2. The Woman
The sound of shoes tapping on the wooden floor echoes in my head, pulling me closer and closer to the light. Murmurs and shuffling noises follow. Is it morning already? Why is everything so loud? My eyes shutter open, but the bright light invading my sight forces me to shut them again. Groaning, I bring the back of my palm to cover my eyes.
"Good. You're awake," says a voice that I recognize belongs to my stepmother. "Go get clean up and get dressed. Dinner is starting soon, and everyone is downstairs already, including Bertha and her daughter."
I turn my head to my bedroom door, where my mother is now standing. Still groggy with the sun streaming through my window, I squint my eyes, adjusting myself to the glaring yellow light cloaking my white floral wallpaper. My mother is already in her royal blue dress, her favorite, and she looks dazzling as usual. Her chestnut hair is pulled into a neat bun, and a perfect touch of make-up brings out her intense blue eyes.
"Wait...what dinner?" I prop myself up using my elbows to support my torso. For some reason, my arms are shaking. Why do I feel weak? Did I oversleep? "What time is this?"
"It's past six," she replies. "You've been napping for hours."
"I have?" I crane my neck to the other side of the bed, to check my alarm clock. It's when I see Lydia, our house caretaker but also my caretaker since my childhood, standing next to my window, holding a glass of water. She smiles and nods at my question.
I refrain from asking further questions even though I can't recall taking a nap in my bed this afternoon. In fact, I barely remember what I did the whole day. No, wait, I remember something now. I sat in the garden with Lydia and her daughter, Hedy this morning. Then Lola asked me to help her pack our lunch, and we left the house before noon. We went on a picnic at the beach!
"You got home tired and went straight to your bed. Lola said you fell in the woods and fainted. You must have had too much sun at the beach." My mother glances at the water on Lydia's hand. "Drink some water and try to get ready. We will be in the sunroom before dinner starts."
My mother's high heels are clicking away as she disappears behind my bedroom door, yet I stay rooted on my spot, digesting her every word. Did I faint in the woods? And why am I not surprised that I can't remember anything about it? Sometimes the memory comes back later, sometimes it doesn't. And it's not up to me.
I look down at the yellow dress that is not as neat as when I put it on this morning. Brown dirt stains the white hem, and some dried out on my calf. Did I fall in the mud? I can't believe I went to bed without washing myself first. This is very irresponsible of me!
I slowly get up into a sitting position but lightheadedness hits me, prompting me to stop moving and hiss.
"Your mother is right. Drink some water, Gretta. It will help lessen your headache," Lydia says as she holds out the glass to me. "I will change your sheet while you wash up."
"Alright." I drink the water, carefully not to choke myself. It often happens when I wake up disoriented, like now. "Thank you, Lydia. I'm going to get ready now." I give back the half-empty glass to her.
"Your usual white dress is already hanging in your bathroom. But if you want to wear the brown one, I will need to iron it quickly."
"No. The white one is fine," I say, gently propping myself up with Lydia's hand on my elbow to support me.
Once making sure I can stand properly, I trudge to my private bathroom and wash up. Questions are swirling frantically in my head but I push them to the back of my mind. Things around me just don't make sense from time to time, and I have learned to accept them. Because every time I looked for answers, I ended up getting those weird stares from everyone, as if I was the one who made no sense.
Maybe I'm a lunatic, like some of the girls at school said back in the day. It's probably crazy to think that the bizarre occurrences around me aren't normal. How can a girl like me, who is dependent on medicines to control her nerves, define what is normal or abnormal?
Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I sigh because I don't know what to do with my dull face. Spending hours watching my mother applying make-up doesn't automatically make me an expert. I've lost count of how many times I tried it on my face and never got it right. Maybe I'm just going to take it easy for now; powder and lipstick will suffice. No one cares anyway. No one except my father, the person who will give me the same "you look pale; you need more sun" remark.
Oh, maybe Father is not the only one who comments on how I look tonight because Aunt Bertha is here. My dear Aunt Bertha.
Two knocks on the door pull me out of my wandering thoughts. Lydia's voice reverberates from the other side of the bathroom door. "Your bed is made. If you don't need anything else, I will help Hedy in the kitchen."
"I'm all good, Lydia. Thank you."
