by Pamela Crane
I glanced around the living room, where the Christmas tree lit up one corner in silver and blue sparkle. Garland wrapped around the banister leading upstairs to the kids’ rooms. Three bedrooms, one for me, one for Elise and Jackson to share – which they insisted on, to my surprise – and a nursery for Mercy when she was here. I figured that while Lane worked I could take care of her. My niece-stepdaughter. Well, I’d need to work on what to call her. For now, I just called her Mercy.
‘It’s starting to feel like home. Especially now that the kids have scattered their toys all over the place. And it’s affordable.’ My mother had found me the perfect deal.
Jackson ran – not shuffled, not skulked, but ran! – into the room squealing. My son was loud again! Laughing again! The noise was a song. His rambunctious destruction was a melody. Therapy helped taper his irrational fears of possessed dolls and haunted homes, grounding him in a sense of reality and hope. And I learned what patience and understanding should look like. He abruptly stopped at my knees, kissed the baby on her forehead, hugged me, then took off for the kitchen. We were hugging now, daily, sometimes hourly. A little love went a long way.
‘Did you close on the sale of your other house yet?’
‘Yep, Mom finally sold the Murder House.’ I raised my glass of white zinfandel – the only wine I could afford on my salary working at the botanical gardens while I was taking horticulture classes at community college – and I clicked it against Lane’s, saluting good riddance to the house and its awful nickname. ‘Not exactly Mom’s dream house sale, but it’s done and she got a nice fat commission out of it. And I ended up turning a small profit, so I can’t complain. At least Mom’s happy.’
In the modest kitchen, which was about two people wide, Elise baked cookies. Though judging by the smell, she was more likely burning them.
‘Check the oven!’ I called to Elise. ‘And don’t set the house on fire.’
We could chuckle now over the fire alarm scare way back when. Jackson swore never to play with matches again, and I swore never to stop loving him even if he did.
Mercy cooed, her blue-black eyes wide and expectant. She looked so much like Ben, with the same little dimple, like God had pressed His thumbprint in her chin. Her chimple, I called it. And the same thick dark hair. Every minute I loved her a little more. With a mother in jail, a dead father, and no other family to speak of, Lane was the best – and only – option as a parent. I would help him, because if Lane could somehow look past the betrayal and damage Candace caused him and still love Mercy with every fiber of his being, then I could support him in raising this little girl. When Mercy smiled, well, it was an easy yes.
Mercy, the perfect name for a child that was born out of suffering but destined for something better. Life had a way of doing that, stripping you naked and vulnerable, then leaving it up to time to heal you.
On the table beside me was the letter Candace had mailed me from jail. I had been nervous when I pulled it out of the mailbox, wondering what she could possibly want to say that hadn’t been addressed in court already. I read it, breath held and hands trembling:
Dear Harper:
Do you remember that time we were at the mall and I threw the penny in the fountain and made a wish? Well, my wish was that somehow you and I would be able to forgive each other, to become sisters for real, not only for me, but for my baby’s sake.
I know the damage I caused devastated you. But let’s be honest and admit that you were devastated long before I came into your life. My point is this: Don’t let life devastate you. You are the strongest woman I know, and you’ve lost more than any person should suffer. But you have a bigger faith than anything life throws at you. You know there’s hope ahead. Live in that hope. Don’t fear death, face it. Remind it that it holds no grip on you, because one day we’ll all be on the other side of death wondering what all the fuss was about. I hope one day I’m in heaven with you, even after all that I’ve done. Maybe put in a good word with God for me, will ya?
When you and Lane took Mercy in and made her your own, you did that for me. Thank you for making my wish come true. I love you like a sister. And I’ll cherish your obsessive neatness, your annoying criticisms, and your helicopter parenting from afar. I won’t even mind your love of throw pillows. Because that’s what sisters do. We love each other despite our crazy differences.
Much love,
Candy
I smiled at the signature: Candy. She had finally embraced it. As I had reflected on the past year, I had come to realize that we all wanted to be unwrapped and seen and loved. When Candace and I had peeled back each other’s layers, we both found heartache and distrust and anger. But the point was that we cared enough to keep peeling. That was the nature of living.
