New post time? 
“So, this is where you grew up?” Charlie asked curiously as he, Christelle, Bill, Molly, and Arthur walked up the long drive to the estate.
“What were you expecting?” Christelle asked back. She knew it wasn’t his fault he knew next to nothing about where she grew up; she refused to talk about her childhood. And it’s simply because it wasn’t a pretty childhood, and she didn’t want to have to look back on it. But, as she walked down the driveway, she no longer had a choice as her thoughts were soon invaded by the less than pleasant memories. Memories that made her cringe slightly and Charlie rub soothing circles on the inside of the wrist he was holding.
“Nothing like this,” Bill supplied from her left. The large mansion sat directly in front of them, huge columns running up the front to hold up the large deck on the top floor. The shrubs around the front of the house were neatly trimmed and every flower that lined their path to the door was intricately placed. Some things never changed. Everything was in its proper place, and if something wasn’t, then someone would have hell to pay for it. It took everything in Christelle to not walk through the flowers and muck up the yard.
They all simultaneously paused at the stairs that led up to the large, eerily silent house. Christelle drew a deep breath in, smelling the honeysuckle and pine that still haunted her from her past. She shuddered before walking up the steps. The sooner they got this over with, the better.
Why did you want to do this? she asked herself for the umpteenth time that morning. She felt the others huddled behind her, Bill eyeing the woods that surrounded the left side of the yard and then turning to eye the houses in sight. Christelle already promised herself that she would not, under any circumstances, look at the house next to her parent’s. It would only make her flee before she stepped over the threshold.
Shaking slightly, she raised her hand to ring the doorbell.
Please don’t be home. Please don’t be home. She chanted it in her head repeatedly, suddenly chickening out.
“May I help you?” a woman in black slacks and a light purple shirt asked as she held the door open halfway. The housekeeper. She had forgotten about the housekeeper. It was a different housekeeper than the one she grew up, and the thought made her frown. Marlene was the only person from her childhood she missed; the woman was like her mother, though there was nothing she could do about the matters that Christelle lived through. She had tried once, and failed miserably. She almost lost her job for it. Christelle made a mental note to ask around and try to find Marlene before turning her attention back to the woman with pursed lips, awaiting the answer.
“I’m looking for Mr. or Mrs. Jeffries,” Christelle answered tartly. She eyed the housekeeper warily, wondering how much she knew about the family she worked for.
“And who may I say is asking for them?” she responded with her own eyeing of Christelle and the group behind her.
“A blast from the past should be sufficient enough,” Christelle answered with narrowed eyes. The woman obviously didn’t know much if she didn’t recognize Christelle. She wondered faintly if her parents would recognize her.
The door had shut when the housekeeper had gone to find the man and lady of the house. Everyone on the front porch was silent as they heard the distinct sound of high heels walking on the wood flooring toward them.
A tall woman with hair as blonde as Christelle’s pulled open the door, swept her eyes over them all before rising one eyebrow and smiling kindly.
“We’re not interested in any Girl Scout Cookies, but have a nice day,” she said stiffly as she started closing the door.
“What’re Girl Scout Cookies?” Bill muttered from behind her and Christelle resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“We’re not selling Girl Scout Cookies, Mother,” Christelle said dryly. The woman froze, staring wide eyed at Christelle.
“Wh-what did you just call me?” she stuttered as she gripped the door for support.
“What’s wrong, Mother, don’t recognize your own flesh and blood?” Christelle answered coldly. It didn’t surprise her—the woman never was much of a presence in her life.
“Chr-Christelle?” she whispered shakily as she glanced behind her in worry.
“Hmm, you remembered my name, I’m touched.” Charlie squeezed her hand lightly but she didn’t respond to his touch.
“Well, are you going to invite us in or have us stand outside on the porch, to the curious eyes of your precious neighbors?” Christelle asked as she tapped the tip of her boot on the porch.
“Of-Of course,” Janet Jeffries said barely above a whisper as she held the door back widely.
“Ava, will you tell John to finish up in his office and meet us in the sitting area?” Janet said shakily to the housekeeper, who nodded and walked off.
“Follow me,” she said briskly.
Christelle turned and nodded to the others. Arthur was staring around the house, trying to get a closer look at the Muggle home. Molly gave her a reassuring smile as Charlie kissed her temple. Bill seemed wary as he stared around at the many rooms that led off from the main hallway.
Christelle studied the house, too, as they followed her mother. Everything was the exact same. Cold and indifferent. She smiled sadly as she looked at a picture of Janet and John Jeffries. She had been in the picture, too, but they had folded the picture over and taken her and the cat out. The cat. Sigh. She missed Kitty the Cat. Kitty was her best friend in this hell hole. She died when Christelle turned nine.
“So, what brings you here?” Janet asked, cutting into her thoughts about Kitty. Christelle glanced at Charlie and wondered when she sat down on the couch with him and Bill sandwiching her in.
“I thought you might like to meet my husband and his family,” Christelle replied timidly. Janet’s eyebrows shot up through her bangs as she zoomed her vision into her and Charlie’s interlaced fingers.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Charlie said quietly as he nodded in the woman’s direction. Janet nodded in return before turning her gaze back to her daughter.
She looked different. Healthy. And stronger. She would never admit to it out loud, especially to her husband, but she did miss her daughter. But this is what she deserved. She didn’t deserve to be in Christelle’s life anymore, not with how she treated her; not with how she let John
make her treat her horribly. John. Oh, how she wished she could just leave the man behind and run away. Stay far away from him and never turn back. But she didn’t have the guts, nor would he allow it.
Speaking of which… “I’m glad you stopped by, Randy; are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” John asked with a smile as he walked the man into the room, with every intention to pass by and continue to the door. His eyes fell on the group, zeroing in on Christelle and he froze. The other man, Randy, on the other hand broke into a dazzling smile as his eyes landed on the blonde. Christelle cowered under the man’s gaze, scooting closer to Charlie and tightening her grip on his hand.
“Why are you back?” John said flatly as he glared at the woman.
“She thought we might like to meet her husband and his family,” Janet spoke up quietly. John ignored her as he continued glaring at Christelle.
“Do you want money? Well, you can’t have any,” he said with an angry tone.
“We don’t want, nor need, your money, father,” Christelle said steadily. Randy smirked as he took a seat next to Janet.
“I think I might just stay for dinner after all,” Randy stated as he continued smirking at Christelle.
What do you think? 