“Don’t be ridiculous.” Grace looked flustered. “I don’t want—”
“You do. You’ve wanted to do that for years. You never did when you ran the shop because it’s impossible in retail, but you start looking at flights in October every year. And Dad doesn’t notice because he loves the snow and he loves the mountains, but he wouldn’t mind, Mom. He wouldn’t. He loves making you happy.”
Wait.
“…you need to pick something and tell Dad. He’s waiting to get you something you want. He just wants you to be happy.”
It was rare for Robin to do an actual facepalm, but she did. Her palm was on her face. On her forehead, to be exact. Palm. Forehead. Sudden realization.
“I’m doing it too,” she said. “I’ve been doing it for years, and I don’t even remember the man. Grandma Helen married an asshole, and we’ve been walking on eggshells ever since.”
Grace pursed her lips, but she didn’t correct Robin for calling her father an asshole. “I do not walk on eggshells.”
“But you kinda do,” Robin said. “And so do I. We don’t ever ask directly for what we want. You married Dad, who is like the opposite of Grandpa Russell, from what I can remember. He’s a pushover for you, but you still make him play the guessing game.”
And I’ve been doing it to Mark too.
“I’ll order the cranberry with snowflakes,” Grace said. “But don’t be so silly about Hawaii, Robin. It’s Emma’s last Christmas at home.”
Robin stared at her mother’s back as Grace returned to the kitchen. Maybe it was too much for her mother to recognize. Maybe she’d been living in unspoken wishes for too long. Or maybe she just didn’t want to see how the actions of her father still haunted the woman she’d made herself.
But Robin could see it. Robin could see it as clearly as she saw the woman sitting in the rocking chair. Robin watched her rocking back and forth, staring at the memory of a little boy she never got to hold.
What was her name? Could she speak like Billy?
And maybe the most important question Robin had been pondering since she’d spotted the ghost of the man at the car lot.
If spirits could leave, what made them stay?
Chapter 15
Robin sat down at Monica’s kitchen table in a huff. “I need to figure out what I want.”
Monica paused pouring herself a glass of white wine. “I’m making green chicken enchiladas, so if you don’t want that for dinner, you’re on your own.”
“Not dinner. Enchiladas sound amazing.” She squeezed her hand tight, then reached for Monica’s glass and took a long drink. “Thanks.”
“That wasn’t actually for you.” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I’m practicing taking what I want,” Robin said.
“Okay, rah-rah Wonder Woman, but that was my wine.”
Robin stood. “And I will immediately pour you a glass to thank you for it.”
Monica shook her head. “Okay, weirdo.”
Robin grabbed a long-stemmed glass from the cabinet. “I don’t ask for what I want.” She reached for the bottle of chilled wine. “Emma told me the other day while we were car shopping, and she’s right. I’m starting to do the same thing my mom does.”
“Which is?”
“Never directly asking for what I want and then getting annoyed when people don’t guess correctly.”
“Ah.” Monica reached for the glass Robin held out. “Yeah, you’ve been doing that for a while.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Robin grabbed her wine again. “You know how annoying I think it is when my mom does that!”
“Oh yes, because we all love it when we’re reminded that we’re turning into our mothers.” Monica rolled her eyes. “Yep, I can see that conversation going super well. Great idea.”
Robin bit her lip for a full minute before she blurted out, “You’re babying Jake like your mom babied your brothers, and you don’t do it with Sylvia, just with your boys.”
Monica’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“You always hated that your mom expected so much from you but she let the boys run wild.”
“My boys are not running wild.” Monica glared at her.
“No, but all three of them are kind of aimless and ask you for money all the time while Sylvia is getting her graduate degree and working and hasn’t asked you for anything since she turned eighteen.”
“Robin, you should know boys don’t mature as fast as girls and—” Monica had her own facepalm moment. “Oh dammit, you’re totally right. I’m exactly like my mother.”
