Never see again? I could feel my eyes widen. “That feels a little harsh, doesn’t it? Especially in this age of email and social media …”
“Do you really think that’s wise? Especially with everything that’s happened to you here in Redemption? It’s not like your friends here are a …” he paused delicately. “A terribly good influence.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What?”
“Let’s look at the facts,” he said soothingly. “What happened fifteen years ago? You nearly died of alcohol poisoning. And that near-death event triggered years of suffering for you. You even lost your memories! Then, what happens? You’re not even in Redemption for a week and you’re already at a bar with your old friends getting drunk. Much drunker than you ever were back in New York.”
“I drink in New York,” I said, stung. “I’ve gotten drunk, too.”
“Well, I’ve never seen you as drunk as you were Friday night,” he said firmly.
I wanted to argue. That wasn’t true. Or fair. I wasn’t that drunk.
“Besides,” he continued. “Don’t you think it would make more sense to cut off all contact? Aside from the bad influence aspect, Redemption is your past, not your future. Now that you’ve come back and made peace with it, all that’s left is to sell the house and move on with our lives. It’s not like you don’t have your hands full with all the unpacking. Wouldn’t it make more sense to spend your time getting the house in as perfect shape as you can to sell it for top dollar?”
I dropped my eyes to my coffee. “I suppose,” I said miserably. I didn’t like anything he was saying, and was trying to think of another way to get my point across when I realized which mug I was holding.
It was the sunflower mug—the same one Aunt Charlie handed me last night in my dream. Of ALL the mugs in the cupboard, I had chosen that one. I carefully put it down.
Stefan had started talking again, oblivious to my focus on the mug, and the fact that I hadn’t been listening. “… better this way. I’ll need an office, too, once I’m working from home. Maybe you can set up that bedroom as my office once you move us into the master bedroom?”
I felt my heart sink even further. I had forgotten about the bedroom. But before I could figure out how to respond, Stefan was kissing my cheek, promising he would let me know when he landed, and walking out of the house.
Crap.
I rubbed my face. Coffee. I needed more coffee. And not coffee from the sunflower mug. I went to the sink to rinse the cup out, then fished out a new one—one with yellow daisies on it—and poured fresh coffee into it. I leaned against the counter, sipping, and tried not to sink too deeply into despair.
My life, for the near future at least, was going to be spent turning this warm and comfy house into a mirror image of our New York apartment, having no contact with anyone other than Chrissy and eventually, Stefan.
Is this what I really wanted?
No. It wasn’t. But, I did want to save my marriage.
Was doing this worth my marriage?
Or was the price too high?
No. I didn’t want to go there. I couldn’t go there. The idea of ending my marriage … my second marriage … it was too much.
My family had been supportive when my first marriage ended. I could tell my mother had been disappointed, but she had stood by me. He had been cheating on me after all. She agreed I needed to divorce him.
One mistake was unfortunate.
But, two mistakes?
My mother had taken me out to lunch a few days before the wedding to have a heart-to-heart with me. “Are you sure?” she kept asking. “I know he’s a catch. But, Rebecca. It’s just so fast. Are you sure?”
“I am Mom,” I kept reassuring her. “I know it’s fast, but he has a sixteen-year-old daughter. He wants us to be a family and give her a solid foundation. Besides, his wife cheated on him, too. He won’t do that to me.”
I could tell my mother still hadn’t been that convinced. As much as she wanted me married to a man like Stefan, a man who could take care of me properly and who didn’t need the trust fund waiting for me when I turned fifty-five, she still wasn’t convinced that I wasn’t making another mistake.
How could I possibly face her if I got a second divorce? How could I possibly admit to her that yes, she was right … I had rushed into it too fast?
Would she cut me off? Sure, I had the trust fund, but I had to wait almost twenty-five years before I could access it. How would I support myself in the meantime? New York was expensive. And, as hard as I had tried, I had yet to find a career path that I could both excel in and that would allow me to pay all my bills.
No, I couldn’t face her with a second failed marriage. Nor could I face myself. I needed to make this work.
Whatever the cost.
Chrissy walked into the kitchen then, interrupting my thoughts, hair mussed from sleep, wearing her usual red and blue sleep outfit. “Dad leave already?” she asked, yawning.
“Yeah, he’s got to get back to New York. Early meetings tomorrow. How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” She paused, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, not meeting my eyes. “Did you tell him?”
I shook my head as I sipped my coffee. “No. He doesn’t know.”
She looked relieved—a little too relieved actually. “Thanks, Rebecca.”
I nodded, wondering why she was so insistent that I not tell her father. Should I ask? Maybe it would be better if I just kept my mouth shut. Maybe this would help us finally bond. “Want some breakfast? We can go out, or I can make you something. Gluten-free pancakes?”
She moved to the kitchen, pulling her long black hair back from her face and securing it into a ponytail. “Actually, let me make breakfast. You just enjoy your coffee.”
I looked at her, in shock. Chrissy actually could cook—she had had lessons at one point. Maybe it was a summer camp thing or when she was at boarding school, I couldn’t remember. Every now and then, when we were in New York, she would make us all dinner. She had even given me some tips when I was struggling to learn after we let our housekeeper go. But she had never offered to cook for just me.
