Chapter Seven #2
Her gaze turns bitter, and she says, “We’re not supposed to have those feelings.”
“No. Women are not.”
“Society wants us to smile and be pretty and nothing more.” She takes a deep breath. “And what’s the room at the back of the house? You use it for a study or something?”
“Something like that.”
A line appears between her brows. Like she wants to ask more but is holding herself back.
Setting boundaries with my cousin has been successful.
I made it clear that I didn’t want to talk about my ex or anything relating to that situation.
Not that she knows about the contents of the war room, since the door is locked. But she’s stopped pushing.
It’s strange how discussing these things with Noah didn’t put me on edge, while similar conversations with my cousin does.
Guess I’ve spent more time with him recently.
We have a level of trust between us. I don’t want to spill the tea, be a fascinating case study, or a cautionary tale.
All of those lenses have a bad habit of blurring the details that make me a living, breathing person.
My relationship with friends and family should be different and deeper.
Though there’s a small chance I am being overly sensitive. I don’t know. It’s an understandably sensitive topic.
Grandma and I talked about anything and everything.
The cringe I experienced each and every time she sat me down to discuss sex as I was growing up.
Because for some reason we had to have the conversation more than once.
Guess aging hippies and arty types tend to be open to most things.
It left me believing it’s how things should be with people close to you.
“Tackle any more of your wedding deposits today?” I ask in a careful voice.
She wrinkles her nose. “Lost thousands on the dress. But managed to get the booking fee for the reception place refunded. They had another couple ready to take the date.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah.” She frowns at her pale pink toenails. “It was going to be so beautiful. I had it all planned out.”
“You’ll make an amazing bride someday. But in the meantime, it’s okay to grieve what was lost. I’m sorry you’re going through this.”
She tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite stick.
Her phone buzzes and she turns it over to check the screen.
Then she swallows, gives me a smile, and changes the subject.
Which is fair. We both have our sore spots worth respecting.
“What do you normally do on a Friday afternoon? Have a glass of wine?”
“We can do that,” I respond.
“And we need snacks.”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.
” I head into the kitchen to find the necessary supplies.
Cheese and crackers and a bottle of white wine from the back of the cupboard.
A shame I didn’t think to put it in the fridge earlier.
But this is exactly why we have ice cubes.
“We should use Grandma’s vintage wineglasses. ”
Grace follows me, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe. She seems uncomfortable again. I hope we get past this stage soon so we can relax around one another.
I hold up one of the glasses. “Check it out. Stem so thick and heavy you could honestly clobber someone over the head with it.”
“That’s not a wineglass, it’s a weapon,” she says in awe.
“Right?”
“They’re gorgeous. Mom was just so pissed she left you everything.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I asked if there was anything she wanted to remember her by, but…”
“It is what it is.” Grace shrugs. “Why don’t we invite hot neighbor over for a drink?”
“He’s at work.”
“You know his movements?”
“No. I mean, not really. But he’s a chef, so…”
Her smile turns lascivious. “That’s a damn shame he isn’t around.”
“Yeah.”
“I was thinking he’d be perfect for a rebound hookup. What with me only being in town for a while and him living right next door.”
“Always good to save on gas. So environmentally friendly, too.”
“You don’t really care, do you?” she asks. “I know I was teasing you earlier, but if you two are just friends I could really do with the dopamine.”
She sure changed her mind quickly. The truth is, I mind to an alarming degree.
Thoughts regarding someone else touching Noah make me want to scream and scratch stuff.
Just go full-on harpy. But that’s my bad luck.
I’m saved from having to respond by the dog.
He starts barking a moment before someone knocks on the front door.
The little dude dislikes visitors, apparently.
How nice that my new canine companion (temporary or otherwise) and I have things in common.
Grace gives me a bright smile. “I’ll get it.”
“Wait a minute.” I follow her back into the lounge room, pick my phone up off the cluttered coffee table, and open the security camera app. “Just let me check…”
Meanwhile, she’s walking toward the door with her hand outstretched. She slides back the chain and turns the deadbolt.
And there on my phone screen is a collection of people. One of whom has a big-ass camera held up to their face. What fuckery is this?
“Grace,” I say. “Stop!”
But she doesn’t. It’s like it happens in slow motion.
She looks back at me over her shoulder with a perfectly blank face while her hand turns the knob.
The door swings open and shit. There they are.
