Mizpah

Matt had never known his true parents. As he had told A one day in the small, warm café, he was abandoned by Wammy’s as an infant and grew up with Wammy as his parental figure and the other children as his siblings. Due to this, the man never had problems talking about his back story, since it was all Winchester and intelligence.

He had earlier learned though, that A had a much different story. A small sigh left his lips. Brought to Wammy’s at five because of their death, attachment still there. In fact, it still remained. He sometimes came across her staring longingly at a worn-out picture inside a wooden frame, no words spoken and no tears leaving her eyes. She would remain still and would just look and look, until the feelings would pass and the picture would be kept away in her bedside table.

The ginger recalled her showing him the picture. Her mother, a German, looked just like her – except for the hair color. A had explained with a small chuckle later on, that she had inherited her father’s traits as compensation. Matt could almost imagine it – a blonde woman and a raven-haired man raising their only daughter in a two-story home over at Winchester, and the little girl would watch her mother play the piano everyday. Her last fond memory of them was the picnic by the wood, and a few days after that, she never really saw the wood again.

Nor did she see her parents’ house.

Or her parents.

Until, that was, a two years or so ago. Their first trip back to Winchester as a couple (though it really was for investigation purposes, Matt tagged along so she wouldn’t be alone) and her glimpse of the cemetery brought back not-so-nice memories she didn’t want to revisit just yet.

They weren’t able to go to said cemetery, needless to say.

It was 2013 and Matt was right next to her, holding her hand as she gazed forlornly at the graves of her parents. Jonathan Maxwell and Elizabeth Meyer, they read. He looked at her and she quietly asked for him to let go of her hand, which he did. At that, she sat on the grass and stayed quiet, he merely standing and holding the bouquet of white roses that they had bought earlier on. He reminisced on the trip; they were travelling all over Britain and their last stop was Winchester. He had taken her to Manchester and to Scotland, even to Wales. But she had requested for them to last visit their hometown – as she had business to deal with.

He had thought she meant work and allowed her, but it wasn’t of the sort, but it turns out she meant other things. Looking down at her, he eventually sat next to her, side-by-side and quietly gazing at the grey graves surrounded by bushes, trees and the sort.

Blue eyes looked up as he felt the roses being taken away. Her shaky hands took the bouquet from his grip and she laid them down on the soft soil, her eyes not quite meeting his, mouth not moving and no sound leaving her. She was thinking hard and she wanted to say so much, but she couldn’t comprehend nor articulate what she wanted to say. It was hard, he agreed silently, to talk to people who you haven’t really communicated with for years. For her case, it was around sixteen years and countries apart.

Matt then realized that his presence made it awkward, so he positioned himself to rise. She must have felt him stiffen and she put her hand on his arm, making him stop.

For the first time since they entered the cemetery, she looked at him.

“No,” she whispered. A faint one that was carried away by the wind. “Stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel awkward.”

A shook her head, a slight, unnerved smile coming to her chapped lips. “You won’t. Just…stay.”

He wanted to give her the privacy she needed, but then again, she needed him right next to her. He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

And they looked back at the graves, she bowing her head slightly and her lips moving quickly, as if she were silently apologizing for the sudden interruption. He never thought of her as religious or spiritual, but that was broken down in front of him. For the nth time, she was unraveling in front of him. All the strings that made her up fell apart slowly, reducing her to someone vulnerable, someone raw and shaken from the pain of it all.

“Mutti, vati…this is Matt.”

And they snapped him out of his streaming thoughts, making him look at her in surprise. The smile was still there and her hand was in his once more, but the rawness took place and he waited for her to go on.

“I met him a few years ago because of work – well, we pretty much grew up in the same place as kids but we only got to know each other when I was seventeen.” She gave a small shrug. “I know you’re probably saying I’m too young for a boyfriend and the job’s too dangerous, and I’ve heard that a lot. The latter from this dork,” she nudged him, and he laughed. He couldn’t help it. “I’m used to it.”

And then she sighed, letting go of his hand. She hugged her knees and the soles of her heels rubbed against the soil, but for once she didn’t mind nor complain. “When I was younger, I…I was angry. Angry with both of you because you left and as I was shipped to the orphanage, upset because neither of you thought of staying with me. More particular, mutti.”

He recalled her saying that her mother had run back in the house in search of her father.

“When I was going through the therapy, the counseling, I was told that things like these happened for a reason. And it’s wrong – things don’t happen just because. Murders don’t happen just because they feel like stabbing someone with a mechanical pencil, nor do people die just because fate willed it to happen. I didn’t believe that kind of ideology at all. Things happen because of predetermined, already done things, and the following are just consequences or blessings. But as I grew up, I learned to let go of the anger. But I was still sad, still disappointed. I saw other kids with their parents, heard some complaining about strict mothers or unsupportive fathers, and it made me angry.”

