4. Hindsight and Hangovers
ELOISE
In the dream, I sit on the edge of our property, wind battering the sandstone cliffs and churning the river below. Mom yells something, but I can’t make her out over the deafening rush of wind and water. My father hurries toward us, our old dog Max at his side. Max reaches me first and pokes me with his nose —harder and harder— until I can’t ignore him any longer.
I wake to a slippered toe delivering a hard nudge to my ribs. “Owwww!”
Grams leans over me, blinking rheumy eyes that nearly match the turquoise turban she”s wearing. “Are you an alcoholic, Eloise?”
I rub my side. “No. Why would you ask that?”
“Because you’re sleeping naked in the middle of the parlor next to an empty bottle of rosé.”
My eyes widen. Last night comes back to me in a maddening rush of images and sensations. Mortified, I slide out from under her and snatch my bathrobe from… where it’s folded under my head? Weird. I wrap it around myself, doing a double take when I see the wine bottle is empty. I definitely left at least half the bottle. It seems my vampire advocate has helped himself to the rest.
Not a vampire. Why didn’t he want to be labeled with that term when he so obviously fits the description?
My hand shoots up to rub the spot where he bit me, but the skin is smooth. I check the slope of my neck in the decorative oval mirror on the wall. Perfectly intact.
I whirl. The symbol is gone. The floor is clean, although the rug is still rolled. The candle and the knife are not where I left them. The box is squared on the mantel. Did he put them away? I rub a hand down my face.
“You’re awfully jumpy this morning. What’s going on? And why is the carpet all rolled up like that?” Grams folds her skinny arms over her French terry sweater and pops out her hip.
“You look good today,” I say, hoping to redirect the conversation.
“Well, once they take you off the chemo, all you have to deal with is the cancer, not the damn side effects.” She sighs. “Today is a good day.”
“Let’s have breakfast.” I place a hand on her shoulder and turn her toward the kitchen.
“Don’t try to distract me, Eloise. What the hell went on here last night?” She points a knobby finger at the carpet.
I don’t like lying to my grams but, if I told her the truth, she’d probably have me committed. “Just something I’m trying. Um, exercises to help me manage stress. You know, getting in touch with nature and my inner warrior.” When Grams stares at me blankly, I add, “It was Maeve’s idea.”
That seems to appease her. “Well, that explains it. Crazy follows that woman wherever she goes.”
“She’s a highly accomplished lawyer. She’s representing me, you know.”
Grams shuffles toward the kitchen. “Don’t get me wrong, dear. I was crazy, too, when I was your age. All my favorite people are.”
A ball of lead forms behind my sternum. Do I have a responsibility to tell Grams that Tony is suing me for the house? After all, if things fail to work out with this advocate —my God, I don’t even know his name— she should be prepared for what will inevitably happen next. She deserves to know the truth.
I hide my mouth behind my hand as a yawn splits it wide open and make a beeline for the coffee machine. I’ll break it to her after breakfast. No sense ruining what is left of her meager appetite. “I’ll put the parlor back together later. Good as new, I promise.”
“No rush.” Grams gives a deep, choppy chuckle as if she’s heard a dark joke. “It’s not as if I’m expecting guests. Not while I’m alive to greet them anyway.” I cringe but she keeps going. “I do love that room. It reminds me of my father-in-law. He used to photograph séances there, you know. Everyone in town wanted an invitation to one of his spirit soirees.”
I avoid addressing her earlier comment and latch on to the soirees. “Do you think he really believed in all that stuff?”
“Oh, he believed. It was all the rage in the ’20s. Photography wasn’t overly sophisticated then, and there were often artifacts in the old photographs that people assumed were ghosts. And when would there be more ghosts in the room than during a séance?”
“Creepy.” I poke the coffee machine button as if it will make it brew faster. Poke, poke, poke. I mumble a warning to it about buying a Keurig.
“What’s that, dear?”
“I didn’t know great-grandpa was an honest-to-goodness spiritualist.”
“Oh yes. Actually, it was why he settled in Virginia. According to his journals, he saw fairies on these lands and that”s what convinced him to stay.”
Brows coming together, I turn and lean my bottom against the counter. My head throbs like it has its own heartbeat. “Great-grandpa thought there were fairies here?”
“He was sure of it. Sometimes, if I watch carefully at night, I see lights bobbing beyond the family cemetery. He never found any proof, but I think they’re still here. Maybe that’s why this family has always been so lucky.”
A huff bursts out of me before I can stifle it. When she eyes me strangely, I shake my head. “Mom and Dad were murdered, I’m going through a horrible divorce, and you—” I cut myself off.
“I’m dying,” she fills in for me, matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me if I fail to see the luck in our current situation.”
She waves dismissively. “That’s only because you’re young and you don’t have perspective. I’m far closer to heaven than you. I can see things you can’t from this height.”
The coffee machine beeps and I whisper, “Thank God.” I spin around to pour us two cups. Nabbing the creamer from the fridge, I bring them to the table, hoping the caffeine will stop my brain matter from melting like a clock in a Salvador Dali painting. I take a sip then refocus on the conversation. “Perspective, huh? Like what, Grams?”
