They’re all closed.
12
Kenzi
I pull into the driveway and check my phone. It had rung several times on my way home, but the afternoon traffic had been heavy, so I hadn’t been able to check my calls. Even if it had been total gridlock and I’d been at a dead stop, I’d have been out of luck. My purse had slid onto the floor on the passenger side, so I couldn’t reach my phone.
Once I finally retrieve it, I check my missed calls. All of them were from the retirement home. My stomach knots, imagining the trouble Mom has been getting into.
She’d been quiet and well behaved before Ember and I visited her and told her about Claire’s death. I’d thought it was the right thing to do, but perhaps it’d have been more prudent to leave the old woman alone. It wasn’t like she and I had any special relationship. And learning her favorite daughter had met an untimely demise had to shake her up, even if on the surface she couldn’t remember any of us.
I’m tempted to ignore the calls, but I need to deal with this before I go inside. Once in there, I need to make good with Ember, even if that means opening old wounds. If I want her to feel comfortable sharing her life with me, I’m going to have to do the same. In fact, I have to be the first one to make a move.
The last thing I want to do is talk about Billa, especially since that could make my niece even more convinced our home is haunted. I don’t know how to explain my childhood friend. She felt real to me at the time.
The conversation with the nurse at the retirement home is quick. My mom has been demanding to return home all day and lashing out at the nurses. I tell her I’ll think about bringing Ember by to visit her, but can’t promise anything more.
Not after she broke the picture frame in Dad’s office. And especially not after we discovered the mirror she was staring at is actually a door.
Before I think about any of that, I need to make things right with my niece. And that’s a discussion that could go south fast.
My heart hammers as I step out of the car. I’m not sure I’ll feel much better once the conversation is over.
“Howdy, neighbor.”
I turn.
It’s the neighbor I met the other day. Mr. Perfect Teeth, the self-proclaimed history buff. What’s his name?
“I’m Dustin,” he answers my unvoiced question. “You’re Kinsley?”
I feel like he’s faking his forgetfulness, but I don’t have time to deal with it. “Kenzi. It’s nice to see you again, but I need to get going.”
“Have you had a chance to learn more about your home’s history?”
“Not yet.” I step closer toward the house.
“I noticed one of the lights was on all night.”
“Oh? I’ll talk with my niece. You know how teenagers are—night owls.”
“That same light would come on before you two moved in.”
That gives me pause. “Say that again?”
“It came on when the house was abandoned. When no other lights were on.”
“Must have been when the house was broken into. We’re still getting rid of some of the graffiti.”
He chews on his lip. “Perhaps.”
“Thanks for your concern. It’s always nice to have a neighborhood watch.”
“Glad to help. Have a chance to look into the house’s history yet?”
Why is he asking me again? I push aside my annoyance and keep my tone light. “No. Still settling in, and that’s quite the project in this place.”
“Indeed.”
“You know who you should talk to?”
Dustin lifts a brow. “Who?”
“My mom. When she visits, she actually remembers some things.”
He raises his other eyebrow.
“She has dementia.”
“You don’t look old enough to have a parent with that.”
“I have a fifty-year-old brother.” If he’s still alive.
“Ah, I see. Are you—”
“Like I said, I need to get inside. We’ll chat later. Maybe when my mom is here.”
He nods. “Indeed. I’ll keep an eye out.”
I’m sure he will. “Perfect.”
Then I hurry to the front door before he tries to keep me out here longer. Once inside, I check to make sure Ember set the alarm when she got home. Everything looks good.
The house is quiet.
My stomach knots again. I hate that we aren’t getting along, but people who live together have conflicts. It’s just life. We’ll get over it. We’re family.
“Ember?”
Silence.
I’m hungry, but I ignore the pangs and head upstairs. I just hope she didn’t decide to go exploring again. Last time she did, she got stuck on the third floor. I’m not ready to find out what’s in that room behind the mirror.
I stop at the top step. “Ember?”
“In here.” Her voice comes from the direction of her room.
Relief runs through me. She’s probably getting ready for another day of working with art campers.
I make my way to her room, but hear rustling in Claire’s room next door.
Ember is going through her mom’s desk.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She glances over. “Just looking through Mom’s things.”
I step inside. “For anything in particular?”
“Not sure. There are so many secrets. Maybe she left a clue about something in here.”
“It’s possible.” I sit on the bed. “Found anything yet?”
She clears her throat. “I just got started a few minutes ago.”
“I’m sure it helps you feel closer to her.”
Ember shrugs. “It’s still a little weird going through her things.”
“I get it. It’s hard to believe she’s really gone and not just on a trip or something.”
She frowns then turns away quickly. “Yeah. Sometimes I pull out my phone to call her. But then I remember I can’t.”
I get up and hug her. “I’m really sorry. If I could, I’d go back in time and stop the whole thing.”