She glared at the sky and soon looked back at the graves, exhaling and pinching her temples.

“It was upsetting to hear those kinds of things. For an orphan, it’s painful to have others just…those kinds of things.” He took hold of her hand and she tried to calm down, but her face was flushed and her words wouldn’t stop leaving.

“Because of your death – and A’s – it was hard. I couldn’t be the person you two would want me to be. Remember how the neighbors would tell you two that I was a really lively little girl? Someone that smiled a lot and laughed a lot at the simplest things? …I can only wonder what they can say about me now. About the person I am, the job I have, the things I’ve done – I sometimes wonder if I’m…you know. A disappointment.”

“But when Matt and I had gotten into a relationship, he eventually learned more about me than how much I’d let others know. I learned about him, too. Neither of us had glitzy, pretty, sugar-coated pasts. Maybe that helped us bond a little more – the fact that we could only support ourselves.” Her gaze turned thoughtful, her previously angry side melting away. “One day, I broke down to him.” his hand squeezed hers, “I told him how I felt, how it hurt. Sixteen years, you know? It was such a long time…” her voice drifted off. “And Matt told me some things.”

“He told me that things like those did happen for a reason – and I didn’t like it. It was the psychiatrist all over again, the one who made me identify ink blobs which did nothing to help. Your deaths happened for reasons I couldn’t understand at first, when I was five and emotionally broken down because of the loss. Maybe mutti couldn’t stand living without you, vati. Or maybe she had so much hope that you were still alive and ran in because of that single thread of hope. But either way…the worst happened.”

She was crying.

“But it had to happen soon, right? Even though both of you won’t be able to see me grace the news as a successful detective, or see me in my wedding gown and kiss the man I love, or see the face of your first grandchild. It still hurts that I can’t call home and tell what’s eating me up, or laugh with you two at the fact that I can’t even freaking cook even though I’m a woman at twenty-one.”

“Because of Matt, I was able to get over it. Slowly. I learned to accept again, and I grew to let of all the pain, even all the regret I had – the regret of never spending so much time with you two. Because of him, I was able to slowly be that little girl again. Even though I’m not as smiley or don’t laugh as much, I’m getting there.” She wiped her eyes and looked at him, and he kissed her forehead. “This is the man I love. I like my choice. And if you two were still alive and breathing, I think you’d approve of him. Especially dad. He keeps me healthy, he spoils me whenever he feels like it,” she smiled at his laughter, “and he keeps me safe. And that’s what matters, yeah? I love him. And you two would love him, too.”

A let herself nestle into his arms, his arms around her waist. It was quiet for a few seconds, he just there with his eyes on her and her contemplating on what she had just said.

It felt right.

They stood up eventually and she brushed the dirt off her black skirt.

“Babe, if you wouldn’t mind…?”

“You want to talk to them?”

He nodded, smiling.

“Yes. If it’s okay with you.”

“Of course it is,” she stepped aside and he stood where she previously was, “do you want me to leave you alone?”

His blue eyes winked at her.

“I’ll tell them a little secret, darling.”

That made her roll her eyes, but she left them alone for a while and made her way to an old friend’s grave. Matt watched her with much adoration and turned his attention back to her parents, the wind blowing gently as if inviting him to speak. The man gave a small bow of respect.

“She misses both of you terribly. She doesn’t say it, but she does.” He glanced at her, seeing her hair amidst the mass of green. “And I love her. I always have – even since I was a boy. A’s afraid, you know? She’s afraid of abandonment. She’s lost so much at her age, and I, admittedly, was one of them for a period of time.” He sighed. “I regret it a lot. But she took me back, and that had to mean something.”

“I love her,” he repeated, “I love her so much. I want to help her more, be the best she can be – and be the best that she needs. We help each other. I never really knew my parents – I was abandoned at the door of the orphanage, really – and I may not really…understand what she had gone through, but I’ll still be there. I always will. What I’m basically asking for is your blessing.”

He was unaware that she was coming back, and went on.

“I may not be the tallest, most attractive or have the best character – I am far from Prince Charming – but...I’m in love with your daughter and I think that she’s the one who can complete me. I’ve done so many things I’m not proud of, and compared to her, she’s a saint, a God-sent angel from above. And she really is. And just how all angels have people to look after, she looks after me.”

The wind blew through his hair and he looked up at the sky, just as she did.

“And she thinks you’re looking after her. I know you are. I can’t be her own guardian angel, but I can assure both of you that I’ll be there, watching for her. And I won’t disappoint you or her. Because that’s the last thing she needs – to be disappointed.”

Matt felt a pair of arms around him but he didn’t turn. The wind blew harder, but it wasn’t angry or raging or roaring like the winds of a typhoon.

Her next words joined the winds, harmonizing and completing them.

“I think they approve.”