“Thanks. That would be nice.”
She looked up at me and smiled. An actual, genuine, honest-to-God smile. But, then, almost as if she were embarrassed, she ducked her head. “It’s no problem,” she mumbled. “I like to cook.”
I quietly moved away from the counter, smiling inwardly as I carried my coffee to the table. Maybe this would all work out after all.
Chapter 16
“So, what was all that about between your husband and Daniel?” Mia asked me, tearing open a couple of pink packets of sugar substitute and pouring them into her iced tea. “Spill it, sister.”
Daphne, Mia and I were all meeting for lunch at The Tipsy Cow. I was feeling a little pang of guilt being here after my conversation with Stefan. But, I told myself it was just lunch, and besides, didn’t I owe them an explanation rather than simply disappearing? It was much better to explain in person. Plus, I knew Mia was dying to hear about the diner incident, and I definitely wanted to get to the bottom of why we had done the séance in Chrissy’s room. Stefan would also want that cleared up as well. It was a good thing I was here.
I blew my nose. “Stefan doesn’t want Daniel to talk to me anymore. At least not in any official capacity.”
Mia raised her eyebrow. “Really? And how is he going to stop that?”
“He’s a lawyer, remember? He wants Daniel to funnel his inquiries through him.”
Mia half-smiled. “Well, well, well. I can see why that didn’t go over so well.”
Daphne studied me. “Did you ask Stefan to do this for you?”
“Ah …” I looked down at the table, studied a scar in the wood, suddenly wanting to squirm. “Well, no.”
Daphne looked like s
he was going to say something more, but changed her mind, taking a drink of her iced tea instead.
I jerked my head up to look at her. “What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s none of my business.”
“What?” I said again, a little impatiently.
Daphne hesitated. In the silence, I could hear the clatter of dishes from the kitchen and the murmur of voices from the door as the hostess sat a group of three women, one with a baby in a carrier.
“It’s just,” she finally said. “It’s just … surprising to me. That’s all. I can’t see sixteen-year-old Becca taking that.”
I sucked in my breath, wanting to scream, “That’s because Becca is DEAD.” I didn’t want to talk about Becca anymore—it was too painful. Instead, I played with my glass, knocking the ice cubes together so they made little clinking noises. “That was a long time ago. People change.”
“That’s for sure,” Mia piped in.
“Stefan isn’t trying to control me,” I continued. “He’s just trying to stop Daniel from bothering me.” Is that what I really thought? I wondered.
Daphne smiled at me. “Look, if you’re fine with it, then we’re fine with it. You don’t have to explain.”
I tried to smile back, but my face felt wooden. Was I fine with it? Or was this part of the price I had to pay to keep our marriage together?
Luckily our food arrived then, giving me a chance to center my thoughts. I could still talk to them about Chrissy and the sleepwalking.
“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” I said, as soon as the server withdrew.
Mia leaned forward. “It’s about the ghost, isn’t it? I knew it.”
I picked up my fork and started playing with my salad. “Well …”
Mia fist pumped. “Yes! You know, I still haven’t forgiven you guys for having that séance without me. Or for not even telling me. You knew how much I wanted to meet Mad Martha. I would have loved doing that séance! I’m considering giving you the silent treatment.”
“We could only be so lucky,” Daphne said drily.
I was staring at Mia. “Wait. Did I talk about Mad Martha with you, too?”
Mia looked surprised. “Of course. It was all we talked about that summer. Well, that, and our nonexistent summer romances.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, the angst! To be a teenager again. But, wait,” she brought her focus back to me. “How can you not remember that?”
I was silent. Daphne looked at me. “You’d better tell her.”
Mia looked at both of us. “Tell me what?”
I sighed. Maybe I should just put up a billboard and be done with it. “After that night … I lost my memory of that summer.”
Mia stared at me. “Really? You don’t remember anything? At all?”
“It’s coming back, but there are still huge holes.”
“What about that night? And does Daniel know?”
I shook my head vehemently. “No! And, don’t tell him, either. I guess I had some sort of conversation with the cops that night that I also don’t remember.”
Mia sat back in her chair. “Wow. Well, just wow.”
“Explains a lot, doesn’t it?” Daphne said.
“Yeah, it sure does.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Mia and Daphne looked at each other. “Just … just the way you’ve been acting,” Daphne said. “Not like the old Becca.”
“And, why Daniel keeps pestering you,” Mia piped in. “I mean, I know he had a crush on you and all that back then, but he’s with someone now, and so are you. He’s not one to, you know, cheat. Loyal to a fault.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “Too loyal.”
Mia made a face. “Yeah, well, that’s most definitely a conversation for another time. Over wine. But, now it all makes more sense. If you’re not telling him what he wants to know, he’s like a dog with a bone.”
