About Face

by Fern Michaels

  Disheartened since her arrival, she wondered if coming home had been such a good idea after all. Then again, she hadn’t been given any other options. Maybe she should ask her mother to lend her the money to rent an apartment of her own. When the time was right. If ever there was such a time.

  Flora swallowed the last of her coffee when Casey turned to face her.

  “I think Mrs. Worthington has the answers you’re looking for.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, but it seems since my arrival, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. First the picture, then the glass, and now poor John. Maybe I should have stayed at the hospital.” Disgusted with her display of self-pity, she chastised herself. Things could be worse, she supposed.

  High heels clicked against the ceramic tile floor, startling both Casey and Flora.

  “Mrs. Worthington?” Flora seemed stunned by her mother’s arrival.

  Her mother stood in the doorway. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. She’d aged in a matter of minutes.

  Casey wanted to rush into her mother’s arms and ask all the questions she’d wanted to for so long, but the last thing she wanted to do was cause her more worry. Now wasn’t the time. Perhaps later, when John recovered.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.” Casey walked over to her mother and wrapped her arms around her as she had done with Flora earlier.

  Her mother stiffened in her embrace, then relaxed. Her petite frame suddenly shook with sobs.

  “There is nothing you can say, Casey.” Her mother pulled a lace handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “It’s not your fault.” She sobbed. “John is just getting old.”

  Casey released her mother and gently placed an arm about her shoulders. “I’m sure he’ll be just fine. Blake seems very competent.”

  “You don’t know him. He frightens me!” A demented glint flashed in her mother’s gaze. Brief, but there.

  Her mother looked around the kitchen. She peered from left to right. Casey had been around enough crazy people to know her mother’s behavior was what the doctors would term paranoid. She looked as if she were waiting for Blake to walk through the door with an axe in his hand.

  “Why, Mother? What did he do?” Casey looked searchingly to Flora. A sense of doom settled in the pit of her stomach.

  Suddenly, Evie laughed, the sound wicked to Casey’s ears.

  “He’s a murderer, that’s what he is!” Her mother’s abrupt change in behavior alarmed her.

  “Blake? But who, how?” Casey questioned.

  Evie laughed. “I think I should ask you that.” Her frenzied glare scanned Casey, then rested on Flora, who watched in silent shock.

  Casey felt a fear so deep, its enormity took her breath away.

  “Ask me what, Mother?”

  Flora chose that moment to speak. “It’s all right, dear. Here let me help you.” Flora steered her sobbing employer out of the kitchen and gave Casey a “don’t-ask-I’ll-tell-you-later” look as she left the kitchen.

  Casey couldn’t remember anything. Absolutely nothing. How can I live like this? Why won’t they tell me whatever it is they’re trying to keep secret?

  Casey trembled, then began to shake with uncontrollable rage as she slammed her tender fists against the oak table. Damn the doctors.

  Damn them all!

  Chapter 8

  Casey felt as if she had been punched in the gut, the force of it taking her breath away. She couldn’t breathe. In. Out. In. Out. She was reeling from her mother’s strange behavior and her accusation against Blake.

  Murder? What kind of cruel joke was she trying to play?

  Flora returned to the kitchen, her face a mass of lines and shadows.

  “Will she be all right?” She wrapped her arms around herself, hoping to still the tremors.

  Flora leaned against the oak table and shook her head. “As right as she’ll ever be.”

  Puzzled, Casey sat across from Flora and reached for her hand.

  “Why did she accuse Blake of murder? It’s bizarre.”

  “I wish I knew, Missy. There’s no tellin’ what goes on in that head of hers. Your momma hasn’t been well. She has spells. Started having them not long after you were put . . . after you were hospitalized.

  “At first, it was just little things,” she went on. “You know, like, she’d forget where she put something. Sometimes she and Mr. Worthington would be havin’ a talk; I’d hear this, mind you, I wasn’t eavesdroppin’, just listenin’. He’d be tellin’ her about his day and she’d act as if she never heard a word he said. She’d start talking about somethin’ different, as if they’d been talkin’ about it all along.

