The Bishop’s Daughter Episode 9: Thirty Minutes Til Clarity

Transcript

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Chapter nine thirty minutes till Clarity Geneva turned and looked. She didn't scold, she didn't plead. She simply waited. Geneva's expectation was enough. Slowly. Elise stood. The examination room was impossibly quiet. She lay staring at the ceiling tiles, counting tiny imperfections in the paint, because counting felt easier than thinking. She battled within herself, trying not to think of Braxton or everything that was happening. But she was losing the fight. One tear escaped the corner of her eye and disappeared into her hair. Beside her Geneva reached for her hand. Her grip was warm, firm, protective, possessive. Breathe, baby, Elise tried. Air caught halfway inside her lungs. Breathe. She inhaled again, barely. That evening, another meeting took place inside the Montgomery home, one no congregation would ever know about. Bishop Elijah Montgomery stood near the fireplace with his hands clasped behind his back. His shoulders seemed older than they had that morning. Across from him sat the boy's parents. His mother held a crumpled tissue. His father stared silently into the fire. Geneva entered carrying a folder. She placed a cashier's check on the coffee table. Beside it, a brochure from one of the country's most prestigious private boarding schools. This protects both children. The boy's mother looked at the check without touching it. Braxton has college scouts coming next season. Geneva nodded, and now he'll have every educational opportunity he could want. The boy's father looked up. You mean he'll be out of sight? I mean he'll be protected. No one spoke again. Some silences were agreements, others were surrender. Late that night Elise sat on the floor beside her bed with her knees pulled against her chest. Her phone buzzed. Are you okay? Another vibration. They said I'm leaving. Did you know? Then another Please answer me. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Just one text, just one word. She reached for the phone. A shadow appeared in the doorway. Geneva. Put it down. Mamma, put another message illuminated the room. I would have stayed. Elisa's hand shook. So would I, she whispered, too quietly for anyone but herself to hear. She slowly lowered the phone onto the carpet. The screen went dark. So did something inside her. Geneva watched her daughter crumble without making a sound. For just a moment, regret flickered across her face, small, brief, almost invisible. One day, her voice caught before she steadied it again. One day you'll thank me. Elise looked up, not with anger, not even with hatred. Something far quieter, far more permanent, hope, the last fragile piece of it, her eyes. She finished the drive in silence, but even after she arrived, she remained trapped in the darkest corners of the past. Before she knew it, the entire night had disappeared inside that memory. She woke the next morning in a mood she couldn't shake. The hours rushed in and out like a blur as she packed everything with mechanical precision, moving mindlessly through the motions as though her body had switched to autopilot. The hum of the suitcase zipper sounded louder than it should have. Elise folded one more silk blouse and set it on top of her carefully curated wardrobe for Portugal. The floral dress she'd packed for the welcome brunch, the navy power suit for interfaith meetings, the crimson wrap gown, Geneva's choice, for the evening gala. She paused and exhaled. No room for questions, no room for confusion, just enough silk to wear confidence like armor. Her phone buzzed on the dresser. A calendar reminder. Therapy three PM with Amara Brooks. Thirty minutes. She turned to grab her perfume when the chime of her doorbell pierced the stillness. Her eyes narrowed. She wasn't expecting anyone. The camera feed lit up on her phone. Julian. Of course it was Julian. She cracked the door open just enough to lean her shoulder against the frame. This isn't a good time, he scoffed. It never is lately, huh? Julian. I saw the pictures, Elise, he said, sliding a hand into his jacket pocket like he needed something to steady himself. You and Malik. Real cozy at your little installation planning meeting. I think I deserve an explanation. Her arms folded. You don't, she said plainly. He laughed bitter. Come on now, don't act brand new. We got history. You've been my woman. She blinked, then tilted her head slightly. No, she said, voice calm but surgical. We've had convenience and sex, and some nostalgia maybe. But don't rewrite it. Julian's face twisted. So you just gonna act like it wasn't good? It was good, she admitted, stepping just slightly into the light. But if it was what you thought it was, Julian, you wouldn't have to come find me. He blinked. I'd be out here looking for you in the daytime with a flashlight. His lips parted. Silence. So what is this? he finally asked. Malik's better now? Her eyes flicked to the clock on her stove. She almost gave him a soft answer, but something inside her knew it would only draw the moment out. Yes, she said. He's better, and I'm in love with him. The blow landed right behind his eyes. She watched it hit. He swallowed hard. Damn. I really do hate to end this conversation, she added, picking up her purse. But I'm due at therapy in about twenty eight minutes. Julian stepped back, stunned but not gone. And don't pop up at my house again, she said as she closed the door. We both deserve better than that. Elise drove the long way, not because she was running late. She hated being late, but because silence had its own kind of therapy, and today she needed