Semisweet

By the time that Florence Harper came into the world, her mother, Edith, had already used up a lifetime supply of maternal instinct and had none to spare for her only daughter. Maybe it was because her other three children had sucked her dry, or maybe it had something to do with the bruises that she tried to conceal under long sleeves, even in the middle of summer. Whatever the reason, it was immediately apparent, to even strangers on the street, that the Harper kids deserved better. Especially Florence.

Edith had three very simple rules for her children.

1. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.

2. Clean up after yourselves.

3. Stay out of the way.

Florence was usually really good about following her mother’s rules, but the smell of warm chocolate was too much to resist on that day. The scent beckoned to her, luring her to the kitchen where her mother toiled. She stood at the counter deftly measuring and mixing ingredients while the oven warmed. Edith took no notice of Florence as she approached, curiosity overwhelming her own good sense. She reached for the edge of the counter, pulling herself a little higher and balancing unsteadily on the tips of her toes. She stretched herself as far as she could to get a better look into the mixing bowl.

“Don’t fucking touch it! It’s not for you!” Edith snarled and whacked the back of Florence’s hand with her wooden spoon. Florence yanked her hand to her chest, cradling it in the palm of the other as pain seared along her knuckles and up through her hand to her wrist. She could not keep her eyes from filling with tears, nor could she hide the sniffle that accompanied them. She knew that if she did not “stop it right now”, her mother would “give her something to cry about”, so she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and choked back the sob building in her chest. A bright red welt blossomed quickly over her tiny hand, spreading across her slender fingers. She considered the mark for a moment, and vowed to be better for her mother.

Florence retreated to the den and climbed onto the couch that sat under the large front window. There, she waited patiently for her father to return home from work. There, she silently cried herself to sleep, wearied by sadness.

*******

Florence woke in her own room some time later, surrounded by darkness. She laid for a moment, listening intently. She heard the rattling of dishes coming from the kitchen, and her mother’s voice, not so bitter and angry as before, but soft and sweet. The voice that Edith used only when speaking to her husband.

She was sure that her mother would be angry with her for it, but Florence crawled out of her bed and stumbled quickly down the dark hallway. She peeked around the threshold of the kitchen, the bright lights stinging her eyes and causing her to squint. Edith caught sight of her first, and the pleasant smile she wore shifted instantly to a scowl. Her eyes hardened and narrowed, silently warning Florence back to bed, but it was too late. Her father turned in his chair to face her.

“Hey punkin!” Jack Harper opened his arms wide, inviting Florence into them. She climbed happily onto his lap and rested her head against his shoulder. He held her tightly for a moment, and softly kissed her cheek. “How’s my girl?” Jack brushed a single raven curl out of her face, and slid it behind her ear. Florence snuggled against him with a giggle in reply.

“She needs to be in bed,” Edith’s words were harsh, and impatient, the way they always were when she spoke about Florence.

They were met with Jack’s own rage, instant, and unforgiving. “Shut the hell up, Edie!” It was not a request. Edith huffed, but said nothing as she stood, turning from the dining table. She grabbed a knife out of the butcher block, and cut into the cake, still resting in its pan. Her knife scraped noisily against the metal, as she lifted a single slice onto a small plate. She dropped the plate in front of her husband without a word, and returned to her seat.

Jack stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes playfully at Florence, mocking his wife. He always did his best to conceal the resentment he felt toward Edith in the presence of his daughter. He scooped up a forkful of chocolate cake and raised it to his lips. The fork moved slowly, and dramatically, toward his gaping mouth and his eyes sparkled joyfully, despite the tiredness behind them, as he watched his daughter watching him.

“D’ya want a bite?” he whispered into Florence’s ear. She nodded excitedly and covered her smile with her hands, careful not to expose the secret moment that they shared.

Jack took note of the faint bruise that stretched across Florence’s fingers. His jaw clenched and he pushed down the fury that pooled in his belly.

The cake was warm, and sweet, and the taste lingered on Florence’s tongue. While they ate, Jack told her about his day, and she rested drowsily in his strong arms. She breathed in the scent of tobacco and motor oil that clung to him, and felt comforted, safe.

Edith watched from the opposite end of the table, envy and annoyance consuming her.

*******

“Come on Lolo, we have to go!” Her oldest brother shook her awake, the words he whispered fraught with urgency. He tugged on her hand and pulled her through the bedroom door and down the hallway. Florence trudged along behind him, her favorite teddy clutched firmly against her chest, and wondered why and where they were going.

He led her quickly through their small house, past the kitchen and straight out the front door. Lights flashed all around her, warring against the darkness of the night, and chasing away the remnants of sleep. She looked around, frantically searching for her father, as she and all three of her brothers squeezed into the back of a black and white car.

She turned to her brother, who held her close to his side, the questions evident in her bright green eyes. Where were they going? What happened?

Unsure of how to explain it to a toddler, he simply said, “Daddy’s gone. We’re going to stay with Aunt Evie for a while.” He stared straight ahead, tears streaming down his cheeks, shimmering as the blue and red lights danced over his face.

Florence did not know what any of it meant, but she felt his sadness, and her own fear, and watched the only home she’d ever known fade into the distance as they drove away.

“Daddy’s gone.” The words echoed in her mind, and somehow she knew what “gone” really meant.