by Kylie Brant
Making herself small in the corner, she pressed her ear against the vent.
“. . . Bill, honestly.” Eryn could hear Mama clear as a bell. “You’re going to lecture me on money while you squander it on not one, but two women? What a hypocrite.”
“I have responsibilities, Aurora. You . . .”
“Oh, is that what you call your mistakes?” Eryn always got scolded for interrupting adults, but Mama just did it. “First Eileen, and God knows, at least Mother and Daddy had the sense to make her sign a prenup. Otherwise the nasty little bitch would have ruined us. And now Rozzie, your new little piece. A drugstore clerk?” Mama laughed. “Bet she thinks she’s in high cotton now, catching the eye of a Pullman heir. Don’t think I don’t know you sneak her into your suite some nights.”
“Leave her out of this.”
“Silly Willy had a thrilly . . .” Mama started in with the teasing singsong Uncle Bill hated. Eryn clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Then Mama stopped, and her voice went hard again. “If you were so worried about money, Henry doesn’t have to go to a private university when he graduates high school. Tuition will cost twice what UNC would.”
Eryn was glad Henry would go away to college someday. She wished he’d go now. She hated thinking of him being around for a few more years.
“. . . and you hated every minute at UNC, remember?”
“Not every minute.” Mama gave a full throaty laugh. “There were moments. Mostly outside of class, of course. I would have preferred art school in New York City, but our parents didn’t indulge us like you do Henry.”
“Can we return to the subject at hand? The last time you went to Raleigh, you ran up five thousand dollars on credit cards for clothes. The same thing happens whenever you go to the city. It’s irresponsible, Aurora, and it has to stop. You need to . . .”
Eryn grew bored with the argument. She’d heard it, and others like it, too many times to count. Mary Jane said Mama and Uncle Bill bickered just to hear themselves talk, like when they were kids. Mary Jane had been here forever, so she would know.
Eryn turned to crawl out of the closet, remembering to pick up her apple first. She was hungry now and didn’t want to leave it behind. Maybe she could knock on the office door and ask Mama to join her for art class, real polite-like. Otherwise who knew when this bickerfest would be over.
She stood, placing her ear against the closet door, listening for any sounds outside it that would mean someone was near who might see her creep out. The only ones who could be were Mary Jane or Elsa, who came in to clean once a week.
Then she stopped in the next moment, her attention jerking back toward the vent. She was too far away from it to make out the words, but she’d heard one. Her name.
She got down and scrambled on all fours back to the corner.
“. . . you dare talk about my daughter like that!”
“Oh, but it’s fine for you to bash Henry every chance you get. God knows, he’s a bit mixed up. There are reasons for his behavior, but Eryn . . . good God, Aurora, you still haven’t come to terms with how sick the girl is. She needs help. It’s not normal for her to have those screaming fits in the middle of the night and wake up the whole damn family.”
Eryn bit her lip, hard. Her free hand curled tight into a fist. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t! It wasn’t the same nightmare every time, but they were all alike. She was somewhere alone. Somewhere dark, and cold and damp. There was a door, but she couldn’t get out, no matter how much she screamed and yelled. It was Henry’s fault. Her nightmares probably started when he’d locked her in the stable’s tack room.
“She has night terrors.” Mama’s voice had risen. “Which Dr. Freeman says is common in children. You weren’t there for most of Henry’s childhood, except for every other weekend. You don’t know a damn thing about raising children.”
“I know you’re blind to what’s going on with yours. You thought her talking to people who weren’t there was normal too.”
“Oh my God.” Eryn couldn’t see Mama, but she knew she was throwing up her hands the way she got when she was at the end of her rope. “She had imaginary playmates, for heaven’s sake. Which she’s outgrown, by the way. You’ve never liked her. Never cared a whit for your own niece, and that’s really what this is all about. It’s fine to spend money on your child, but anything for mine is a problem.”