both. The Range Rover cut through the city like a slow exhale, no radio, just the low hum of traffic and the occasional whoosh of wind through her cracked window. Her fingers tapped against the leather steering wheel, a rhythm that felt like thinking without words. Julian's face still lingered in her rear view mirror, the nerve, the audacity, the ache that wasn't heartbreak, but something more primal, frustration, fatigue, finality. She wasn't proud of how that ended. She wasn't sorry either, and the craziest part? She didn't feel broken, not this time. The moment she told him she loved Malik, even if part of her was still catching up to the words, something inside her aligned. Like she had finally made a decision, not for her mother, not for the church, not for legacy, but for herself. She pulled into the small brick building tucked behind a wellness center, and parked beneath the leafy oak that had begun to shed its gold. She sat there for a beat, eyes drifting to the familiar name etched in the front window. Amara Brooks LCSW. A soft buzz from her phone pulled her back a message from the office assistant. Miss Montgomery, you're welcome to come in when you're ready. Water and tea are on the table. The Brooks Center The office was as still and warm as she remembered. Elise stepped in slowly, her heels soft against the woven rug, her scent trailing in behind her, jasmine and fig layered like armor over vulnerability. She caught a glimpse of Amara's silhouette through the frosted glass door. Amara opened it just as Elise reached for the handle. Right on time, Amara said, smiling gently. Her hair was swept up today, her earrings minimal but elegant, her energy still grounding. Come in, Elise followed her into the room, the familiar scent of Palo Santo and something minty wrapping around her like a welcome hug. Can I get you tea or water? Amara asked. I'm good, Elise replied, settling onto the couch. Well, I think I'm good. But that's your job to figure out, right? They both smiled at that. Amara crossed her legs, notebook balanced in her lap, but untouched. How are you feeling today? Elise paused. Honestly? Tired. Not the sleepy kind. The kind where you feel like if one more person asks you to do one more thing, you might just not answer. That sounds like burnout. That sounds like being the bishop's daughter, Elise said. And everyone's black Cinderella. Amara chuckled softly. With glass slippers made of expectations? Exactly. There was a long pause. Amara let it breathe. And in the middle of all that, Elise continued, I still managed to complicate things further. I she stopped herself, bit the inside of her cheek. I had a situation. Amara didn't flinch. You can say what you need to say here. There's room for it. Elise leaned back against the cushions. There's this guy, Julian. Ex convenience, really. Then there's Malik, who everyone wants me to marry, and last night it was Malik. Amara simply nodded, letting her guide the pace. It was intense, Elise said, looking anywhere but at her. But the truth? I didn't even really enjoy it for him. Silence again. Elise finally looked at Amara. There was this moment. And I know it sounds crazy, but I she stopped again, swallowed. What was the moment? Amara asked gently. Elise stared. You Amara blinked once but didn't speak. I saw your name flash across my phone. It was a FaceTime call. I meant to press record, but I must have answered by mistake. Her voice lowered. I saw you watching me. And it made the moment more powerful. I don't know what to do with that. Amara's face didn't shift, but something in her eyes softened. What do you think it meant? I don't know, Elise whispered. But it scared me and excited me. And now you're telling me you're going out of town and I'm panicking. Amara folded her hands in her lap. That's a lot to carry. Elise exhaled, the admission sitting heavier than she'd expected. It is. She leaned back slightly, arms folded, not defensively, but more like she needed something to hold her together. Then her tone shifted. But can I ask something? Amara nodded. Of course. Why did you call me last night? There was no malice in her tone, just a quiet curiosity, cloaked in something more tender, a woman who didn't trust easily, finally risking a real question. Amara smiled gently. Would the answer to that help sort through the heaviness? Elise gave a small nod. Yeah, I think it will. Amara stood, moved to a small drawer behind her desk, and pulled out a leather bound notebook. You left this after your last session, she extended it. I was calling to let you know. I didn't want to leave it at the front desk. I thought it might be personal. Elise took the notebook slowly, her fingers brushing against Amara's. I didn't even realize. Amara resumed her seat. It happens, but sometimes it's not about the item. It's about what we think the moment meant. Elise tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. So you weren't checking on me. I was, Amara said, voice calm, just not in the way you assumed. There was silence again, but not the awkward kind. It sat between them like a shared truth, too delicate to press. Elise rose slowly, gathering her things. She reached for the door, then paused with one hand on the knob. Her voice, when it came, was quieter. I get all the therapist talk I do, but I saw you bite your lip. Amara didn't flinch. And that means Elise hesitated. Her eyes lingered on Amara's face a beat longer than necessary. Then she gave the smallest shake of her head, a retreat disguised as poise. Nothing, she murmured, before slipping out the door. You've just listened to chapter nine of the Bishop's Daughter by Lee Franklin. Thanks for listening.