Oliver began working on the house immediately. It was a relatively simple design, based on a single-story Sears and Roebuck with a few adjustments. The house would be studio-esque, with the bedroom only partly enclosed to the dining and living room.

  John was a silent, active helper, doing whatever Oliver directed him to do. Estella couldn’t quite get a handle on their dynamic. Oliver clearly respected John, to her he mostly praised the older man’s character, but to the man himself he was defensive, direct, and brusque. It would make more sense if John was short, impatient, rude, or judgmental, but to her eyes he was never any of those things. Nor Eva.

  She couldn’t figure it out. It was like Oliver always expected criticism or a fight.

  One night, when the house was almost finished, she sat with John at the kitchen table while he graded his summer school students’ homework. Largely unfamiliar with school as an institution in general, she asked him what made a child spend extra time at school.

  “Many factors can lead a child to the school room in the high summer: illness, work or labor, maybe even their parent things it’s a waste or a strong hand causes them to miss too much school during the regular year.”

  Abuse. Or if not abuse, certainly discord at him. Oliver’s parents pushed him to go to school. Was there more to it than a disagreement?

  “What are… what are the kids like? The ones with abusive parents?”

  He seemed started by her word choice of abuse. “There are a few ways to tell, I think, but this is mostly from experience in the schoolroom. The child may withdrawal from their friends, a sudden change in behavior, bruises, or markings. But unless the situation is dangerous, there’s very little a person can do about it. Most look the other way, in any case.”

  “What might an adult be like who suffered childhood abuse?”

  “Well! I’ve never thought about it. I’m not certain, frankly.”

  Reluctantly, Estella let the subject drop. She wished she could talk to Jacques; he would know more because of his work. Or he will know more. Maybe abuse was more normalized in the 1940s. John certainly didn’t seem to think much about it. Still, she thought of a new way to approach Oliver.

  After they laid down together that night, when Oliver was on his back with an arm thrown over his eye and Estella was curled into his side, one hand senselessly drawing patterns on his chest, lazily she requested, “Tell me more about your parents. What was your mother life? And father?”

  “I didn’t realize you wanted to know more.”

  “Why would I? It’s your past. You know so much about me.”

  “Well. I suppose I assumed because you’ve never asked.”

  Ah. The truth of that hurt. She’s been too focused on herself for too long.

  “I have not been a very good partner. Or friend, before that.”

  Eyebrows knitted together, he said, “You’ve had much on your mind.”

  She sighed. He was being gracious to her as always. “I am asking now. Will you answer?”

  Oliver tapped his index finger against her hand and spoke slowly. “I’ve told you that we fought about school.” Silence reigned after that one statement. Patiently, she focused on the rise and fall of his chest. Eventually, he began again. “We fought quite a bit in those later years, my parents and I. Growing up, they were… harsher, perhaps, than my friends’ parents. More demanding, I suppose. I was an only child, so they didn’t have anyone else to divert their attention. It was only me and them and their words.”

  “That sounds like a very difficult home life, Oliver.”

  “It only got worse when I refused to attend university and started at the lumber mill instead.”

  “You started pushing back.”

  “I guess that’s what I did. They didn’t like it.”

  She stayed quiet, and so did Oliver, both thinking about his confession. How awful it must be to grow up like that, always criticized. It would not make for a close relationship, she thought.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Do you miss them?”

  “No.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Isn’t that horrible? I missed the people who possible turned me into some kind of soulless monster more than I did my own parents.”

  “I don’t think that’s horrible. Haven’t John and Eva shown you nothing but kindness since changing you?” She posed it as a question intentionally. If he had a contradiction, she wanted to know. There bags would be packed in a heartbeat if necessary.

  But as usual, he affirmed their goodness.

  “Are you certain you don’t resent them for changing you?”

  “Maybe a little. Maybe at first. I also liked not being dead.”

  “And now?”

  “I’ve done nothing but spent their money since I left them, and neither of them has said a word. When I finally wrote them in Oregon, their reply was one of relief and joy that I was well, that I had a special friend.”

  She laughed. “A special friend?”

  “I may have gone on about you for a few pages.”

  “Oliver…”

  He shrugged, unrepentant. “I liked you from the start. What can I say?”

  Tucking her hair behind her ear, he continued. “They even offered advice and encouragement on our…friendship. Told me to be patient and supportive.”

  “You were never anything else.”

