Chapter 29
The house was quiet when Vic got home. “Hello, Mom? I’m home.” No answer.
She went from room to room, flicking on Christmas lights and making a mental note to turn them on before she left from now on, so Audra could enjoy them throughout the day—or not enjoy them, her choice.
No sign of Audra. At lunchtime, she’d been fine, though, so she wasn’t worried exactly.
But she also wasn’t exactly not worried.
Cal’s words from the other night kept playing through her brain at regular intervals. She knew Audra’s physical health wasn’t awesome, but surely it wasn’t more than that? She’d always been . . . snarly? Mean? Dysregulated?
You’re one to talk, Devil snorted.
At least she tries to do better, Angel defended her. It’s not her fault she’s such a mess. What chance does she have with a mother like Audra?
Wow, Vic thought. If that’s inner me trying to bolster my self-esteem, it’s failing hardcore.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. Her heart leaped, even as her brain said it wouldn’t be him. It wasn’t. More words from Cal swirled in her head. “Maybe send him an email . . . a letter is harder to ignore than a text.”
Michael.
Her struggle with emotional regulation and compulsive behavior.
Her growing friendship with Madeline and Gwen.
Audra and whatever her health problems were . . .
A commission for her artwork!
It was so difficult to hold all these competing emotions: grief, anxiety, joy, hope, excitement, confusion. She took a deep breath.
“You can do it though,” she muttered out loud. “You can hold all sorts of complicated things at once. She exhaled and imagined talking to Gwen and Madeline about all the things she held inside, but then she shook her head. They weren’t those kind of friends. At least not yet.
Like they’ll ever be, Devil sneered.
It’s not impossible, Vic snapped back, continuing her trek through the house, then added, I hope.
She found Audra in her sitting room/sunroom or whatever she called it, depending on the day.
She was deep asleep in her recliner, jaw slack and mouth gaping, a pastel-peach afghan pulled over her lap.
Every few minutes or so, she let out a rattling, gasping snore—but all in all, way quieter than her usual.
Perhaps because she was dozing in an upright position?
Maybe all people looked vulnerable when they were asleep, but seeing Audra like this, it was almost impossible to reconcile her with the cutting tongue and stony glare Vic flinched under so regularly.
She seemed very old, though seventy-five wasn’t that old these days, and fragile.
Vic decided to let her sleep, figuring she probably could use it.
She checked the temperature in the room, turning it up slightly so Audra wouldn’t wake up chilled, then crept out of the room to avoid disturbing her.
Upstairs, she gave her bedroom a critical once-over.
It was undeniably better than it had been, but now it was time to make it something more than a blank slate.
Audra never came up here. There was no reason it had to be especially tidy or for all her things to be put away after every single time she used them the way they’d had to be when she was a kid.
First things first. She moved the shoe boxes she’d temporarily stored on the dormer window’s wide ledge.
When she was a kid, she’d used it as a window seat.
She would again. She took the boxes across the hall to another “guestroom” that had never had guests as long as she’d lived and was, instead, a drop-all for everything that had no other place.
If Michael ever did visit and she somehow managed to talk him out of staying at a hotel, he’d doubtless be more comfortable on the main floor of the house anyway, in a room with its own bathroom, instead of one that shared with hers.
Before she left back to her own room, she did some rummaging.
“Yes!” she exclaimed when she found the items she’d sought—two large, slightly flat rectangular cushions, covered in matte satin, one rose, one a soft green, both with medallion patterns that repeated through the fabric.
They were very 80s boho chic, but Vic thought they were still beautiful and couldn’t remember why she’d discarded them—especially when she’d kept things like the ballerinas forever.
She brought them to her room and set them on the sill, creating a soft seat.
Next, she went to her closet, pulled out her easel, and set it up where it would catch the most light.
She took out her boxes of paints and markers and looked around, unsatisfied.
She couldn’t empty out the dresser. She had enough clothes that she needed it.
Then she remembered—or thought she remembered—a small round table in the other room.
She was in luck. She managed to fit it into the corner near the easel. It was a pain to reach items at the back of the table, but it was eons better than having to unpack everything out of a box every time she wanted to do anything.
With the newly placed items, plus her existing bed, dresser, and desk, the room was at capacity. It didn’t feel cramped, however. It felt cozy. And it didn’t feel confining. It felt bursting with creative energy. She felt bursting.
Vic laid out a couple of drawings on a bare part of the table, piled her sketchbooks on the nearby desk chair, and placed a small canvas on the easel. Then she took a few pictures of her new setup with her phone.
Thinking they captured a bit of her excitement, she sent a couple to Michael—and was elated when he responded right away. The elation withered as quickly as it had bloomed. The solitary thumbs-up, with no follow-up, felt the same as no response.
Screw it. She was going to take Cal’s advice. She would keep it short, but she would email Michael. After all, what was the oft-touted definition of crazy? To keep doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results.
And first thing after Christmas, she was going to drag Audra to a doctor. She didn’t care if she kicked and screamed or threatened to disown her. Okay, that was a lie. She was terrified of Audra’s reaction—but she’d just have to stay out of reach and do it anyway.
She’d just sat down on her bed, planning to draft a first version of her letter to Michael before going down to make dinner and rouse Audra, when her phone rang. It took her a second to understand because who called instead of texted these days?
“Hello?” she said tentatively.