Suddenly, I was hit by a wave of grief so overwhelming and unexpected that I ended up sitting on the floor as tears spilled from my eyes. I could see Aunt Charlie peering up at me through tangled curls—she had the same crazy hair as me—explaining the different herbs and teas to me. “You have the gift, Becca,” she would say. “The gift of healing. Whether it’s through your art, or making the right tea, it’s still a gift. Never forget that.”
She was the only one who believed in me. She was the only one who supported whatever I wanted to do. She was the one who helped me step into Becca.
But now, Aunt Charlie was dead. And so was Becca. And I felt practically swallowed up by my grief about both.
When Stefan told me Aunt Charlie had died, I had felt nothing. Well, that wasn’t true. I felt numb. I remember thinking I should feel something else, maybe relief that the source of my nightmares was finally gone, but there was nothing.
But sitting there in the Magic Room, feeling her presence all around me, smelling her in the dusty herbs and flowers, I finally admitted to myself how much she had meant to me. How much I missed her. And how I wished, oh I so wished, that things had been different.
Once I finally got my sobbing under control, having stuffed the rag in my mouth to keep Chrissy from hearing me, I took a minute to clean myself up in the bathroom. I still looked like I had had a good cry, but maybe I could blame my red face on the amount of dust in the room.
Straightening my shoulders, I headed back to the Magic Room. Nothing like a good cleaning to get myself back under control.
After removing the worst of the dust, I started going through everything. I found tea recipes and client notes. I had intended on tossing most of the files, especially from her clients, but between remembering the words Aunt Charlie had spoken to me, and Daphne’s suggestion that I take over where Aunt Charlie had left off, I couldn’t do it. I had no intention of becoming a healer and making teas for people, even for the short time we were in Redemption, but what harm could it do to hang onto the files? Maybe someone else, like Daphne, would want to take up the practice. What an amazing treasure I would be throwing away.
So, instead, I reorganized. There were filing cabinets, but they were filled with all sorts of things—stacks of magazines, fabric swatches (like there weren’t enough down by the sewing machine), old calendars, accounting records from the nineties, faded photo albums, even, oddly enough, a stuffed bear—in addition to the client files and recipes. Once I got things in their proper places (and threw out what I knew wasn’t needed), I discovered I actually had room for everything.
After a few hours, I took a break and went down to the kitchen for fresh coffee, since mine had grown cold. Chrissy was sitting at the table, looking tired and sullen as she stirred her limp-looking cereal. I tried talking to her, but she only shrugged and stared at her phone. Sighing, I went back up to continue with the cleaning. Maybe that night, I would make dinner for Chrissy, to try and make up for the failed meal the night before.
My head started pounding around lunchtime, so I took another break. I decided to have some of the leftovers, realizing I should have known better. My headaches were always worse when I skipped meals, and I definitely wasn’t eating as well as I should have been.
By mid-afternoon, I had to stop. My headache was getting worse, in addition to feeling a little lightheaded and sick to my stomach. Even with the allergy medicine, I still found myself having a reaction as I battled all the dust in the house. On the plus side, I felt like I had made pretty good progress. And the best part was that I had found the headache tea, although it appeared to be so old, I wondered if it would still work at all. Luckily, I had also found the recipe, so maybe next I would tackle the garden, and start harvesting some fresh ingredients.
I took a shower to wash all the grime and dust off me, and was sitting in the kitchen with my tea, wondering where my phone went, when Chrissy walked in.
“I’m going out,” she announced, looking at her phone.
I held my hand out, wincing a little at the pain in my head. “Wait a second. Where are you going? Are you going to be back for dinner?”
“Just out with friends. I don’t know about dinner. I’ll text you.” She finally glanced at me and her eyes widened. “Are you okay?”
“I have a headache.” I rubbed my temples. “So, it would be nice to know so I can better plan for dinner.”
She stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking a little uncertain. “Do you want me to get you something? Maybe ibuprofen?”
I looked at her in surprise. She had never offered to help me before when I had a headache. I was going to refuse, but then changed my mind. “Yes, ibuprofen would be nice.”
She went to fetch it, and I took a moment to look for my phone. If she was going to text me, I probably needed to find it.
Odd. I was sure I had left it on the counter this morning, but it wasn’t there now. Had I taken it upstairs with me?
She returned with not only the ibuprofen, but also with a cool wash cloth, and helped me lay down on the couch. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I probably breathed in too much dust and overdid it. Thanks.”
She bit her lip as she looked down at me. I got the feeling she wanted to say something, but at the last minute, changed her mind. “Okay, see you later.”
“Chrissy,” I called out. “Just one more thing? Have you seen my phone?”
“Why would I know where your phone is?” She snapped. “Are you accusing me of stealing it?”
“What?” I said, taken aback. “No, I don’t think you did anything with it. But I was hoping you could help me find it ...”
“I don’t know where your phone is,” she interrupted. “I haven’t seen it. Okay? I gotta go.” I heard her steps pound through the kitchen and the backdoor slam.