  “She was on some kind of medication, I’m not sure what it was, but Mr. Worthington thought that explained her forgetfulness and her odd behavior. Me, I thought the pills were for the odd behavior, but I never said anythin’. Then Mr. Worthington took her to a specialist in Atlanta, and for a while, she was her normal self. I don’t know what the doctors did; I never asked.”

  Casey tried to absorb everything Flora said. Her mother had never acted abnormal on her visits to Sanctuary, or if she had, Casey wasn’t aware of it. Of course back then, anything other than what she herself was experiencing was normal.

  “I still don’t understand why she would accuse Blake of murder even if she’s not in her right mind. Who is he supposed to have killed?”

  Casey heard Flora’s intake of breath as she struggled to get up from the table. She walked over to the sink and stared out the window.

  “Years ago Sweetwater was the scene of a horrible murder. Blake had nothing to do with it. I’m sure Mrs. Worthington is confused. In her state of mind we never know what she’s thinking.”

  Flora seemed different now, Casey thought, not the bursting-with-energy chatterbox she normally was. Flora acted like the steam had blown out of her engine. Maybe she was just tired.

  The shrill ring of the telephone startled her.

  Flora grabbed the portable phone at the edge of the counter, her back turned. Casey strained to hear what she was saying. Flora finally turned to Casey.

  “It looks like Mr. John is going to be fine. Dr. Foo seems to think he suffered a slight stroke, though they won’t be sure until the tests are complete. He’s asked that you forgive him and hopes to welcome you home as soon as the beasts let him. That was a quote from Blake.” Relief rested on Flora’s face, removing years.

  “Thank God. Should we tell Mother?” Casey asked.

  “I heard her pick up the extension. Blake will tell her.”

  Casey felt drained. Meeting her family and learning her mother wasn’t the woman she appeared to be, and now this, her stepfather’s illness, all were too much. She needed to think, clear her head. Something nagged at her subconscious, leaving her feeling on edge. As if something bad were about to happen.

  “Flora, you never said,” she paused, not wanting Flora to accuse her of meddling where she shouldn’t, but the question continued to nag at her. She had to ask. “Who was it that died?”

  The little woman scampered around the huge kitchen, opening cupboards, peering inside. She opened a canister and grabbed a bowl from the countertop. She dumped flour from the canister. Taking milk and eggs from the refrigerator, Flora cracked the eggs and dumped the milk into the large bowl. Casey watched as she pulled a wire whisk from the drawer. She felt sorry for the beating the eggs were taking.

  Casey placed a hand around hers. “Flora. Stop.”

  Flora did as she was told and looked into Casey’s eyes. “Missy, I might be speakin’ out of turn, but I’d best say this now and get it over with. No matter what you hear about that day, don’t believe it. And trust me, when word gets out you’re home, you’ll hear all sorts of things. It’s in the past, and it’s best forgotten. People were hurt. Just leave it be, Casey.”

  Casey ran her hands through her hair and flashed an aggravated look at Flora, who stood frozen in place.


  “Why?”

  “Like I said, you’ll have to trust me. It’s a day the residents of Sweetwater want to forget.”

  A sharp pain sliced through Casey’s head, leaving her stunned.

  Then blackness.

  The lights were so bright. She wanted them off. Her clothes were wet and clung to her skin.

  They kept pulling her along.

  She smelled. Gross, she thought. She’d started her period and it was all over her.

  “Over here.” Someone shouted.

  Flashbulbs were going off everywhere. Red dots danced before her eyes.

  She wanted them to leave her alone.

  They wouldn’t stop pulling her. Someone lifted her up, then pushed her down.

  She was cold. Her hands and feet felt like ice. Her hands shook.

  Someone tugged at her arms.

  The lights continued to flash, blinding her.

  Metal.

  Heavy and cold.