She nods, and though she doesn’t return the embrace, she doesn’t try to pull away either.
“I was thinking of stopping by the retirement home. Want to come with me?”
“You aren’t bringing Grandma here again, are you?”
“Not today, no. I spoke with one of her nurses earlier and it sounds like she could, uh, use some company.”
Ember pulls away. “In other words, she’s been acting up.”
“Basically.”
“And you think we can help with that?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure what she’s thinking. She could be worried we’re upset with her and will never come back. If we go talk to her for a few minutes, maybe she’ll make life a little easier on the nurses.”
“I guess.” She sighs.
“You guess what?”
Ember closes the desk drawer. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not that. I just hate seeing her the way she is, you know? Not remembering, but kind of remembering some things.”
“I feel the same way.”
Except I can’t help but wonder if my mother knows more than she’s been letting on. Between her talking about Jack and the fingerprints on the knife, it almost seems too convenient. What if Claire had been getting close to the truth, and then Mom decided to pretend she had memory loss, figuring a home would be less of a prison than jail? She could have even been working to get rid of my sister. It isn’t a stretch if she already killed one person. Maybe more, considering my brother is missing.
Or maybe this house, its history, and the nosy neighbor are getting to me. That’s more likely to be true. And besides, with the theories running through my head, that means my mom is—or was—potentially capable of murdering her relatives.
Two of her children down, one to go. Plus a grandchild.
“Are you okay?” Ember’s voice brings me back to Claire’s room.
I take in a deep breath. “Yeah. What were we talking about?”
She tilts her head. “Seeing Grandma.”
“Right.” My heart is hammering. I don’t know what worries me more—that I’m actually considering my mother to be a murderer or that this house is getting to me. “Let’s pop in on her. We can grab some dinner on the way home.”
“Sure.” Ember’s looking at me like I could fall apart any moment.
“Let me just freshen up real quick, then we’ll get going. We can talk about last night if you want.”
She just nods.
I hurry to my bathroom and splash cold water on my face.
It’s going to take a lot more than that to get me thinking straight about everything.
I just hope this house doesn’t land me back in the nuthouse.
13
Kenzi
Our car ride to the retirement home is quiet. My mind keeps coming up with more and more twisted theories as to what happened in the house—and given how old it is, there are a lot of options. It’s hard to know where to focus. Do I start with my mysterious brother? Or his namesake, our uncle who died young? The locked bedroom that could belong to either one of the Jacks? And whose blood was on that knife?
Everything leads back to my mom. The woman we’re about to see who can’t remember anything. Unless she actually remembers everything. The lady who raised me had a sharp mind. I could hardly get away with anything. I’d learned to be sneaky out of necessity since she and Dad were always so strict with me, never letting me live down my time in that facility.
It’s kind of fitting that now my mom is living in a facility of her own. No, they don’t force pills down her throat and tie her to the bed and—
“Kenzi!”
I turn to my niece, beads of sweat breaking out along my hairline.
“Light’s green.”
A horn blares behind me.
“Are you okay?” Concern fills her eyes.
I hit the gas. “Just got lost in thought for a moment. Sorry. Won’t let that happen again.”
“Does it have anything to do with last night?”
“I’m sorry I snapped at you. It didn’t have anything to do with you. The house—it just brings back memories. Not all of them are good.”
“I get that.” Her voice is small.
Guilt stings. “I know you do. But I don’t want to act like that. It’s just …” I let my voice trail off as I consider my wording. “When a memory strikes, it’s like I’m right back when it happened. Some of the things I remember happened when I was really young. And I react like I would have then. I guess what’s happening is I’m now forced to face ghosts of my past. Ones I ran from as soon as I could.”
“Can you use any other word besides ghosts?”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t mean literal ones. But yeah, I can probably come up with something else.”
“Looks like we both have things to work through.”
“Unfortunately.” My breath hitches as the retirement home comes into view. “And here we come to one of them right now.”
“You didn’t get along with Grandma and Grandpa, did you?”
My chest tightens. “No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, but don’t feel bad for me. I should be the one helping you. I’m the adult here.”
“We can help each other. Our wounds are totally different from each other’s, so we can be strong for each other’s weaknesses.”
I turn into the parking lot, take the first available spot, and cut the engine. “You’re wise beyond your years.”
She glances out the window and shrugs.
“No, really you are. And you’re right. We might be perfect for helping each other get through this. Maybe I can actually face my past and properly move on rather than fleeing.”
“And hopefully I can deal with my mom’s death before I end up running from it.”
I lean over and give her a hug. “It’s a deal. We’ll help each other, and we’ll be honest. I won’t try to shield you from the truth or hide my past. But if it gets too much for you, tell me. Okay?”
“Good luck trying to shock me.”
Silence settles between us for a moment.
