The Last Darling Read Online Free PDF Page B

everlasting friendship and loyalty. With this new encouragement, Thomas sold his rundown mansion to the Darlings for nearly nothing and moved into a tiny utilitarian condo where he spent the majority of his time transforming his short and terrible poetry into much longer and even more terrible poetry. Over the course of his life he would write 11,240 poems, none of them published, not even posthumously. His greatest poem, which was of average quality, was written for Clover Darling the day after she died. This poem he valued over all others. He had the original copy buried with him in the romantic hope of sharing it with Clover and Francis in the afterlife.
    Clover and Francis, eager to settle down and start a life suitable for a baby, began making repairs to the old and almost unlivable mansion. Mold and termites had claimed large chunks of the walls and floorboards. Pipes on the second story had cracked and water stains speckled and spread along the ceiling and walls. The electricity was permanently off due to a set of rats that gorged themselves on copper wires. Fires had erupted two different times and the scorch marks were still visible. The house had three bathrooms, but only one toilet worked and only half the time. Thomas Stearns had enough money to fix these obvious imperfections, but he felt the destructive atmosphere would be conducive to his creative endeavors and so allowed the old house to slowly and quite literally fall apart.
    Francis had never thought of himself as a craftsman, but when he saw the aged mansion he was enraptured by its ancient beauty and elegant design. He knew little about carpentry or wiring, and even less about architecture, but he loved the idea of building a home for his wife. He purchased the land and house for a tenth of its value.
    Clover, having grown accustomed to the drafty and isolated cabin, was satisfied by any house with four walls and a ceiling. What excited her more was the proximity of the houses and the possibility of talking, face-to-face with another human being – in essence, making friends. She introduced herself to each neighbor, making sure to silently stare at them an ample amount of time, as she thought was the custom. The neighbors, at first confused and then later amused, fell in love with Clover’s eccentric and often alien behavior – the rumors that circulated concerning her incredible wealth may have helped soften the neighbors' otherwise bitter resolve.
    Clover was so excited by the prospect of making friends, she stared at everyone she met, waiting patiently and motionlessly for them to speak, smile, or respond in some way that she could mirror. Most people were so stunned by her beauty, they could think of nothing to say, in which case the silence could last as long as twenty minutes. The more eccentric and strange Clover acted the richer and more respected she seemed. Eventually the whole city was captivated by her beauty and oddities.
    Only one person overlooked Clover’s peculiarities, almost entirely due to the fact that he could not see them. Leo Vega, once a renowned artist, owned and operated a small lumber yard on the outskirts of town. Though he had only been a resident for three years, he had already built a reputation for his beautiful statues and stone work which were displayed haphazardly around his shop. His blindness had occurred at the age of thirty-one almost immediately and completely by accident. In his early twenties he created a series of oil paintings that garnished him with fame in Mexico and parts of Europe. The unexpected notoriety only agitated his lonesomeness and perfectionism. He considered each of his paintings a disappointment for failing to capture the wonderment of his heart. Colors were perversely plain and lines meandered mildly. If he hadn’t sold the paintings, he would have burned them all. And in fact, in a drunken stupor he tried such a thing while his painting still hung on a benefactor’s wall. The rich man