  She tried to wave her hands about and couldn’t.

  She screamed.

  Casey glanced around. Pushing herself into a sitting position, she saw the worried look on Flora’s face. “What happened?” Her head felt like it had exploded.

  “There now, it’s all right. You’re gonna be just fine.” She helped her into a chair. “Way back when, they called it swooning,” Flora said, and mopped Casey’s forehead with a cool cloth.

  “I fainted?”

  “Seems so. You’ve had too much excitement.”

  Casey agreed.

  “Let’s go upstairs. You need to rest.” Flora took her by the arm and helped her stand. A wave of dizziness washed over her.

  Casey allowed Flora to lead her through the dark halls. She hated the dark. Even as a child, she’d hated the dark. And the closet.

  The closet?

  She stopped in the middle of the formal dining room. The cobwebs that clouded her mind only seconds ago were gone.

  “Blake said you took care of me as a child. Do you recall me being afraid of the dark?”

  She watched as Flora struggled with her answer.

  “I remember you were. When you stayed with me, it was always at my house, and if you recollect . . . never mind that, you were never there at dark. Your mother or father always came to get you then.”

  Fear gushed through her. She was truly terrified, and she looked around the room as if seeking refuge from her thoughts. Seeing the room for the first time, she took in the dark, heavy furniture. A formal dining table that could seat at least twenty graced the middle of the long room. Gold wallpaper covered the walls, and at the end of the vast space, a fireplace dominated the entire wall. She doubted a fire could warm the gloominess that surrounded her.

  She was still having trouble with Flora’s statement. She wandered aimlessly around the long room, her thoughts jumbled.

  Determined more than ever to solve the puzzle of her life, she walked over to Flora, who sat at the long dining table. She sat down next to her.

  “My father?” Casey waited for another explanation to her blank life.

  “I guess you don’t remember him, either. He was a kind man. Too bad he died so young.”

  “Only the good die young,” her grandmother once said. Where had that come from? She listened as Flora went on.

  “He was such a hard worker, always helping those less fortunate than he even though he didn’t have much himself. In the end it cost him his life.”

  “How?”

  “On the outskirts of Brunswick, down at the railroad tracks late one night, I think he was on his way home from the mill, there was a horrible car accident. Your father, Buzz, stopped to see if he could help. There were three or four cars involved.”

  “My father’s name was Buzz?”

  “Yes.” Flora smiled at her, seeming not to mind the interruption. “Or at least that’s what everyone called him. He always wore a crew cut, but his real name was Reed.

  “Buzz loved children. One of the boys in the accident was barely alive. By the time the ambulance got there, they were so busy, they were askin’ for volunteers to take the injured to the hospital and the dead to the morgue. Your father took the little boy and drove him over to Peach County. They were the best back then. I think we call them trauma centers today.

  “They say Buzz raced as fast as he could to get the youngster in the hands of the doctors. I’m sure he must have been afraid the child would die, or he wouldn’t have taken such a risk. When he entered Peach County they had been informed of the pileup, and sent their ambulances to help. If I remember, there were fourteen people involved.

  “Reaching the intersection a block away from the hospital, he never bothered to stop. I don’t know if he didn’t hear the sirens, or if he was just too anxious to get to the hospital. They hit head-on. Your father didn’t survive. He was killed instantly, a blessin’ some say.”

  Casey felt tears flow for a man she had no memory of, but who gave his life trying to save a child.

  “And the boy, did he die, too?” Casey rubbed her eyes.

  “Oh, no. He lived.”

  “That was a very heroic thing to do.” There was decency in her family. Thank God.

  “Most of Sweetwater thought so, except for your mother,” Flora said.

  “It must have been hard for her. Losing her husband with two small children to raise.”

  Casey jumped out of the chair as if she’d been poked with a cattle prod.

  “Did you hear that?” The shock of what she said hit her full force.

  “I heard,” Flora said.