What was wrong with that girl? Had I been this crazy as a teenager? In that moment, all I wanted to do was pack her up and ship her back to New York and let her father deal with her.
Chapter 20
It wasn’t just allergies after all. I ended up getting sick.
I spent the week feeling like crap. Headaches, dizziness, sick to my stomach … not constantly, but off and on, which made it even more frustrating, because the moment I thought I was getting better, another headache would sneak up on me.
Today had been particularly brutal, made worse because for the life of me, I couldn’t find the ibuprofen. I didn’t think I had used it all up, so where on earth had it gone?
I rubbed my temples as I sat in the kitchen with a bowl of chicken and rice soup, gluten-free crackers, half of a gluten-free chocolate cookie Chrissy had baked from scratch, and a pot of tea in front me. I had been trying to eat through the pain, but it hadn’t been working. Neither had the tea, at least not as much as I remembered. I probably needed fresher ingredients.
The doorbell rang, causing me to jump and spill my soup. Chrissy? Had she forgotten her key? Since seeing that footprint in the garden, I had made a point of keeping the doors locked. It made me feel safer, even though I hadn’t seen any evidence of someone hanging around.
The doorbell rang again, and I quickly glanced at my phone before getting up. (I had found it next to the sewing machine and a pile of fabric I was planning on moving to storage or getting rid of—why it was there, I had no clue.) No calls or texts from Chrissy. She too had been difficult all week, vacillating wildly between helping out, doing her part to prepare a few meals, and being concerned and caring about my headaches, to throwing a fit and storming out of the house.
I opened the front door to find Daniel and Chrissy on the porch. Chrissy was swaying back and forth, her eyes half-closed. Daniel had a firm grip on her arm, and I got the impression he was the one keeping her upright.
“Chrissy? What on earth …”
Chrissy turned her glassy, unfocused eyes on me
. “I don’t feel so well,” she said, her speech slurred.
“Maybe we’d better get her inside,” Daniel said.
I was still staring at Chrissy, trying to get my head around how I was going to handle the situation. “What? Oh yeah, good idea.” I held the door open. “Maybe get her to the bathroom. It’s right around …”
“I know where the bathroom is,” Daniel said curtly, half-dragging Chrissy’s unresponsive body across the living room and depositing her on the bathroom floor. She groaned and collapsed in a heap.
I rubbed my temples. The timing couldn’t be worse. I could barely make myself tea—how could I possibly take care of Chrissy too?
Daniel came back out, his face flat and expressionless, and motioned me toward the door.
I followed. “Where did you find her?”
He turned to face me, his expression looking graver. “I didn’t.”
“What do you mean you didn’t?”
He held up his hand to silence me. “Her friends had taken her to Aunt May’s, I think to get some food into her, but she was so wasted she could barely sit at the table. One of the waitresses called me.”
“Mia?”
He gave me a look. “No, not her.”
I sighed, feeing my head pound. Behind me I could hear retching. Hopefully, she had made it into the toilet.
Daniel was watching me closely. “I think you should know her friends were pretty sober. Maybe she didn’t pace herself at all, I don’t know … but they seemed a little … worried about her.”
I closed my eyes. Why wasn’t Stefan home? What was I going to do with her?
“It’s been stressful for her,” I began. “The move and everything. Being a teenager. I guess … well, maybe it’s been more stressful than we thought.”
He shrugged. “It may not be anything more than that. But it probably wouldn’t hurt to have her talk to someone. There are a couple of therapists in town who are quite good with teenagers. Let me know if you want their names.”
I nodded, but inside I was thinking that Stefan would never go for that. I remembered his disdain when our friends in New York talked about their therapists. “Are you going to arrest her or give her a ticket or something?”
He shook his head. “Not this time. But see that it doesn’t happen again.”
I closed my eyes in relief, listening to Chrissy retch and groan behind me. Thank God I didn’t have to deal with legal issues with her—at least not for the moment. I opened my eyes and smiled at Daniel. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
He nodded once. I thought he would leave then so I could deal with the mess behind me, but instead he lingered, studying me. I could feel myself growing warm under his gaze. Why was he looking at me like that? All of a sudden, I was conscious of the fact that I hadn’t taken a shower in a few days. I was wearing yoga pants and a stained tee shirt. Daniel had a knack of stopping by when I was looking my worst.
“Are you okay?” he finally asked.
I was taken aback. “Yeah. As good as to be expected when the cops bring home your drunk sixteen-year-old stepdaughter.”
He cocked his head. “I mean, are you feeling okay? You don’t look well.”
I half-smiled. “You always had a way with the ladies, didn’t you?”
He groaned and rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. You look great, you always look great, I mean … “ He paused and gave me a sheepish smile. “I’m making it worse, aren’t I?”
I laughed. “Well, yeah. The good news is it’s never too late to stop digging the hole.”
He smiled then, a real smile, and I could almost feel my heart stop. God, I had almost forgotten how hot he was when he smiled. I had to blink a few times to refocus on what he was saying.
