“And you thought this would work? That I would just stop there after driving halfway across the country?”
“Well, wouldn’t it?”
I was going to answer, “Absolutely not,” but then I realized how the conversation would go from there. I could just hear Annabelle telling me how special it would be, and how it wasn’t that far out of the way. It would of course be easier for me to stop there than for her to go, since I would already be driving. And, besides, I owed her one for bailing me out financially, didn’t I?
God help me, if I actually had planned to drive home, it probably would have worked.
“So, what happened to Alan?”
Annabelle burst into a fresh wave of sobbing. “I don’t know. He left yesterday I think. He told me he wanted to get up there early to have a chance to scout around for romantic places to take you. He must have driven off the road. They found his car this morning.”
“Was there another car involved?”
“I don’t think so. The officers think he lost control and swerved off the road.”
“Was he ...” I wasn’t sure how to ask, but I had to know. “Was he still alive when they found him?”
“Charlotte! How could you ask such a thing?” Annabelle gasped.
“I was wondering if he suffered, is all,” I lied.
“I don’t ... he was dead when they found him,” she said. “God, I hope he didn’t suffer. I didn’t even think about that.”
“Small mercies,” I said. “I better go.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow,” I said automatically, even though I was no longer sure of my plans. The only thing I was sure of was that I no longer had to leave immediately.
“Tomorrow?” Annabelle asked, her voice shrill. “Can’t you leave right now? We’d all feel so much better if you were here safe and sound. The sooner you get here, the better.”
“I just found out my fiancé is dead,” I said curtly. “You really want me driving now?”
There was a pause. “No, of course not,” she said, her voice heavy with sadness and grief. “I just ... I wish you were here so I could hug you. Don’t leave until you feel up to making the trip. And if you need a few days, take it. I want you to be safe.”
“Thank you,” I said, trying not to cry. Not only had my anger with her immediately dissolved, but I was swamped with guilt and shame over all my deception and lies.
As much as she drove me crazy, at the end of the day, she did love me and really was trying to protect me as best she could. I should have been more understanding.
“Call me and let me know when you’re leaving,” she said.
“I will.” I hung up the phone.
Jonathan was still standing behind the counter, pushing some paperwork around, a neutral expression on his face. “Everything okay?”
I rubbed my forehead. “Alan is dead.”
He stopped messing with the papers and stared at me. “Alan? As in ...”
“My fiancé.” I still couldn’t get my head around it. Could it really be that easy? Alan dead, and my nightmare over?
Somehow, it didn’t feel over. But maybe I was in shock.
“The one who you were ...” he didn’t finish the sentence.
“Yes,” I said, meeting his gaze.
His eyes widened. “So, you can stay now,” he said.
“I could,” I said. “But, I’m just ... I have to process all of this.”
“Of course,” he said immediately. “Do you want me to drive you back to the hotel? Do you still have a room?”
“No, I’m fine. I don’t know if I still have a room. I guess ... I guess I should go find out.” I wasn’t really sure what to do. Everything felt so surreal, a part of me wondered if I had dreamed it all—if I was still dreaming. On top of everything else, my head was starting to pound, probably due to a combination of all the emotion and lack of sleep.
“Of course,” he said immediately. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
I thanked him and headed back to my car. Spending a little time alone felt like the right next move. My bags were still in the room. Hopefully, Nancy would let me stay another day or two. I could take a bath, and maybe even have a good cry, even if wasn’t completely sure why. Maybe I could even take a nap.
Then, once my head cleared, I could figure out what I really wanted to do. I could make a decision based on my desires rather than my fears.
I was finally in a position to truly determine for myself what I wanted my life to look like.
Chapter 18
“Let’s go up, and I’ll show you the office,” Helen said, grasping the bannister with her gnarled fingers as she slowly climbed the stairs.
I trailed along behind her, trying to look at everything at once as I continued to marvel at the fact that I had actually done it—I bought the house.
I was a homeowner! And, not just any homeowner—I now owned this house.
The journey to home ownership hadn’t been without a few bumps. Mr. Farley was more than a little skeptical.
“You want to purchase a house in Redemption, Wisconsin? I haven’t even heard of it.”
“It’s a small town, a little off the beaten path,” I said.
“But ... your family is all here in New York. Your friends. Your life. Why do you want to move there?”
“It’s time for a fresh start,” I said. “It will be good for me.”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Farley muttered. “As for the house, the deal seems a little too good to be true.”
Helen and I had worked out a small down payment along with monthly payments at a very low interest rate. My idea was to have the trust pay for it each month. Mr. Farley, though, wasn’t so enthusiastic.
“She’s eager to sell,” I said. “She wants to move into an assisted living facility right away, so she’s quite motivated.”
“Hmph,” he grumbled. “Before I sign off on anything, I want it appraised and inspected.”
“Fine,” I said. “But we need to do it quickly. She needs to sign the paperwork for the assisted living facility in the next ten days.”