Acknowledgements
Sometimes writing the acknowledgements is harder than writing the story. There are so many people I’m grateful for who have supported me, lifted me up, made my words clearer, bought my books, shared with their friends, and encouraged me to keep going. I thank God for planting the seed inside me, and my husband for helping me water it. No, Craig, this doesn’t put you on the same level as God, but I’m thankful He gave me you. No one else could put up with my midnight tapping on the keyboard and writing getaways like you do, especially with four kids always needing something or other. Thank you for being a single dad when I need to meet a word count.
Katie Loughnane will always be one of my absolute favorite people on earth, not just because of her editing brilliance, but because of the way she roots for me and strokes my tender author ego. Thank you for believing in me since book one and forever after. I still owe you my firstborn child for all you’ve done for me. Beth Wickington, I cringe to think what errors would slip through without your incredible eagle eye along with Elle Keck’s. Avon Books and I both are so lucky to have you both on our side. To my William Morrow counterpart Tessa Woodward, thank you for seeing my vision with each book and bringing it to life.
Behind every great publisher is a great marketing team. You know who you are, Sabah Khan, Ellie Pilcher, Kaitie Leary, and Brittani Hilles. All the articles and interviews and publicity and reader reviews you secured for me impressed me every time. All those five stars out there are because of you. You’re what gives a book wings to fly, and I’m grateful for all of your hard word and creative efforts.
My editor at Proofed to Perfection Editing Services always deserves a clap of praise, because they always get first look at my completed manuscript for a reason. Thank you for being the best editors in the biz!
A writer is like a tree, the fruit being the books, but the roots being family and friends who nourish us. Emily Sutton and Jessica Young, I don’t even need to put last names in there because you both know just how much you mean to me. I wouldn’t know how to write about the depths of friendship without Em showing me what it is for the past twenty-four years (how can it be that long – we’re still in our 20s, aren’t we?). You’re my favorite cheerleader, and you make that cheer outfit look good! Jess is a constant inspiration for how to grab a dream and hold on, especially when I see her passion for my dream as she’s demanding a bookstore manager to put my books out front and center. Thank you for being passionate for me when I’m too shy. I only hope every reader can find friends like mine.
To Mom who passed down her writer gene, Tim who inspired me at age ten to start writing, Dad who gave me his smarts, and Tracy who taught me how to find myself, thank you. To Diane who gave me her son, thank you for being the mother-in-law who loves me even when I drive your son crazy. To Michael and Lauren and Paul, I’m honored to share genes with you. To Angie, Missy, and Jamie – my sisters-in-law – I love you for not being Candace to my Harper. I’m blessed to have nice ones!
My children Talia, Kainen, Kiara, and Ariana, you guys keep Mommy on her toes. Thank you for the endless supply of kid anecdotes to include in my books. Every child character has a little bit of you guys in them, and one day when you’re old enough to read
my books I’ll tell you which events are actual excerpts from our real lives!
I could go on and on, but your eyes will tucker out. Thank you to everyone who buys my books, demands them from their libraries, asks bookstores to put them front and center, shares posts on social media, and writes a book review. You are why I keep writing, and to you I owe my dream.
The Boy in the Mirror
A short story by my daughter, Talia C (age 9), based on Elise’s story in the book
Once upon a time there was a boy named Jack who lived in an old mansion. Now Jack was a curious little fellow who loved to explore. His mother, knowing his sense of adventure, encouraged him to explore the many rooms in the mansion, all except for one. With a stern warning she told him never to enter the attic, for it was forbidden. Well, Jack didn’t often listen to his mother, and he obeyed even less.
So one day he went exploring inside the attic, the very place his mother warned him about. You can’t forbid a child from going somewhere without any explanation and expect them to listen! So up he went into the dingy attic where he found a mirror, a beautiful gold-rimmed mirror. His reflection stared back at him in fascination. Except it wasn’t his usual reflection. The eyes weren’t quite as sparkly, and the grin wasn’t quite as sincere. Then suddenly the boy in the mirror talked!
‘My name is Frankie,’ his not-reflection said.