“No.” Robin lifted a finger. “No, you are not. You always had the exact same rules for all four of them. But as they’ve gotten older, the boys definitely use you for a crutch more.”
Monica sat next to Robin and took a deep breath. “Okay, since it’s truth-telling time, you need to go easier on Austin.”
Robin almost spit out her wine. “Why?”
“You’re hard on him because he reminds you too much of yourself. And you think you made bad choices in life—which you have not—and you don’t want the same for him. When he finds the thing he loves, he’s going to be just as passionate and directed as you are.”
Robin tried to hold in the snort and couldn’t. “What am I passionate about?” She set down her wine. “Seriously, Monica. What do I have to be passionate about? My life is not exciting. My life just kind of happened and I ended up here.”
“Do you seriously not see it?” Monica put her arm around Robin. “Your mother sold furniture like it was a competition, but you? People buy stuff from you because you have a great eye. But you also care about creating a home.”
Robin felt her throat tighten up. “When I was Austin’s age, I thought I was going to be an artist. I’m not an artist, Monica. Not even close.”
“Wrong. I think you need to be doing more of your own drawing and painting because it’s past time for you to take time for yourself again, but you make home an art. For yourself and for every one of your customers. That’s a beautiful thing, Robin.”
“Knock knock, bitches!” Val walked through the door and caught Robin’s glassy eyes. “Oh fuck, did I miss a big emotional moment?” She held up a carton of chocolate ice cream. “I may be late, but I came prepared. Why do you always have the big emotional moments before I come?”
“It’s not our fault you’re always late.” Robin wiped her eyes.
“Yeah, I told you dinner was at six thirty,” Monica said. “The first half hour is for wine and emotional revelations, like the fact that we’re all turning into our mothers.”
Val scoffed. “That’s not a revelation, Monica. That’s the circle of womanhood. Maiden, mother, crone-that-sounds-exactly-like-your-mother.”
“Robin has realized that she never asks for what she wants—”
“’Cause I don’t even know what I want at age forty-five,” Robin muttered.
“And also she’s been letting life happen instead of taking charge of her own destiny,” Monica continued. “And I realized that I’ve been doing the same thing—coddling my boys—that my mother did, and I hated it so much. What have you been up to?”
“Uh-uh.” Val put the ice cream away and got a wineglass. “It’s not my turn. I’m still choosing to live in denial. Robin, you don’t know what you want?”
Robin took a breath and then let it out, her hands waving in hapless circles. “To be happy and content?”
“That’s a bullshit goal,” Val said. “Being happy is a side product of achieving goals.”
“Fine,” Robin said. “I want to start drawing again.”
“Good.” Val slapped her hand on the counter. “Done. That’s an easy one. You just have to do it.”
“And I don’t want Mark to feel like a roommate. I want to be… wildly desirable again.”
Val wiggled her eyebrows. “Ooh la la.”
Monica nodded thoughtfully. “We can work on that. You’re going to have to reti
re some of your supermom purses, but your ass has only gotten better with time.”
Robin blinked. “What?”
“I’m just saying it was always kind of skinny, so the lack-of-running thing isn’t all bad.”
Val nodded. “Agreed.”
Robin felt for her ass. “It was too skinny?”
Monica said, “I mean, you worked it with the athletic supermom thing, but a little extra junk in the trunk isn’t hurting.”
Robin hadn’t thought about her ass in years. Of course, maybe that was part of the problem.
Val said, “You need skinny jeans. Emma and I will take you shopping.”
“Oh.” Robin ignored the shopping idea. “And I want to find out why I’m seeing ghosts. I don’t know if that has anything to do with this mini-midlife-crisis or anything, but I’d definitely like to figure out why we’re all suddenly psychic in our midforties.”
Val narrowed her eyes. “Has anyone else wondered whether this is an early symptom of menopause?”
Monica raised one eyebrow. “Do you mean have I wondered whether you being telepathic, Robin being a medium, and me suddenly developing foresight has anything to do with the natural aging process?”