“I’ll get it lined up,” he sighed.
I thanked him and was about to hang up when he stopped me.
“Charlotte,” he cleared his throat. “I know it’s not my place, but you’ve suffered a terrible loss. I really don’t think it’s wise to be making such a big life decision right now while you’re grieving.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine,” I assured him. “It’s time for me to stand on my own two feet. I need to learn how to figure things out on my own instead of always relying on my family to bail me out. Besides, if I wake up in a year or two and realize this was a bad decision, I can always sell it then.”
“If you’re sure,” he said doubtfully. “Although I do want to go on record that I think this is a mistake.”
Annabelle wasn’t nearly as polite.
“You’re doing what?” she nearly shrieked into the phone. I had to hold the receiver a few inches away. “Are you out of your mind?”
I tried to tell her the same thing I told Mr. Farley, but she refused to listen.
“After all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”
“I’m paying you back,” I said. “In fact, Mr. Farley is cutting the checks even as we speak.”
“That’s not the point,” she shrieked again. “It’s not about paying me back. I did it so you would come home.”
“You’re still going to see me,” I said. “I’m planning on coming back to visit.”
“That’s not good enough,” she snapped. “Don’t you get it? You’re supposed to be back here, helping me with all the family obligations. I’m already running ragged, and once Marguerite has the baby, it’s going to be chaos. I need you h
ere. I can’t do it all alone.”
“Marguerite should be able to handle one little baby on her own,” I said, even though I did feel a twinge of guilt. “Especially since I’m sure she’ll be getting a nanny ...”
“Again, not the point,” she yelled. “God, is it so wrong to want my sister here? Look at everything you’ll miss. All the family get-togethers and the baby’s birth. Do you really want to not be a part of our lives? Of my life?”
“No, of course not,” I said. “I’ll be back as often as I can ...”
“It’s still not the same,” she said miserably.
I paused and rubbed my eyes. This really wasn’t going well. “Annabelle, I’m not doing this to hurt you,” I said softly. “You have to understand that. It’s time for me to live my own life. Learn to depend on myself. Does that make sense?”
“So I guess living your own life means cutting your family out,” she said.
“No, that’s not what it means,” I said. “You’re reading too much into this.”
“I have to go,” she said. “I have things to do. Especially since I’m all alone here.”
“Annabelle,” I said, but she had already hung up.
She’ll get over it, I told myself as I hung up the receiver. Just give her some time.
I wasn’t sure if I believed it.
“This is the office,” Helen announced, a welcome interruption to my thoughts. She waved at the smallest of all the bedrooms. I peered inside. It likely looked even smaller than it was because it was so crammed with furniture. There was a desk, a chair, a filing cabinet, a metal shelf stacked with dried herbs and plants, and a table, also piled high with dried plants. At least it was organized, though not exactly clean. It suffered from the same dust and grime problem as the rest of the house.
Helen carefully wove her way through the maze of furniture to reach the desk. She opened one of the drawers and pulled out a thick ledger. “This is my customer log,” she announced, placing it carefully on the table and reaching for another thick book. “And these are my tea recipes. You’ll be able to cross reference the customers with the correct tea to make for them.”
I listened as she explained her system, including where to find information on growing the different plants and preparing them. “I know it seems like a lot, but once you get the hang of it, it’s not so bad,” she said. “And I’m only a phone call away if you get stuck.”
“I appreciate all of that,” I said.
She checked her watch. “Oh! Where has the time gone? My ride will be here shortly.” She went to move around the desk and banged her hip on the corner. She hissed softly, sucking in her breath.
“Are you okay? Do you need help?”
“I’m fine,” Helen said, rubbing her hip. “Happens all the time.”
I glanced around the room. “Well, there’s a lot of stuff in here. Did you ever consider setting up your office in another room of the house? Like that room?” I pointed to the L-shaped room near the end of the hallway. I had only taken a quick peek in there the other day, but it was definitely larger and more spacious than the room she had selected for her office.
Her eyes widened. “Oh. No, that room wouldn’t work. No, not at all.”
I was puzzled. “Why?”
She pressed a misshapen finger against her mouth. Her breathing quickened; I could see her chest moving under her plain black tunic. “It’s where ...” her voice trailed off and she swallowed hard. “It’s where my mother died.”
My head jerked back like I had been slapped. “Oh! I’m so sorry ...”
She fluttered her hand at me. “It’s fine. I meant to tell you before. That room ... well, just be careful with it.”
“Careful?” I craned my neck to examine it more closely, but it seemed boringly normal. “Did something else happen in it?”
“No,” she said quickly—a little too quickly. Then she forced a smile and smoothed out her shirt. “No, the room is fine. It’s just ... well, you know they say the house is haunted. I suspect that would be the place, if any, to find ghosts.”
“I would say you’re probably right,” I agreed.