Once her footsteps are out of my earshot, I turn around and walk to the towel rack, where Lydia has hung my dress. The color is not as white as it used to be but it can't hide the beauty of the handmade embroidered chiffon dress. My fingers trail over the silver neckline, then down to its upper front side, caressing the soft ruffled laces; a part of the dress that always gives me contentment for some reason.
One of the basic rules we have under this roof is wearing proper clothes for dinner to respect others, and more importantly, to respect the food that keeps us alive and well. For some special occasions, or when we have family or family friends join us, we are expected to wear more than just the proper one; we must look decent. Because it represents our family image.
After putting it on and adjusting the ruffles in front of the mirror, I turn around to check the backside. I can't help smiling when the flowy white fabric sways, following my movement. All of a sudden, the image of a white dress wrapping a woman running through the woods flashes through my mind. My heart leaps as it starts drumming wildly against my chest. My breath becomes shorter and faster.
Woman in white.
The woods.
Blood.
Slivers of memory rush back in like trains running at their full speed. The woman from the bookstore cried for help while running in my — our — direction, hands clutching her abdomen. Blood was everywhere, on her white dress, on her hands, dripping down her bare feet. That's the last thing I remember before I passed out. It wasn't because I had a heatstroke!
Did someone try to hurt her? Or was it an animal attack? How is she now? Where is she now? My breath is caught in my throat once I recall Lola saying "We lost her". Is she...was she...I must find out what happened to her!
Before I know what I'm doing, my feet are galloping down the stairs, so fast that I'm almost flying. I don't care if I fall, or twist my ankle in the process. I need to know what happened to that poor woman! Ignoring the wobbling on my legs, I dash to the sunroom, but no one is there. Was I taking too much time to get ready?
I pivot on my heels and sprint to the dining room. The muffled chattering and glass clinking echo from down the hall, confirming my assumption that they have started dinner without me. I stop short by the dining room entrance, catching my breath while scanning the room with my eyes.
Everyone is sitting there.
Father sits at the end of the table, the opposite end of Mother. Between them are Lola, Damien, and one empty chair on one side. On the other side is Aunt Bertha sitting between two women, in which one of them I recognize as my cousin. Lydia and Hedy are walking around to serve food. I must have made quite a commotion because every pair of eyes is now staring at me. The room turns quiet immediately.
Ignoring the displeased look from my father, I say between my frantic breathing, "Father, someone was attacked in the woods and...I think she died! I-I fainted and I'm not sure what happened after the attack, but we must–" I stop abruptly when my eyes fall on the dark-haired woman next to Aunt Bertha.
"Is that how we taught you to behave when we have company, Gretta?" Father asks.
I would have apologized three times if my brain didn't stop functioning right now. My eyes are glued to the woman as the familiar lightheaded creeps back in, as if my head is elevating, leaving my body. I don't understand. That woman is the exact person who was running in the woods with blood all over her. She is Mary!
"You...how...but you're dead...someone killed you this afternoon..."
The remaining smile on Mary's face disappears once she notices I'm talking to her. "I beg your pardon?"
"I saw you...dead this afternoon...in the woods..." I point my finger at the window.
"I'm dead?" Mary raises her eyebrows. "I'm sorry I'm not following you."
"She's at it again," says Lola to Mary, an apology glinting in her eyes before she turns her head to me. "Did you forget your medication this morning, Gretta?" She stands up and walks briskly in my direction. "Come. Let's get back to your room and sort it out."
"No, no...I didn't forget my pills," I reply as Lola grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the room. I yank her hand away. "I-I saw her in the woods. You were there too, Lola! How–"
"Gretta, my dear–" Aunt Bertha interjects.
"No, no! You do not understand what I'm talking about! I swear I'm not imagining–"
"Alright, enough!" Father cuts me. "You need to pull yourself together, Gretta. This isn't the place for this. We have company."
His sharp tone manages to stop my frantic thoughts. I stand there unmoved while shame and guilt slowly creep in, giving me a knot in my guts.
"I-I apologize....I..."
The ground is moving under me, forcing me to hold on to Lola's arm for balance. Nausea hits, followed by a blurry vision. Voices yelp, gasp, and shout. But my sight is shutting down on me.
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