“Get off your damn high horse,” Uncle Bill snapped. Eryn shifted position because one of her legs was going to sleep. But she wasn’t ready to leave the closet. Not even when the conversation was making her stomach hurt like it did right before she threw up. “Your spending habits don’t have a thing to do with Eryn. Although I don’t think the so-called therapist you’re taking her to has done a damn bit of good.”
“Dr. Freeman says she’s making real progress.”
“Dr. Freeman is a quack. An expensive quack. Eryn’s eight, for God’s sake. She doesn’t need play therapy, she needs treatment! She isn’t a little kid anymore, although this odd behavior of hers was apparent even then. Remember what she did to Henry’s cat?”
That wasn’t fair! It wasn’t! Eryn gritted her teeth so hard they hurt. The cat wouldn’t stop talking to her! Or so she’d thought at the time. She’d been too young to realize the voices came from her head. Not from the cat. Not from the trash can in the school classroom. Or from the drawer of the teacher’s desk. Uncle Bill was a mean old jerk! Just like Henry.
“She’s high-strung, like I was. You don’t understand the creative mind, Bill. You couldn’t. And it’s taken a while for Dr. Freeman to land on the right diagnosis. What looked like attention deficit disorder is actually depression. And this new medication will help.”
“I’ve heard that one before.” Uncle Bill’s words were so low Eryn could hardly make them out. But she didn’t care. She didn’t want to hear him anymore. He was mean and horrible, and . . . and . . . an asshole !
“Eryn may be a freak, but she’s my little freak, got it? Butt the fuck out.”
She couldn’t move away then. The word rang in her ears, rattling inside her head. Freak.
Eryn drew her knees up, burying her face against them as she clutched them tightly with her arms. She didn’t want to leave the closet now. Maybe not ever again.
A hot tide of anger and shame worked through her, rising and rising until Eryn felt like she was choking on it. She hated Uncle Bill. She wished he’d get hit by a car. She wished he’d fall in the pond and drown. Or that someone would shoot him dead.
And sometimes—like right now—she hated Mama too.
Eryn: Now
“I don’t have to go to school today,” Jaxson announced when Eryn came into the kitchen for breakfast. He sent her a wide-eyed innocent look, and she read his intent clearly. She smiled to herself. She was being warned by a seven-year-old.
“Really? Why not?” Mary Jane was nowhere in sight, but there were covered dishes on the counter and she went to them now, lifting the lids off one after another. Sausage gravy and homemade biscuits. Eryn had learned to skip the dish when it was served at Rolling Acres because after the first couple of tries she’d realized it wasn’t ever going to taste like Mary Jane’s. She took a plate from the set table and served herself before sitting down and settling a napkin on her lap.
“Because this little man somehow managed to twist his ankle going to the bathroom during the middle of the night.” Rosalyn bustled in with an ice pack in her hand and knelt next to her son. “There now, sweetie, just put your leg up on this chair.”
“It’s cold.”
“It’s straight out of the freezer. The cold will keep it from swelling.” She rose again and sent Eryn a rueful smile. “Did you ever hear of such a thing? I’m wondering if he was sleepwalking. I’ll be sure and ask the doctor. It’s not uncommon for children, I understand.”
“I wasn’t walking in my sleep, Mom. I just had to pee.”
“What have I told you about that kind of language?” But
there wasn’t a hint of reproach in Rosalyn’s voice. She kissed his blond head. “I’m calling for an appointment just as soon as the doctor’s office opens.” She whisked away the plate set in front of him and put it away before bringing him a bowl. “I don’t know why Mary Jane can’t seem to remember you prefer cereal in the morning.” Rosalyn set the dish in front of him and went to the pantry, coming back with a box of sugary cereal. Jaxson’s eyes went round. She saw his reaction and smiled. “Just for special occasions. Because you’ve been so brave about your sore ankle.”
Happily, Jaxson sat back and allowed his mother to pour the cereal and cover it with milk before diving in. His mother smoothed his hair back, then smiled brightly in Eryn’s direction. “You haven’t said how you like your room.”