“What I meant is you don’t look like you’re feeling well. Are you?”
I was also conscious we were, for all practical purposes, alone in the house. Apart from a drunk teenager, of course. I swallowed and had to look away. “Well, ah, I do have a headache. I think I may be coming down with something. I haven’t been feeling like myself all week.”
“Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to call someone, Daphne maybe? To help with …” he nodded toward the bathroom and Chrissy, which had gone silent. At least she had stopped throwing up, although I probably should go check on her and make sure she was okay.
“I’m fine, but thank you,” I said. “I don’t need to screw up anyone else’s Saturday night.” I smiled, trying to lighten the suddenly-charged mood. “Bummer you have to work tonight.”
He took a step back as his lips twitched up in a smile. “Just doing my job.” I got the feeling he felt it too, the energy between us, and was trying to soften it as well.
He backed away another step, so he was halfway out the door. “Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll be on my way.”
I nodded and quietly closed the door behind him. It dawned on me then that I should maybe ask him about what may have been a footprint in the garden, but I was reluctant to call him back. It was probably nothing. I didn’t want to waste his time.
So, why did it feel like I was making a big mistake, keeping it to myself?
Chapter 21
Over my morning coffee, I pondered my options.
After Daniel left the night before, I headed over to the bathroom. Chrissy was slumped over the toilet, passed out and snoring. I sighed. At least she hadn’t made a mess.
I considered leaving her there—she was already asleep, and I wasn’t entirely sure how cooperative she would be, or if I’d even be able to get her up the stairs if I woke her—but somehow, that didn’t feel right to me, so after a lot of hauling and swearing, I got her on her feet and up the stairs. I undressed her, tossed her in the shower and turned the water on cold. After she regained consciousness (screaming at me the whole time), I forced her to drink as much water as I could, before dumping her into bed to sleep it off.
I headed to bed myself and slept better than I had expected. Better yet, I didn’t have a headache when I woke. Maybe I was finally on the mend.
But that was where my good luck ended. What on earth was I going to do with Chrissy? And Stefan?
I needed to tell him. I knew that. This was bigger than the sleepwalking. I couldn’t wait until he came home again.
But still, I hesitated. What was I going to say? Stefan, the cops brought Chrissy home drunk last night.
I rubbed my forehead. What a nightmare.
Well, first thing’s first. I was here. I was Chrissy’s stepmother and before I did anything else, I needed to deal with her.
I marched upstairs and into her room. As expected, she was still sleeping, in a sweaty tangle of blankets and sheets. I threw open the drapes, letting the early morning sun stream in.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”
Chrissy groaned and tried to bury her head in the sheets. “Go away,” she muttered.
“I’m not going away. You’re getting up now.”
“Leave me alone,” she snapped, burying her face in her pillow.
I started stripping the bed of blankets, sheets, and pillows. She whimpered and tried to cover her face with her hands. “Nope. Not letting you spend the day hungover in bed. You’re getting up and getting some breakfast into you. And then we’re going to talk about what happened last night.”
She muttered something I couldn’t hear and tried to curl up, hiding her face in her hands. “I’ll give you ten minutes. If you’re not downstairs, I’m coming back up. And you don’t want to find out what I’m going to do to you then.”
I went back down to the kitchen and started to assemble breakfast— toasting gluten-free bread and brewing green tea, which wasn’t a bad hangover remedy.
I pulled the cereal out of the pantry and stopped, almost dropping the box. There was the bottle of ibuprofen. What in God’s name was it do
ing there?
I reached out and plucked it out of the pantry. Well, I guess I at least knew where it was when I needed it next, and chances were Chrissy would need it pretty quickly.
But, still. How did it end up in the pantry behind the cereal?
“I’m here. Happy?” A voice croaked behind me. Chrissy slumped down on the table, holding her head in her hands.
“Not especially,” I said, plopping the green tea in front of her. “Drink that. It will help. What do you want to eat?”
She peered at the mug from between her hands. “What is it?”
“It’s green tea. It will help. What do you want to eat?”
She made a face, but dragged the mug toward her. “Ugh. Nothing.”
“You need to eat something. You’ll feel better. What about toast?”
She took a sip of tea, still making a face, and barely nodded at me. I put the toast in front of her and slid into a chair with my coffee.
I watched her pick at the toast and sip the tea. She looked awful—her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her hair a tangled mess, sticking up every which way—but at least the color was starting to come back into her face.
I sipped my coffee. “Want to tell me what happened?”
She crumbled up a piece of toast. “No.”
Deep breaths. “You do know what you did was illegal.”
“So, what?”
“So, what? Chrissy, not only could you have ended up in jail, but you also could have ended up in the hospital. What happened? Why did you get so drunk?”
“I just did. It’s no big deal.”
“Do you have any idea how drunk you were? Do you even remember last night?”
“Of course, I remember,” she said, but her eyes slid off me like she was lying. “I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about this.”
It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1) Page 16