Scared, Jack backed away, ready to run downstairs into the arms of his mother. But then Frankie warned, ‘Don’t tell your mother! If you follow my instructions, you will be greatly rewarded.’
Curiosity now piqued, Jack asked, ‘Rewarded how?’
‘You name it, I can get it for you,’ the not-reflection answered.
So they sealed the deal with a handshake through the mirror.
That night Jack went to bed with his imagination full of gifts he would ask the boy in the mirror for. The next morning Jack couldn’t wait to return to the mirror, but it wasn’t until after dinner when he finally got a chance to slip into the attic. When he arrived, at the foot of the glass was a present wrapped in paper. Excited to find out what was inside, he snuck the gift downstairs into his bedroom and hid it from his mother. After she tucked him in for bed, he pulled out the package and unwrapped it. It was a comic book, a special limited edition that Jack had been asking for two birthdays in a row but never got until now!
After everyone else fell asleep, Jack tiptoed up to the attic and thanked Frankie for the gift. Frankie reminded him that if Jack continued to keep their little secret, he’d send another gift. Jack couldn’t believe how easy it was to get everything he ever wanted without lifting a finger.
As Jack returned to bed, he felt dizzy. ‘It’s probably just because I’m tired,’ he told himself. But the next morning the dizziness persisted.
‘What’s wrong, Jack?’ his mother asked.
‘I’m just feeling dizzy,’ he replied.
‘Maybe you need something to perk you up,’ his mother said. So she gave him a huge cookie to share with his sister. Instead of sharing with his sister, Jack ate every last crumb.
That afternoon Jack returned to the attic, where Frankie greeted him with a sly grin.
‘Are you back for more gifts?’ Frankie asked.
‘I would sure love a new video game,’ Jack replied.
‘How about you give me something in return?’ Frankie suggested.
‘Sure. Like what?’
‘I want your sister’s favorite Barbie doll’s head.’
Jack thought it was an odd request, but that wouldn’t stop him. When his sister was outside playing, he cut off her favorite doll’s head and returned to the attic with it. Upon his arrival, sure enough, there was another wrapped gift in the shape of a video game. Tearing it open, Jack found his absolute favorite game that he had stepped on and broken, which his parents refused to replace.
‘Thank you!’ Jack exclaimed. As he headed downstairs for dinner, the dizziness was more severe this time, nearly sending him tumbling down the stairs. Assuming he was just hungry, he didn’t think much of it.
Not until the next morning, when he was so dizzy he could hardly get out of bed. Feeling sick to his stomach, he had no appetite for breakfast. But the desire for another present sent him crawling up to the attic, where Frankie met him with a wink and a hello.
‘What can I do to get another gift?’ Jack asked.
‘How about your mother’s most prized possession? Surely that will warrant the best gift of all!’
Jack knew exactly what his mother loved most. Her cell phone. That afternoon, while his mother was doing laundry, he snuck her cell phone upstairs and passed it through the mirror. Frankie handed Jack a gift, but this time it wasn’t wrapped. After all, a hoverboard was too big and bulky to wrap!
As Jack stood up on the hoverboard, a wave of dizziness passed over him, sending him crashing through the mirror. Except the glass didn’t break. As he rose to his feet, he realized he was inside the mirror now, and Frankie was on the outside!
Banging on the glass didn’t help. Yelling didn’t help. He was stuck behind the mirror with no way out. As Frankie watched him struggle with an evil glint in his eye, he reached out to Jack.
‘Thank you for saving me!’ Jack said, reaching back. Except Frankie didn’t grab Jack’s hand to pull him out. Instead he grabbed Jack’s neck. And squeezed. And squeezed until the life left the boy.
Never again would Jack disobey his mother, because Jack was dead.
The End … for Jack
Keep Reading …
One dead husband. Three best friends who tell each other everything – apart from the truth …
A gripping psychological crime thriller with a twist – where the deadliest secrets lie closest to home.
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About the Author
Pamela Crane is a USA Today bestselling author of almost a dozen novels. She loves writing about flawed and fascinating heroines. When she’s not cleaning horse stalls or changing diapers, she’s psychoanalyzing others.
You can find out more about her at www.pamelacrane.com
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