She swallowed before answering. “It’s nice. Thank you.” It was lovely, yet somehow impersonal. Maybe because Eryn hadn’t selected the paint, bedding, and curtains herself. Not that she had any experience in interior decorating. She was twenty-one years old, and the most decorating she’d ever done was to hang paintings or prints on the walls of her room. She wouldn’t even have known where to start. What stores to go to. She only knew her taste as far as artwork went.
Which could be said about almost every aspect of her life. “Maybe you can help me again,” she said. “I was going to talk to Uncle Bill about this—but I’d like to fix up a room to use as a studio. There’s an entire wing not in use. Surely I could repurpose one of those spaces.”
Rosalyn’s smile became set. “I’d just love to help in any way I can. You talk to your uncle about it and let me know what he says.”
As a kid, Eryn hadn’t been adept at picking up on social cues. Which was only one of the reasons elementary school—for the limited time she’d attended—had been such a nightmare. But she’d come a long way since then, enough to recognize the unspoken words behind Rosalyn’s smile. Eryn returned her attention to her breakfast, her appetite diminishing. She was an adult, but still dependent on a relative she barely knew for . . . everything, she realized sickly. She and Dr. Glassman—and later, Dr. Steigel—had talked a lot about how to adapt upon her return home. They’d never discussed how she’d support herself.
“Eryn, you aren’t eating the rest of your breakfast.”
Her gaze rose slowly to Rosalyn’s face. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”
“Pretty girls don’t eat, Mom.” When Rosalyn and Eryn looked at Jaxson, he shrugged and continued shoveling cereal into his mouth. “In the cafeteria, Bentley—she’s the prettiest girl in school—she doesn’t eat hardly anything because she says she doesn’t want to get fat. That’s how I know.”
“Well, buried in the disturbing Bentley story is a compliment, Eryn.” Rosalyn laughed. “Jaxson thinks you’re pretty.” He squirmed in his chair.
“Pretty amazing,” Eryn deadpanned, and he grinned.
“You’re all right.”
“High praise, indeed.” Rosalyn glanced at the clock on the wall. “Now eat up, young man. I want to be ready to leave the moment I can make a call to the doctor.”
Eryn rose and took her plate to scrape it into the garbage disposal, then rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. She’d painted for hours last night and had risen later than normal. She knew from experience she’d need to get to work now, this morning, because the medication made her tired by lunchtime. It was going to take a while to get used to being able to set her own schedule and not adhere to a strict lights-out-at-11:00 p.m. and breakfast at 8:00 a.m. policy.
She was returning to her room when a stray thought occurred. Retracing her steps, she went to the coat closet at the back of the house and surveyed its contents carefully. Everything was neat and organized. Eryn figured Mary Jane saw to that. There was a tall box for sporting equipment. Tubs for hats and gloves. Plenty of space to hang up coats and jackets. A man’s parka was among them.
Troubled, she returned to her room. Last night she’d wondered what would have taken her uncle to the boathouse at night. She was no closer to an answer this morning. The easiest way to find out was to ask him.
Her mind skittered away from the idea. There’d been a furtiveness in his movements as he’d approached the house last night. And really, what business was it of hers? For all intents and purposes, she was a guest in her uncle’s home.
Seeking a distraction from her pesky thoughts, she looked at her canvases with a critical eye, studying what she’d accomplished last night. Eryn wasn’t the painter Mama had been. She despaired of ever being so talented. But she’d worked for years to perfect her technique. And, she admitted to herself as she turned away to pick up a sketchpad, she’d always hoped at some point in her life—a hazy, nebulous someday—that she’d have the opportunity to take lessons from a teacher who could help her improve.
Now she was questioning if it would ever happen. How it would ever happen.
A small sound had her stilling. A moment later she walked swiftly to the adjoining bathroom and opened the door.
Mary Jane turned away from the sink and brushed by her, but not before Eryn noted a dull flush crawling up her cheeks. “What are you doing in here?” she asked bluntly.
“I brought some laundry into your room and put it away. You’re welcome, by the way. Fresh towels in your bathroom.”