I held up my hand. “Okay, so first off, Daniel most certainly did NOT have a crush on me.” At that, both Mia and Daphne burst out laughing. “He did NOT,” I insisted. “Stop laughing, you two.” Had I told them about Daniel standing me up? Maybe I ought to mention it now to prove he didn’t have a crush on me. I also wanted to ask them what they meant about Daniel being “too loyal,” but with both of them laughing the way they were, I didn’t think the time was right.
“Okay, whatever,” Mia said through her giggles. “Another conversation to be had over wine.”
I wadded up empty paper sweetener packets and threw them at her. She ducked, still giggling.
“Secondly, and probably more importantly, are you telling me he’s going to keep harassing me about that night until I tell him the truth about my memory?”
“Probably,” Daphne said. “Especially now that your husband has stepped in.”
“Daniel always did like a good challenge,” Mia said. “Remember that date rape case a few years ago? Horrible. Guy slipped this girl a mickey in her drink at the bar, so she couldn’t remember anything. He wasn’t her actual date either, which made it more confusing. There seemed to be no leads, but Daniel didn’t let that deter him. I still don’t know how he was finally able to break that case.”
I sunk down in my seat. “Great. Just great.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Mia said. “You’ll be able to spend all kinds of time with Daniel. That’s what you always wanted, right?”
I shot her the evil eye. “Yeah, perfect pastime for a married woman.”
Mia smirked. “Oh, that’s right. So, I guess there is no bright side.”
I picked up my fork and speared a piece of chicken, still glaring at Mia.
“But, back to the ghost,” Mia said, grinning at me. “I want it all—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Let’s hear it.”
I took another bite of my Cobb salad, which was surprisingly good, mostly to give myself a moment to switch gears and try and figure out the best way to start. I was still trying to decide if I really wanted to disclose it all. There was no going back once I told them—did I really want them to know all of it?
Maybe some things are better off staying buried, the voice said.
I mentally shook my head, quieting it. No, I had to get to the bottom of what was happening, even if I didn’t particularly like what I found.
“Chrissy is sleepwalking,” I blurted out. Daphne and Mia looked surprised. “She never did this in New York,” I explained. “But, it’s actually more than sleepwalking. She’s sleeptalking, too.”
“What’s she saying?” Daphne asked.
I sighed and dug around for another tissue to blow my nose again. “Let me start at the beginning.”
I told them almost everything. Even about the Aunt Charlie dreams, which I wasn’t intending to bring up, but they somehow seemed important when I started sharing it all.
The only thing I held back was how strange Chrissy had been acting around Stefan.
My friends listened quietly. Even Mia didn’t interrupt. They simply let me talk and talk, until it had all just poured out of me.
When I finished, I sat back, feeling exhausted. It was like I had been vigorously exercising, rather than simply having a conversation. But I also felt a deep sense of relief—of lightness. I didn’t realize how heavy a burden keeping all of that inside of me had become.
“Wow,” Mia said finally. “I’m not sure I know where to start.”
Daphne shook her head. “I’m not sure either.”
“Well, I can help. Why did we pick that room to do the séance in, Daphne?”
Daphne poked at a few lone carrot slices on her nearly empty plate. Mia examined her empty iced-tea glass.
I looked at both of them. “Well, c’mon. You know I don’t remember. Spill it.”
Daphne and Mia looked at each other before Daphne finally met my eyes.
“That’s the room Mad Martha killed Nellie in, before hanging herself.”
I stared at them, an ice-cold lump forming in my stomach. “That’s the room? I let Chrissy sleep in that room?”
“Did you put her in that room, or did she choose it?” Daphne asked.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I never should have let her be in there.”
Which room could you have put her in, a little voice inquired. Your room? The master bedroom? Aunt Charlie’s office?
And if you don’t want her in that room anymore, where precisely are you planning to move her to? And what are you going to do about Stefan’s office?
I rubbed my temples. This just kept getting worse and worse. “Why did we do the séance in the first place?”
Daphne sighed. “You’d been having dreams. About Mad Martha …”
Mia interrupted. “I thought it was Nellie.”
“Well, one of them. They were trying to communicate with you, but they couldn’t.”
“You kept hearing things too,” Mia said. “Like someone walking around at night. But when you would get up to check, no one was there.”
The salad in my stomach turned into a sour lump. “Old houses make noises,” I said automatically, through numb lips.
Daphne paused. “You … you were also becoming convinced that something was moving things around. You’d find your keys in the fridge, or your paintbrushes under the couch.”
“Not to mention the headaches,” Mia said. “You would wake up with these awful headaches.”
I closed my eyes, a ghost of a headache flitting across my temples right then, as if to solidify the memories creeping slowly back in. “Aunt Charlie? Did she know?”
Daphne nodded. “Yes, after the séance. She knew about the forgetfulness and the headaches of course—she made you tea for both. And she also knew something else was going on, but she didn’t want to interfere—she respected your space. I think you finally told her everything after I left that night, because the next day, you told me she was planning on doing something herself. She was going to bring a psychic to communicate with the ghosts, or cleanse the house, or something. I remember she never minded living with the ghosts—claimed they just kept her company. But who knows? Maybe after talking with you, she thought something else was in the house.”
It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1) Page 13