Val rolled her eyes. “Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds slightly less likely.”
“Just a bit.”
* * *
All three of them managed to find time the next morning for some research in the Glimmer Lake Library. Robin was looking through boxes of photographs as the librarian, Gail Carpenter, brought another box over.
“My predecessor was in the process of putting all these on microfilm when I took over. Luckily, I’ve been able to drag the library into the twenty-first century, but we still have a long way to go scanning all these old pictures.”
“We’re wondering about the Grimmer family,” Val said. “Specifically, a man named Billy Grimmer.”
Gail cocked her head. “It doesn’t sound familiar.”
“The Grimmers mostly moved away after the dam was built,” Robin said. “According to some things we heard, their land was flooded by Glimmer Lake. I’m doing some research kind of related to a piece of furniture I found.”
“Oh.” Gail frowned. “So it’s not a family connection?”
“No,” Robin said. “Just general town history.” She glanced at the sketch and the photograph of Billy Grimmer they’d found. “I know it was a long time ago, but—”
“See, I saw that picture” —Gail pointed at the sketch— “and all I could think about was your Uncle Raymond. I assumed you were doing something family related. Not that it matters to me, mind you, but I should get you some earlier boxes then. These are clippings and photos from the early sixties, when we were in high school.”
Robin asked, “You knew my Uncle Raymond?”
“Oh yes,” Gail said. “He was a grade ahead of me, but the school wasn’t big. We all knew each other.” She opened one of the boxes and rifled through. “Here’s one I was remembering. See?” She handed the photo to Robin. “There he is in the back row. There was a youth fishing derby on the lake that summer.”
Monica and Val walked around the table and hovered over Robin’s shoulder as she looked at the black-and-white photograph of the young people gathered on the lakeside. A long line of trout was laid in front of them, and smiling teenagers jostled in a clump.
“There I was in the front,” Gail said. “I was always short. But your Uncle Raymond was tall, even when he was young.” She pointed to a blurry face in the background. “There he is. Not the greatest picture, but he’s the first one I thought of when I saw the sketch you did.”
Robin felt her heart start to pound as she reached for the magnifying glass. The young man in the picture wasn’t in clear focus, but a cursory glance did seem to resemble the picture of Billy Grimmer.
What was going on here?
Val’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “Are there more pictures of him in here?”
“I’m sure there are,” Gail said. “Ray was very popular. Always had a bit of the rebel about him. The girls loved him.”
“Right.” Robin set down the picture and turned toward the box. “Thanks, Gail.”
“Sure thing. And I’ll look for whatever I have on the town before the dam,” the friendly librarian added. “I know it won’t be as much. Most of the families that were in Grimmer left when the valley flooded.”
“Right. Thanks.” Robin wasn’t hearing her. All she could think about was finding more pictures of her mother’s brother.
She’d never seen pictures of her Uncle Raymond when he was young. She’d never seen many pictures of him period. Whatever had caused the rift between her mother and her uncle wasn’t spoken of, not by her mother or her grandmother.
Val and Monica sat on either side of her.
“Robin?” Val’s hand never left Robin’s shoulder. “Your family has been in the town for ages. It’s totally possible that your grandma’s family and the Grimmers are related somehow.”
“Uh-huh.” She sorted through pictures, looking for any faces that looked familiar. Her mother wouldn’t be in this set. She was four years younger than her brother and wouldn’t have been in high school with him.
“Want me to look for a yearbook?” Monica asked. “I know where they are. And none of these pictures are labeled.”
“Great idea,” Val said.
Monica left, but Robin kept looking through the pictures. What had her grandmother said when she showed Helen the sketch of the ghost?
“He was a boy from Grimmer. I think. Don’t remember his name. Nobody important.”
If Billy Grimmer had been a relative or a cousin, would Grandma Helen have been so secretive? Would she have looked away from his picture or pretended she couldn’t remember him?
