
Carmilla smiled ruefully. “I wouldn’t say I’m peaking, but yeah, I’d say I was better.”
“How long will you stay?”
“Hopefully long enough for you to forgive me.”
“How do you know I haven’t already?”
“Because you ask me stuff like that.”
“I keep expecting you to leave again.”
“Dinner was nice,” Carmilla opened the car door but didn’t get out, “We should do it again.”
“My dad will be pleased.”
“I was hoping we could not invite him next time.”
Laura looked at her for the first time since they got in the car. “You mean a date?”
“If that what the kids are calling it. It’s okay,” she reassured Laura, who looked momentarily panicked, “You know where to find me. See you around, cupcake.”
Laura waited until she entered her house before letting her head fall against the steering wheel.
//
Carmilla found Laura in the woods near her house, on the grassy patch they sometimes studied on. She kicked a pine cone at her to get her attention, smirking as it bounced off her shoulder.
Laura was suddenly hugging her, and Carmilla wasn’t completely sure why.
“I’m sorry I yelled,” she said into Carmilla’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“People yell at me a lot. It was nothing new.”
“I was wrong.”
“You were.”
“Did you break Joey Johnson’s nose because he was mean to me?”
“Someone broke Joey Johnson’s nose?”
Laura pulled back and Carmilla was grinning.
“You could get in trouble.”
“I doubt it.”
“Sorry I said you didn’t care about others.”
“And accused me of being a self-centred jerk. Don’t forget that.”
“I thought you were letting your friend bully me.”
“I wouldn’t say he’s a friend.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was letting him bully you,” Carmilla admitted. “And I’m sorry. But he’ll stop now. Promise.”
“You want to know something.” Laura was grinning a way Carmilla didn’t like.
“No.”
“We’re friends.”
Carmilla spun around and walked away, huffing when Laura followed.
“Not friends.”
“Totally friends.”