Arianna's Daughter

Chapter 8

Jason couldn't sleep. All he could think about was Arianna. Is it possible that she didn't love him anymore after all? Just the thought of that caused an unbearable pain in his heart. He thought about how it felt to hold her in his arms again, to make love to her. Did she really think that all they had was great sex? He sat in the library of his parent's large home in total darkness. He opened a bottle of his father's aged whiskey and drank. He poured another drink and stared at the fiery liquid in the glass. He downed it in one gulp. He wanted to drive the thoughts of her out of his mind. He didn't want to feel anything. He wanted to be numb. He sat the glass down and started pacing around the room. The house had never been a home. Not the kind that Arianna had with her parents or the kind that she had made for Brianna. And he realized then what Arianna meant earlier. He never gave her all of himself. She never met his family, never saw how he lived. Though she never said so, it must have bothered her, kept her from feeling like she could trust him completely. He stood looking out the window into the night when the door to the library creaked open. He turned to see who it was breaking into his solitude. From the light shining in the hallway, he saw the silhouette of his mother standing in the door frame. She came into the library and turned on the light. Her eyes swept the room and saw the bottle of whiskey, almost gone, and the empty glass.

Vivian Forsyth-Williams was a very proud and astute woman. Even at seventy years old, she was a lot sharper and quick witted than most people half her age. Standing just five foot three inches tall, she commanded attention when she entered a room. An indescribable kind of sadness was in her eyes as she looked at her son. She didn't like seeing him in pain, and right now she knew that he was. Whatever it was that was bothering him, he kept to himself, though she had an idea of what it was. She thought of Arianna Jones and her daughter, Brianna, her granddaughter. This filled her heart with guilt. She felt that she had failed him somehow, as his mother. To preoccupied with her own pain in his earlier years to pay little attention to him. Then he had that horrible fight with Jackson the night he left, and two weeks later he took off for England. Without saying goodbye. And it was all Jackson's fault. Jackson. Just thinking of him angered her. She loved Jackson, always had. And that was the problem. Too proud to tell him just how much, too much in love with him to walk away. So she did just what Jason is doing now. Sat in a darkened room and found solace in the bottom of a bottle or so she thought.

She walked over to the chair Jason had just got up from and sat down. She lifted the bottle and sat it back down on the table. "Didn't I ever teach you it's never good to drink alone?" she asked in a sad voice. "What's troubling you Jason? Every since you got home, I can tell that there is something bothering you," she said astutely.

Jason laughed, but it lacked warmth or cheer. "How very astute of you, Mother. The agility of your mind never ceases to amaze me," he replied sarcastically.

"There's no need to be so bitter Jason. I heard you come in about an hour ago and I simply came in here to make sure you were alright," she replied, sounding genuinely wounded.

Jason relented. He let out a deep sigh and sat down in the chair next to her. "I'm sorry Mother. I had no right to speak to you that way. It seems that no matter what I do or say to anyone lately, it's wrong."

Vivian glanced at Jason. So like his father he is. So alike, yet so different. Jason has a heart. And its breaking, she thought sadly. She's never been able to forgive Jackson or herself for that matter, for driving Jason away. Bitter regret gripped her heart. She should have told Jason long ago about Arianna and what Jackson had done. And the part she played too. "Jason, does it by chance have anything to do with Arianna Jones and her child? Your child? My granddaughter?" she asked him quietly.