Soft Limits

But my phone remains stubbornly silent, even as my browser history is full of him. I can’t stop myself from Googling his name. For the first few days the art sections of the newspapers were sympathetic to his plight, but as more details emerged they turned on him.

Understudy Takes On Role In West-End Show After Star Diagnosed With Rare Voice Condition

Leading Man Hid Voice Condition From British Agent, Director

Frederic d’Estang Retreats To Paris After London Show Shame

Dad has been hounded by journalists for angry sound bites but all he said to one was that “his thoughts are with Frederic during this difficult time and he’s certain that the singer regrets the way things turned out.” He’s been framed as a wronged party by the press but Martin, Frederic’s Canadian agent, didn’t get off so lightly. Once he admitted that he knew about Frederic’s condition but “didn’t realize how dire it had become,” the reporting became snide and disbelieving and he was accused of avarice and professional shortsightedness.

Frederic hasn’t spoken one word to any journalists, though perhaps he can’t speak, still. I’ve read up on Reinke’s edema, the condition Dad said Frederic has. My blood turned cold when I read the treatment directions. Elimination of the cause of the disorder is essential to successful treatment. All those heated arguments between Frederic and Giselle; the careful way Marion spoke about wanting him to slow down; the tense look on Frederic’s face as I asked him what came next in his career. All the signs that something was badly wrong were there, and I didn’t see them. As his biographer I had his life handed to me on a plate but I didn’t suspect a thing. I’m so stupid. So fucking stupid.

I roll my head on the pillow away from them. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

My sisters sigh, and sit a while longer looking at my averted face. Then they slink away. I hear them whispering to each other outside my door. “...upset after Adam, but not like this...” “...fell in love with him so quickly. How could he be so callous when he knew she had a huge crush...”

They think I got hurt because I had some persistent fan-girl crush that Frederic took advantage of. I muffle a groan with my pillow. If only it had been that.

On the days I have to run tutorials and meet with my supervisor I stay at the university, but the other days—the days I used to spend with Frederic—I come home. Not for the company, because I don’t want to talk to anyone, but because it’s easier to be miserable at home without having to explain why. The less people I have to endure the better.

But I should have realized that Mona and Therese would only let me wallow for so long. Three days later they’re back, and they’re done being gentle with me.

“What were you doing, practicing cannibalism together?” Mona exclaims, standing over me with her arms folded. “You’re not going to shock us by what you say, you know. We’re not a couple of old maids. Whatever happened between you and Frederic, it will help to talk about it.”

Therese nods. “We just want to help. Talk to us.”

“There’s nothing to help with. I just need time,” I croak. A few thousand years ought to do it.

Mona glares at me, and then her face crumples. I stare at her, and something finally pierces my fog. Shock. I never see her cry. She’s the strong one, the flippant one, the ice queen. She doesn’t need anything from anyone. I wish I was more like her. But here she is, crying. “Mona, what’s wrong?”

She swipes at the tears on her face and says angrily, “I’m worried about you, you idiot. What do you think is wrong? You were miserable after Adam, whatever happened with him, and I thought, well, that’s that. You’ll choose better in the future. Get wiser. But here you are fading away to nothing over Frederic, only it’s worse, and you still won’t tell us why.”

Therese jumps, because Mona has bellowed this last bit at the top of her voice. My heart aches as I didn’t realize how upset this was making her. But what can I do? I feel sick just thinking about Frederic and I, let alone speaking about it.

She takes a deep breath and goes on in a more reasoned tone of voice. “We don’t need to know all the gory details. Just tell us what’s wrong, please. It’s awful seeing you like this.”

The despairing note in her voice does me in. I press my hands over my face and think. I should at least tell them something. They’re my sisters and they’re clearly worried about me. “All right. But not here.”

I lead them down to the bottom of the garden, me still in pajamas but with a sweater on top because the evenings have grown chilly. We sit cross-legged in a triangle on the grass in the orchard, hidden from the house by the redbrick garden wall. The shadows are long on the ground and the sunlight is the color of overripe apricots.

“Did you know about Frederic’s voice problem?” Therese asks.

I tug on blades of grass with my fingers and listen to them snap. “No. He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t guess.”

Mona winces. “That’s awful. Did he ever try to tell you, do you think?”

Did he? He was so good at hiding his thoughts and feelings from me but I thought he only did it when he was worried about being too sexually intense with me. There were times when he hesitated, when he seemed like he wanted to say more. But I could just be reading things that weren’t really there into those moments. “I don’t know. Maybe. If he did he didn’t try very hard.”

Silence stretches between us, and the expressions on my sisters’ faces tell me everything I need to know: they won’t say “I told you so,” because it would be too cruel given how upset I am. But they’re thinking it. It has all ended in tears, but it’s not for the reason they suppose.

My voice is tired and heavy when I finally speak. “You think I had some adoring crush on Frederic, the performer, and that he took advantage of me. It wasn’t like that. Living with him...” I think back to the ease of our days together, the way we talked and shared things. “I didn’t see him as famous Frederic d’Estang, I saw him as...” Daddy. I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain.

Daddy, how could you do this to me? I need you and you aren’t here.

“Oh, Evie, it’s all right, you don’t have to talk anymore.”

But I wave Mona away, needing to get it out. “He and I shared something very special, and it needed a lot of trust. I put a lot of trust in him.” I spread my hands, looking down at them as if they contain all the hurt and betrayal that I feel. My sisters are probably wondering what I mean exactly by “something very special,” but they get the point: I trusted him to be careful with me, and he wasn’t.

Therese snorts. “Well, whatever he did, I’m glad his career is over. If it wasn’t we’d make Dad fire him.”