She smiled again, plucking at her neckline. The movement reminded me of someone playing with a necklace, but Helen didn’t seem to wear any jewelry. Unless she used to wear a necklace, and it was force of habit. Maybe something had happened to it.
“Shall we go back down?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Watching her, I started to wonder if the arthritis in her hands wasn’t the only reason she had stopped making teas for people. Having to walk up and down the stairs multiple times a day seemed like just as big a deterrent.
Helen had just reached the main floor when a horn honked from outside. “Oh. Perfect timing. My ride is here.” She reached down to pick up a small travel bag.
“Here, I can help,” I said, picking up two of her three suitcases. It seemed like a pitiably small number of belongings to be taking with her out of such a huge, rambling home.
“Oh, thank you dear. But you don’t have to. The driver can do it.”
“I know, but I’m happy to. You can be in charge of the door.”
Helen retrieved her purse and opened the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to take more with you?” I asked, following her out. “I sort of feel like I’m moving into your home.”
She laughed. “You are moving into my home.” Then she got more serious. “But, no. I’m moving into a small, fully furnished apartment. I don’t need all of that stuff anymore.” She smiled, but there was sadness behind her eyes.
“If you’re sure,” I said. “I don’t mind packing things up for you.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure. I have everything I need.”
I handed the two suitcases to the driver. He looked like a hippy with a long, matted beard, dark sunglasses, and messy long hair. His expression was bored as he popped the trunk. Rather than ask him to get the last suitcase, I went inside to fetch it myself.
When I returned, Helen was already settled in the backseat. When she saw me, she rolled down the window. “Don’t forget to call me,” she said. “Any questions at all, feel free to reach out.”
“I will,” I said.
“The garden needs tending. I left you seeds, fertilizer, everything you need in the shed.”
“Got it.”
“And don’t forget to take care of Midnight. There’s plenty of cat food in the pantry. I wanted you to know what kind he likes.”
“I definitely won’t.”
“Keep in mind, he’s not really a pet,” she said, fussing with her purse clasp. “He comes and goes as he pleases. But you still need to take care of him. There’s a water bowl out back; make sure that stays full, so he has water.”
I pressed my hands against the open window, leaning in slightly so she could get a good look at my face to see how sincere I was. “I’ll take good care of Midnight. And your garden. And your house. I promise. You can count on me.”
Her watery blue eyes filled with tears, and she patted my hand. “I know you will, dear. But, it’s not my house. It’s yours. Always has been. I was just the caretaker.”
Mine? She was the one who grew up there. Her father built the house for her mother. How could it be my house?
I opened my mouth to question her, sure I heard her wrong, when the driver called out. “Ready?”
Helen let go of my hand and straightened up. “Yes. Let’s go.”
I stepped back from the car, waving as they pulled away. I watched the car make a U-turn and drive down the street. As it turned onto the next street, another car turned in. It was a wood-paneled station wagon.
I watched as the car drove toward me, pulled up to the curb, and parked. Lou and Claire popped out like little corks. Lou stood in the street, gazing at the house with her mouth hanging open. “Oh my God. I can’t believe it. I’m
finally going to see the inside of the Witch House.”
Chapter 19
“I never thought I’d see this day,” Claire said. She was still in her work uniform, jeans and a white tee shirt, both stained with food and sweat. Her hair was hanging limply around her face, more out of her ponytail than in. She looked exhausted, and there was a strain around her eyes.
Lou, on the other hand, looked like a child who had just woken up on Christmas morning. “You have no idea,” she said to me, clapping her hands together with glee. “Remember, Claire, all those ghost stories we used to tell about this house? And on Halloween, how we would dare each other to run up and peek into the windows at midnight? I don’t think any of us ever thought we’d see the day when we actually were invited inside!”
“I know I never did,” Claire said. She smiled, but there was something flat about it … almost as if she didn’t really want to be there.
Lou squealed and ran up the driveway. “Charlie, do you mind if I let myself in?” she called back.
“No, go ahead,” I answered, studying Claire. She hadn’t moved from the car. She was just staring at the house with a slightly horrified expression on her face. “Claire, are you okay?”
She startled and blinked a few times, as if she had forgotten I was there. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I thought you and Lou would have raced to see who would make it inside first.”
She smiled, a tiny one, but more real than the one before. “No, it’s just ...” she signed, running her fingers through her hair. “Now that I’m here, I guess it all just got real.”
“Why wouldn’t it? Isn’t this what you wanted? To see a real ghost?”
She bit her lip as she gazed at the house. “Seeing a real ghost isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“What?” Her response was so odd, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Are you saying you’ve seen a real ghost?”
She glanced at me, and what I saw in her eyes stopped me. There was so much pain there, so much grief. I wanted to ask her what she had seen, but the emotion was so naked and raw, the words got stuck in my mouth.
The Summoning: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 4) Page 16