One of the podcasters from the new documentary with a cameraman and sound guy.
All standing squished together on my front step.
Over on his bed, the dog jumps to attention and starts barking his head off. It’s a heck of a noise.
“Sidney, we just have a couple of questions for you.” The podcaster’s friendly smile is all sharp teeth. “You didn’t respond to our email or other attempts to contact you. This is your chance to tell your version of events. Surely you can see that’s important?”
Grace stands with her back to the wall. Leaving a clear path between me and them.
“Let’s sit down and have a conversation,” the asshole yells to be heard over all the noise.
“Get off my property.” I cover the space between us in an instant and attempt to shut the door. Of course, he tries to stop me. “Move your foot.”
“Hasn’t Ryan suffered long enough? It’s time for you to be honest about what really happened. How you were really involved in Briana’s murder!”
With my hands hard against the back of the door, I kick at his big-ass sneaker with my bare foot. It takes one, two, three attempts to dislodge the asshole. But then the door finally slams shut. I turn the deadbolt and take a deep breath. And then another, because what a clusterfuck.
Grace stands nearby. Her mouth moves; however, no words come out. Like she doesn’t know what to say.
I don’t have that problem. “Why didn’t you stop?”
“Sorry,” she blurts out.
More banging on the door. Footsteps shuffle outside. The dog stands at my feet growling. He is not impressed with these shenanigans. Which makes two of us.
My heart hammers inside my chest. It’s just the adrenaline pumping through me. They didn’t get in or hear anything of interest from me. Everything is okay. However, they do now have fresh footage of me for their show.
But my cousin…there’s something going on. She doesn’t seem to want to meet my eyes.
“Grace, didn’t you hear me?”
“I said I am sorry,” she says. And then nothing more.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. It’s okay. Guess they could just as easily have sprung this on me at the grocery store or something.”
Her shoulders drop.
“Why don’t we get those glasses of wine and watch something on TV?” My smile is guarded and fake as can be.
But this time she doesn’t seem to know the difference. “Sure, Sidney.”
You learn a lot about a house after living in it for almost a decade.
Which floorboards and steps tend to creak or squeak.
Which sounds are normal, and which are an anomaly.
The dog stays curled up on his bed in the corner of my room.
Whatever nonsense I am up to at two in the morning doesn’t interest him one iota.
A sensible outlook on life. None of the lights are on, but I know my way around.
Down the staircase and through the living room as quiet as can be.
Go me in stealth mode. A ninja would be jealous.
Grace swears softly in the dining room. She sounds frustrated. The light from her phone is shining on the study door as she stands with her back to me. This week is giving real gain-a-dog, lose-a-cousin sort of vibes.
It’s almost comical the way she jumps when I turn on the overhead light. How with wide eyes she spins to face me. Her phone is in one hand and a short knife in the other. Guess it’s what she was trying to bust the lock with, but now she’s holding it in front of her body for protection. Oof.
I don’t say anything.
She licks her lips. “You’re a really light sleeper.”
“Yeah.”
“I told you I was broke.”
“That’s why you opened the door to them,” I say. “You’re working for them. Have you been recording our conversations?”
“There’s a release form I need you to sign.”
“I should have been more suspicious about the pancakes and bathroom cleaning. Doing chores was never really your thing.”
She snorts.
“I knew the timing was weird, you turning up here like this, and I still asked you to stay.” I shake my head. “Get out of my house.”
“You can’t throw me out in the middle of the night.”
“Of course I can.”
“Grandma would—”
“Be fucking furious at you for this and you know it.”
Her mouth is small and tight. But she doesn’t bother trying to deny it. “You have to sign the release. I need the money. It’s not like there’s even anything that bad on there. What little you said was pretty rational, actually.”
“Thanks,” I reply drily. “That means a lot coming from you.”
“The documentary’s going ahead whether you like it or not, Sidney.
And they’re desperate for information on you.
I don’t know how many thousands they’d pay you for a proper interview.
But they’re not the only ones willing to hand over money.
You’re an idiot for not getting what you can out of it.
For not at least countering their bullshit arguments. ”
“If you think it’s such bull, why are you pointing that knife at me? Do you think I was involved in the killings?”
Nothing from her on this point. But what she does say is, “We’re family. Signing the release is the least you can do.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?” I ask in wonder. “Get your shit and get out of my house.”