  Casey covered her mouth with her hand. “I remembered something!” She wasn’t sure if it meant anything, but it was a start. The sooner she had her memory back, the sooner she could start her new life.

  She hugged Flora, who was still seated at the table, a smile plastered on her face.

  “Do I have a brother or a sister? Are they here? Do they know I’m home?”

  Again Flora took on that faraway look. “It was a boy. He was older than you. He died many years ago. It’s a sad topic, and not one you’ll want to be talkin’ about to the members of Swan House.”

  “What can I talk about, Flora? Why all the secrets? What is everyone hiding? I finally remember something, something I think is important, and you’re telling me I can’t talk about it. You sound just like Dr. Macklin at Sanctuary. Whenever I felt I was on the brink of remembering, he would knock me out with a pill or a shot.”

  “This isn’t the hospital, Casey. But trust me, when the time is right you’ll get your memories back. I’m not so sure it’s a bad thing, you losin’ your thoughts and all. It’s like the good Lord has given you a chance to start life with a clean slate. You’ll have a choice in the memories you’ll be makin’ for yourself, Missy.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Casey knew it wasn’t the time to pursue the past. She would wait. She’d waited for ten years; another few days wouldn’t matter. She resigned herself to it and changed the subject.

  “Flora, you didn’t say. The boy, the one in the accident,” she paused considering her question, “does he still live around here?” Casey hoped he hadn’t survived only to live life maimed or lame.

  “Indeed he does. And what a fine young man he turned out to be.”

  Casey released her breath, relieved that her father’s efforts hadn’t been in vain.

  “Maybe I will get to meet him when I get my life together.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about meeting him, sweetie. You already have.” Flora wore a grin as wide as Texas.

  “I have?” She didn’t recall meeting any strangers. Maybe she was losing her short-term memory, too.

  “You sure did, honey.” Flora paused. “It was Mr. Adam.”

  Casey’s eyes popped wide open. Her jaw went slack at the same time.

  “I’m shocked. This family truly amazes me. It seems at every corner there is a new revelation. It’s almost frightening. Then that explains how my mother met John. At least I think i
t does.” She watched Flora nod, her assessment of the story correct.

  “Mr. Worthington was still married at the time. However, because Buzz was employed at the paper mill and of course it was owned by none other than John, he felt responsible for your mother and you kids.”

  They must have been a great comfort to one another, Casey thought.

  Flora stood up and walked to the end of the room. With her back to Casey, she resumed her tale.

  “Mr. John gave your momma a large check. Supposedly it was enough so she would never have to work again. Your mother began to make weekly visits to Swan House after that. She and Mr. Worthington became fast friends real quick.

  “By this time, I think a year had passed since your father was killed. Evie wasn’t aware of the sadness that had descended on Swan House. Mrs. Worthington had just been diagnosed with cancer, and the prognosis was grim. It was a sad time around here, let me tell you.” Flora lifted a silver frame from the mantel and stared at the image.

  Casey waited for Flora to continue.

  “Mrs. Worthington’s only concern was for Adam. She wanted to make sure he was taken care of. She made me promise I would stay on and take care of him. Sure wasn’t a hard promise to make. It was a joy workin’ here. I couldn’t have children of my own, so I was delighted.”

  Casey watched as a brief wave of sadness came to rest on Flora’s gentle features.

  “I was here night and day. Fortunately for the family, Mrs. Worthington passed on quickly. There was no lingering, no sickroom. I knocked on the door one morning, and her usual welcoming call never came. Alarmed, I went inside. She was in bed, her gold hair spread across the pillow like sunshine. She looked like an angel. I went over to her and touched her cheek.” Flora stopped and paused, as if the memory were too much.

  “She was so cold. She must have died early the night before. Mr. Worthington was beside himself with grief. After the funeral it was months before he went back to work. Adam forgot he had a father, so as promised, I took care of him and did my best. That’s about the time Evie’s visits became a daily event. I have to say this much for her, she brought the sparkle back into Mr. Worthington’s eyes.”