Eryn’s gaze went to the towels hanging neatly on the rail by the tub. “Why were you looking in my medicine cabinet?” Because that had been the noise she’d heard, she realized now. The magnetic click of its door closing.
Then comprehension filtered in and she felt a rush of impatience. “I don’t need you checking up on me. I’m an adult. I’m capable of taking my medication without someone second-guessing me.”
The older woman sent her an arch look. “Are you, now? Took it without supervision in Rolling Acres, did you?”
Eryn caught her lip in her teeth. Staff at the residential facility dispensed medication to patients individually, regardless of their recovery status, as a matter of legal protection. “I’m not a child.”
“No, you’re not.” Mary Jane studied her long enough to have Eryn fidgeting. “You look like her, you know. Your Mama. She’d have been a bit younger than you when she left for college. She was twenty-six when she came back, with you in tow.” She gave a little shake, as if dislodging the memory. “What are you planning to do now?”
In answer, Eryn held up the sketchpad she still had in one hand.
“I mean with your life.”
She’d managed, in her blunt, callous way, to put her finger directly on the worry throbbing inside Eryn like a bruise. “I don’t know.”
Mary Jane pursed her lips. “Just don’t bury yourself in this place. Pullman Estate has a way of sucking people in and never spitting them out again.”
A measure of Eryn’s earlier concern rose to the surface. “How am I supposed to do anything else? I don’t have a job. Even if I got one, I don’t know how to drive. I’ve never been in a store alone. I’ve never bought my own groceries or cooked a meal on my own. How am I supposed to get on with my life when every normal experience passed me by while I was locked up?”
Her outburst brought an arrested expression to Mary Jane’s face. Her response was slow in coming. “Never thought about it much, I guess. But you have some time to make up, rightly enough. I’ll take you with me next trip to the grocery store. And you’ll come, even if it means putting away your paints for a while. As to the other, well, you’ll have to tackle one thing at a time. Maybe speak to Mr. William about driving lessons, first off.”
“I don’t like feeling beholden to him for everything.” If this was how it was going to be, Eryn had only stepped out of one restrictive environment into another. On some level, she knew she was worrying too soon. She’d just come home a few days ago. But the fact she required “lessons” in how to be independent seemed an insurmountable hurdle.
“Well, it’s not like this place isn’t just as much yours as his.” Mary Jane continue
d to the bedroom door. “You inherited your Mama’s share, and now you’re twenty-one, you’ll have a hand in the decisions, I expect. But that’s between you and Mr. William.” She disappeared through the doorway, leaving Eryn staring after her, jaw agape.
She’d inherited Mama’s share? Her knees weak, Eryn dropped down on the bed. She would have never, in a million years, even considered such a thing. A trickle of revulsion snaked down her spine. It didn’t seem right. Not after what she’d done. Not when Mama was dead because of her.
Her chest went tight, her heart beginning to pound with what she knew were the signs of an imminent panic attack. She bent at the waist, hauling in deep breaths, pushing all thought aside as she concentrated only on drawing oxygen in and releasing it from her lungs. Baby steps, she cautioned herself when she’d finally calmed her breathing. But Eryn didn’t miss the irony in her own reaction.
One minute she was moping over her lack of experience and freedom. The next, she was hyperventilating at the thought she might have the means to independence after all. Among other things, she’d always been a study in contrasts.
“Can I speak to you for a moment, Uncle Bill?” Eryn eased the door to his office open after her knock. Saw him glaring at a laptop screen open on his desk. He closed it and looked up, managing a pinched smile.
“Of course. What is it?”
Although he hadn’t issued an invitation, she went farther into the room, her gaze going to the array of animal heads high on the wall. This space had seemed creepy to her as a child. But now she had a movie image in her mind of powerful cigar-smoking men retiring to a dark paneled room to sign documents and declare war. Bill hadn’t updated the room in her absence. Hadn’t brought in a huge TV screen to turn it into a man cave. She wondered why.