“Well, we’ve always had each other, haven’t we? And we’ve always had this place. Howard was born here, you know. In the guest room.” She points one arthritic finger toward the ceiling. I’ve heard the story a thousand times but tilt my head and nod. “And your father, I gave birth to him in the same room. Lord, he was a holy terror of a child. I loved every minute of it. Broke my heart when James went to school overseas, but when he brought your mother home with a ring on her finger, it made it all worth it. Diana loved it here too, you know. Used to run along the edge of those cliffs like she could fly. A few times, I thought we were going to lose her.”
My dream comes back to me in full color. “I had a dream last night that Mom was standing on the edge. Dad was there too. And Max. Do you remember Max?”
“Oh yes. I loved that dog.”
I take a fortifying gulp of coffee. “What can I get you for breakfast? How about some oatmeal?”
“That would be perfect, dear. With chocolate chips and brown sugar.”
I snort. “Are you supposed to have sugar and chocolate?”
She shrugs her bony shoulders. “At this point, what’s it going to hurt?”
I sigh. “Chocolate chips it is.” I take my coffee to the counter with me and dump water and oats into a saucepan.
“Anyway, it’s not surprising you would dream of your mother there. She loved the river. Many of her paintings were influenced by the cliffs and the wind. You know, if you need money, you could take up painting again.”
At one time, my goal had been to become an artist like my mother. She’d had a following before she was murdered, and her art has gone up in value since her death. Income from her paintings used to be what supported us. My father owned a greenhouse and landscaping company in Echo Mills, but his income was negligible compared to my mother’s. But when they died, grief smothered my creative flame. The only time I’ve held a paintbrush since is to teach painting, and even that was derailed by my failed marriage. “I’m nowhere near ready to paint for profit, unfortunately. I’m not sure I ever will be again.”
“Pssht.” She smacks her lips in disapproval. “Fine, then sell one of your mother’s pieces. A few are left in her studio. Everything on loan has been returned from the galleries.”
Most of Mom’s work was done on commission. A few she’d painted for us, pieces that hang on the walls of Harcourt Manor and line her studio. Her paintings sold well and quickly. I’m surprised the galleries had any pieces to return. Now that she’s gone, parting with any of them would be akin to selling my soul.
“I couldn’t… possibly.”
Grams frowns. “You’re welcome to anything I have, of course, but I don”t have much, I’m afraid. Once I’m gone, you’ll have a nice nest egg?—”
“I thought I’d call Principal Singer and see if he has any openings,” I say loud enough to drown out yet another reminder of her mortality. The oatmeal is done. I divide it into two bowls, add brown sugar and chocolate chips to Grams’s and a handful of raisins to mine, and bring both to the table.
Grams stirs her oatmeal, contemplative. Relief eases through me when she takes a bite. Being with her this morning, having breakfast, I can almost forget her time with me is limited. Well, I could if she stopped insisting on reminding me at every turn.
“I remember when you came along,” she says wistfully. “All that wild energy James had was in you too. The house came alive again. James and Diana raised you without inhibitions. It was refreshing. Everything was exciting again.”
“I’m sure Mom thought I was exhausting. Until I met Tony, I had no goals in life, no fear of anything, especially not failure.” I sip my coffee, trying to put it all into words. “As much as I hate Tony right now, I have to admit that he was kind initially. Remember how he was right after Mom and Dad were killed? Always stopping by to check on the two of us?”
“But then he hit you.”
“Yes, but before that. He did fix the house. And he was the one who encouraged me to go to college and become a serious adult. Who knows where I’d have ended up without his influence?”
She grunts. “Tony certainly changed you.” Her gaze slides down her nose with all the no-nonsense attitude of Judge Judy. “And then he hurt you. He’s still hurting you.”
I spoon in another bite of oatmeal to distract myself from a storm of conflicting emotions. Tony. My mind wanders to last night, flashes of my interaction with the advocate coming back to me. He said he”d free me from Tony. What exactly does that mean? His serious-as-hell tone sounded almost... nefarious. But Maeve is a lawyer; she wouldn’t send an advocate who would do anything illegal, right?
I chew my lip. Can I be blamed for being too overwhelmed at summoning a freaking shadow monster to ask for specifics?
Grams’s spoon clangs against her bowl. Pain has crept into her bony body like a demon whose exorcism didn’t take. I pop out of my chair and snatch her meds off the counter. Only one pain pill left. She’s been taking more lately.
“What time does the nurse come today?” I bring the pill to the table and help her take it.
“Any minute now. She’ll refill those. Can’t give me too many at once. Wouldn’t want me to become addicted.” She rolls her eyes.
“When she gets here, do you think you’ll be okay if I go into Richmond to discuss something with Maeve?”
“As long as it doesn’t involve you drinking another bottle of wine and sleeping naked in the parlor.”
I slant a wry grin. “You said you enjoyed the days when I had no inhibitions.”
A laugh rocks her body and she braces herself against the pain. “Oh, Eloise, I love having you home. Yes, I’ll be fine.”
I stay with her until the nurse arrives.