“Here.” Monica returned. “I found 1962. That would be the year, right?”
“I think so.” Robin opened it and flipped through the pages, looking for names she recognized.
Cartwright.
Kenrick.
Montes.
Russell.
“There.” She ran her finger along the black-and-white pictures of the girls in black dresses and pearls. The boys wore suits and ties. Her finger stopped on the picture of a teenager with a hint of acne, unruly brown hair that had been imperfectly slicked back, and an unmistakable resemblance to Billy Grimmer.
Raymond Russell, class of 1963.
Monica let out a breath. “Okay, so there’s definitely a family resemblance. Is Billy Grimmer related to you? Is that why you can see him?”
Val said softly, “I don’t know if Robin is related to Billy Grimmer, but I’m betting her uncle is.”
“Huh?” Monica’s eyes went wide. “Ohhhh. Right.”
“We don’t know it’s that.” Robin slammed the yearbook shut. “But we’re going to Grandma Helen’s. Right now.”
Val said, “I’ll go grab some cookies.”
“Chocolate,” Monica said. “We’re going to need chocolate for this.”
Chapter 16
Robin parked Mark’s truck in front of Russell House right at ten, just as the cleaning crew was exiting the building. The laughing group of three women stopped in their tracks when they saw Robin.
Mom was right again.
Dammit.
“Hi.” Robin glanced at her watch and realized her mood could actually be put to pretty good use that day. “Don’t you guys get here at nine?”
One of the women in uniform nudged another, who was standing at the front and had her hand on a cell phone. “Uh… yeah. We’re just taking a break.”
“An hour after you got here?” Robin glanced at the buckets and mops the women were carrying out. “With all your cleaning supplies?”
Two of the woman had red cheeks. They knew they’d been caught. The one who spoke doubled down. “We’re good at our jobs. We finish fast.”
“Which is it?” Robin was furious. “I’ve cleaned houses before. I know how long it takes i
f you do it right. Were you taking a break or taking off because you’re so good at your job?”
One of the women with red cheeks turned back to the house. “We can go back and—”
“No.” Robin held out her hand. “Just because Grandma Helen is old doesn’t mean you’re allowed to take advantage of her. Give me the kitchen key and leave. I’ll call your boss this afternoon and tell her we won’t be needing your cleaning service anymore.”
The one with the attitude lifted her chin and held out the key. “Bitch, you don’t know what it’s like to work for a living.”
Monica gasped and Val put a hand on Robin’s shoulder before she swiped the key from the cleaner.
“Bite me.” Robin wasn’t going to fight with these lazy girls. She had too much respect for how hard housecleaning work was to pay people who slacked off. “Leave and don’t come back.”
“Fine,” the girl said. “We’re done with your creepy-ass house anyway. And your crazy grandma.” The trio of women walked off without another word.
Robin grabbed the key from Val and shoved it in her pocket. “I guess my mom isn’t going to have to fire the cleaners after all.”
“I have a customer who cleans houses,” Val said. “She’s awesome. I’m pretty sure she’s fully booked, but do you want me to ask her for a recommendation?”
“Yeah, that would be great.” Robin rubbed her temple. It was another thing she’d have to take care of, but she was relieved Grandma Helen wouldn’t have to put up with those rude cleaners anymore. Her grandmother paid generously, and she didn’t deserve being treated that way.
Monica said, “I wonder why they thought the house was creepy? This place is so beautiful.”
“It is, but parts of the house can feel a little empty,” Robin said. “That’s probably all it is.”
“What are we looking for here?” Val walked toward the kitchen door on the side of the house. “Are we confronting your ninety-five-year-old grandmother about her secret past?”
“No,” Robin hissed. “We’re just going to ask about Billy Grimmer. Maybe they were related. Maybe she just forgot his name because her memory is spotty. Plus we should look for more pictures of Uncle Raymond if they’re here.”
Suddenly Psychic: Glimmer Lake Book One Page 13