audra deroux (deroux) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2012-11-27 14:28:00 |
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Edita Veva was sitting in her home office. She had taken leave and decided to work at home; after all, her daughter could be dead. This past Sunday, splattered on a popular French newspaper’s opinion column was Edita’s most successful article yet: What IVI won’t tell you: My daughter could be dead. When the house phone rang, Edita let it go to the answering machine. Not many people knew their house number and she really had no desire to speak to anyone that did. “You’ve reached the Deroux family!,” came Audra’s optimistic voice in French, she almost sounded as if she was about to laugh. Then came a deeper, yet friendly boyish voice: “Leave a message and .. maybe we’ll get back to you.” Audra spoke again. “Thank you and --” There was an obvious pause and an intake of air. “-- have a nice day!” The message was cut-off as brother and sister broke out in giggles. What exactly was so funny, Edita had never really known, but she found that it usually made the listener smile with them. At least it always had for her. No one had the heart to change it since Allard’s death years ago. “Mama,” came Audra’s quiet voice after a few seconds. Her voice was completely different from the answering machine. She sounded tired, weary, and older. Edita scrambled in her seat to pick up the phone. “I’m sorry I hadn’t called. I’m in the Dean’s Office now --” Silly girl, that should have been the first thing that she had said, but now it was too late, she had already picked up the phone. “Little ducky,” came her mother’s voice, and Audra froze. Her mother always seemed so calm, poised. “Mama,” was all she could reply with. There was a pause. Audra looked frightened, stealing a glance over to the Dean before quickly looking away, angling herself away from anyone that could see her expression. “It’s lovely to hear your voice after the countless weeks, days, hours that I had been worried myself sick, that something had happened to you. Meanwhile, you clearly were simply ignoring the very mother who birthed you.” Edita straightened herself in her seat, her usual authority back. “You will e-mail me everything that had happened since the last time we spoke. George Cooper, all of it. You will not leave out any detai --” “Non.” Edita gripped the landline phone tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. She hadn’t heard correctly, yet she decided not to continue. “Did you say something, Audra?” “I -- I cannot.” Pause, and then hastily. “It’snotIVI. I -- I just do not wish to. Not now. I hope you understand, Mama.” The next several phrases from her mother seemed as if it were a completely new conversation. Any tension from Edita’s end was gone. “That’s lovely to hear, Audra. But you will send me that e-mail tonight or not bother coming home for the holidays.” Pause. Edita spoke in Lithuanian, shifting away from their French. Her voice was low. “I certainly hope you know you are better than this, than them. These Vols. Do not forget who you are, Audra. Do not forget your family. We will fix you when you return.” And just like that, the conversation was over on her mother’s terms, as always. Audra managed a weak smile to the Dean, whispered a weak thank you (though she wondered if she should be apologizing) before heading out quietly. |