  “I was a bit of an ass at the start.”

  “Fair.”

  Beneath her cheek, his rumbled. “So, they’ve been nothing but good to you. Except for the lie.”

  “Except for the lie.”

  “Was it truly that big of an issue that they didn’t tell you your options as a vampire?”

  “Truthfully? Yes and no. What do you know about freshly changed vampires?”

  “Not much. I t was all rather slow and piecemeal for me.”

  He grimaced, but she shrugged, and he continued, “It is intense. Everything is too much and not enough. You want to tear your skin off because it is so sensitive, you want to slice it with razor blades because you can’t feel anything. Those are the predominate sensations, except for the bloodlust, for the first few months.”

  “But the change only takes a few days.”

  “Yes, but the adjustment takes much longer. And then, when you’ve finally gotten used to your body, your mind has to catch up, and it is all too much in a different way.”

  “The mental and emotional toll, I see. You were already on edge and their omission of truth sent you over.”

  “They didn’t deserve for me to yell at them the way I did. Or for me to storm off, but I couldn’t stay.”

  “And now you’re back.” She fiddled with the hair poking out beneath his ears. “Can I ask you another question?”

  “You can always ask me anything.”

  “You’ve been a boar since we arrived.”

  A long sigh wheezed out of his nose. “That isn’t a question.”

  “What do you think you’ve reacted that way since coming here? Because you feel guilty for leaving or ---” She bit off the rest of her question, suddenly doubtful if it’s her place.

  “Or what?”

  “Or because you’re expecting the same treatment form John and Eva that you got from your parents?”

  Beneath her, Oliver stilled. Even the rise and fall of his chest ceased. Concerned, Estella propped herself up on her elbows to get a better view of the man.

  He lay exactly as he had been, even his fingers hovered where they’d been resting on her arm.

  Sitting up a little, Estella reached both hands forward and cradled his face. “Oliver?”

  “Is that what I’ve been doing?” As suddenly as he froze, he moved again, too quick for a human to follow in his anxiety. Launching himself from the bed, he began to apce the length of the room with his fingers knotted in his hair.

  “Dear lord, what is wrong with me?”

  Estella floundered. She was deeply out of her depth and wishing therapy in 1940 wasn’t quite so questionable. And available to vampires. That would also certainly help.

  Oliver was quickly spiraling, moving at an increasing frantic speed. She tried to gently coax him back to her with words, but he kept muttering and cursing, flourished with little kicks and arm flails that were finding their way into the mix.

  She approached him cautiously. Just when she was in crashing distance, he swerved around her. Hooking her arm through his elbow, she swung him around, forcing their noses mere inches apart. It spoke volumes to Oliver’s emotional state that he didn’t close the distance.

  With her free hand, Estella cupped his jaw. He leaned into her instantly, like butter melting on warm toast, and something in her loosened. He’s still here.

  “Nothing is wrong with you. You were fighting with your parents because you always fought with your parents. And then you died and then you turned into a vampire without your consent by people who remined of your parents. But they aren’t your parents. That’s a lot to digest, Oliver. Which I don’t think you’ve done.”

  “One could say I’ve been running away from the better part of a decade.” He collapsed against her, burying his face in her neck. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  She didn’t either. “One day at a time. We’ll take it one day at a time.”

  ___

  They never talked about it as far as Estella could tell. Aside from the argument that led to his leaving, Oliver never brought up what hurt him so deeply and the Beckers didn’t pry. She couldn’t comprehend that kind of non-communicative healing. As a child, silence led to pain. In France, being quiet wasn’t exactly her family’s strong suit.

  The Beckers and Oliver were something else. Getting out the main house seemed to help. By the time of her and Oliver’s wedding, he had ceased snapping at John and even relaxed around Eva. Neither stood at their sides as they said their vows in the sitting room of their new home, but both served as witnessed to their union. The ceremony was brief and simple --- exactly what the two of them wanted, given the circumstances.

  Life easily settled into a pattern after they married and moved. Estella filled her study corner, leaving out notes and books comforting. Oliver laughed at the precipitously stacked books looming over her. Every day she visited Eva and John, Oliver often in tow.

  It was a peaceful life.

  three chapters will be posted: Monday, Wednesday, & Friday. The story is in a transition stage, and for two chapters on Monday and Wednesday the length is very short before establishing a normal rhythm again on Friday.