“Should we go in?” I ask.
“May as well. I really hate seeing her like that, though. It sucks.”
“What do you think the chances are that she’s faking?” I blurt out.
Ember’s lips waver. “I don’t know. That’s one of those things I really don’t want to think about. I don’t know what would be worse—her memories actually being gone or her doing this on purpose.”
“Being deceived is far worse.” I get out of the car and slam the door shut. If my mom really is faking dementia, our family is even more messed up than I ever imagined was possible.
I remote-lock the doors, and we head inside and give half-hearted greetings to everyone we pass.
Mom’s room is a mess, but she’s sitting calmly on her couch watching an episode of Laverne & Shirley. I recognize it because she had all those old shows on DVD when I was growing up.
Ember and I exchange a concerned glance as we step over items strewn across the floor.
I clear my throat loudly as we approach the couch.
Mom glances over at me. “Oh, Jacquie. So nice to see you.”
“I’m Mackenzie, Mom. Your daughter.” I purposefully use the name she always called me, despite the fact I go by Kenzi and everyone else called me that since I was young. My nickname had been my sister’s idea, and I’d loved it from the moment it escaped her lips.
“Sit down.” She pats the cushion next to her and turns her attention back to the screen.
Neither of us budges.
“What happened in here?” I ask.
“Laverne irritated Shirley by telling—”
“Not the show, Mom! In here. Real life. What did you do to your room?”
She turns back to me. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. This mess.” I pan my palms around the room. “Tell me you weren’t throwing things at your nurse.”
Mom blinks a few times but says nothing.
“You do realize they’re here to help you, right? If you treat them well, they’ll return the favor. I can’t make any promises if you act like a toddler.”
Her mouth falls open, and her brows move toward each other just slightly.
I’ve struck a nerve. She really is in there. How much of the dementia is real, I have no idea, but I intend to find out. And talking to her like I would have as a resentful teen seems to be pushing some buttons, so I keep on with it.
“Dad’s money is paying for these people to take care of you. Don’t make it hard on them.”
Her nostrils flare, but instead of speaking, she turns back to the TV.
Ember gives me a confused look.
I nod for her to go with it, then I march over to my mother and stand between her and the screen. “Let’s clean your room.”
She scoots over and stares past me to the screen.
I move in her way again. “You made the mess, so you should have to clean it. But Ember and I are here, so we’ll be nice and help you.”
“I can’t see.”
“No?” I spin around and power off the device. “Let’s get to work. We all know how much you hate living in a mess.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Don’t you remember lecturing me time and time again over the years about my messy room? Unacceptable—that was the word you used more than any other. I’m here to tell you your mess is unacceptable. Time to clean it up!”
The lines around her eyes deepen, and her mouth forms a straight line.
While I have her attention, I switch the subject. “Or we could talk about Jack. But the question is, which Jack do we want to discuss?”
Her lips turn white as her expression tightens.
�
��That’s right, Mom. We know about the second Jack. Where is he? My brother? What did you do to him?”
My mother’s mouth gapes, her face pales.
“Do you feel like cleaning yet?”
She leaps up, her legs far more nimble than I’ve seen since my arrival to town. “Nurse! Nurse!”
Ember throws me a pleading look.
“They aren’t going to help us clean,” I say over Mom’s shouting. “You made the mess.”
One of the nurses pops his head inside the room. “Is everything okay in here?”
Mom points to me. “Get rid of her!”
He steps inside the room and gives me a curious glance. “What’s going on?”
“I told her we need to clean this mess. But she expects the staff to take care of it.”
The nurse crosses his arms. “Really?”
“Take her away!” My mom shoves me toward him.
Ember gasps.
He races between us and looks my mom in the eye. “Regina, you need to keep your hands to yourself. Your daughter is trying to help you.”
“She’s not my daughter!”
“Yes, she is. Her name is Kenzi. She and your granddaughter are here because they care about you.”
Mom narrows her eyes at me. “That brat has never cared about me one moment of her life!”
I put my hands on my hips. “So, you do remember?”
Her face reddens. “Get out of here, Mackenzie Lauder Brannon!”
We both jolt, and our gazes lock.
The woman with no memories recalls my full given name.
“Get out!” she shouts.
The nurse glances at me. “You’d better leave. She’s been having a bad day. I wouldn’t take it personally.”
“We should at least pick up her mess.” I look around him and glare at my mother.
“It’s no problem. We’ll take care of it.”
“That’s what she wants.” I spin around and turn to Ember. “Let’s get out of here.”
14
Kenzi
After fastening Dayton’s necklace behind my neck then adjusting it so the stones are centered, I check my reflection in the master bathroom mirror. I’m wearing a deep purple strapless, and the print on the dress has tiny pink and white flowers that are an exact match to color of the gems.
Family Secrets (Brannon House Book 2) Page 7