Chapter 16
I shot up in bed like I’d just fought my way back to the surface of a pool. Both of my hands were clamped around my neck, trying to stop the bleeding. I was almost choking myself without meaning to.
I stared into the unfamiliar room, my brain scrambling to catch up. Where the hell was I?
The sheets smelled clean. Salty air drifted in through the cracked windows, mixing with a floral scent. Roses maybe? Everything looked like one of those seaside resort hotels, the kind with overpriced water bottles and handmade soap in the bathroom.
My gaze snapped to the chair beside the window, the one where Mochi’s cage usually was. It was empty now. Daniel was gone too.
The nightstand held my laptop.
And then it hit me.
The Breakers.
I was at the Breakers.
It had been just a dream.
No. Not a dream.
I jumped out of bed and rushed to the large golden mirror on the wall. Tilting my head, I pulled the nightgown away from my collarbone, exposing the side of my neck. My fingers flew to the spot where the nail from the floorboard had rammed into me.
The scar started right there. Right where the nail had stabbed me.
I stumbled backward, one hand catching the corner of the dresser. My heart pounded. Part of me was horrified. The other part was shaken but in awe.
This wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory. A flashback from my childhood.
For years, I’d searched for them. Sat through endless hours of therapy. Lived through nightmares and PTSD flare-ups, chasing scraps of a childhood I couldn’t remember.
And here, now, at the Breakers, I finally did.
I remembered.
Not a good part. Not something sweet or innocent. But that didn’t shock me. PTSD buried trauma, not pony rides and birthday cake. And the scar . . . The scar proved it.
All those years, I’d believed my dad wasn’t violent. But he was. So I’d buried it deep, probably subconsciously thinking I was protecting myself. It was a classic PTSD move.
And my mother, who’d once waved off my uncle’s failed rape attempt as if it were a bad joke, hadn’t told me any of this. Not to protect me but to protect him. The man who’d hurt me.
I shook my head, horrified.
And yet . . . God, I was grateful. Grateful for this awful truth that finally pointed to something real.
I felt a burning pressure in my chest, my eyes, my throat. The tears pushed through.
My own family. My own blood.
I took a breath. Deep. In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.
My hands were still shaking, but not as badly.
I rushed to the closet, where I grabbed shorts and a striped coastal T-shirt. My brain spun while I dressed.
I had to tell Daniel about all this.
Right now.
It was such a huge breakthrough. My scar. I finally knew what had happened.
A weird, shaky laugh escaped when I remembered Daniel insisting I’d probably gotten the scar saving someone. Turns out, he was right.
I’d protected my mother, taken the full blast of my father’s rage so she wouldn’t have to.
Two steps at a time, I flew down the staircase. The thick red rug muffled my footsteps. The house was quiet. Daniel wasn’t anywhere in sight.
The smell of yeast and something buttery pulled me toward the kitchen. Tara stood at the counter, whipping something in a bowl. A smooth ball of dough rested on the flour-dusted cutting board beside her. She wore the apron I’d bought her yesterday. That made me smile.
Across from her, Mochi sat in his travel cage on the barstool, pecking at the mirror toy and chirping to himself.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, his voice glitchy and robotic.
I walked over to Mochi’s cage and leaned in with a soft smile. “Good morning, sweetheart. Morning, Tara.”
Tara looked up and smiled. “Well, look who got a good night’s rest.” Her eyes twinkled. “I think a few more days, and Mochi might be able to be free around the house. He’s very clever.”
“What time is it?” I asked, my gaze flicking to the large clock on the wall.
Ten-oh-eight.
That couldn’t be right. I hadn’t slept in past seven in . . . maybe ever.
“It must’ve been the two mimosas,” I mumbled, still a little foggy.
“You needed that,” she said gently.
“Where is everybody?”
“Hudson went to pick up Rascal. He has to swing by the pharmacy and gardening store too. So he might be a few. And Daniel’s out in the garden on the phone.”
I moved to the window. Daniel paced across the gravel path, his phone pressed to his ear, one hand clenched at his side. Even from here, I could tell something was stressing him.
“There’s breakfast for you,” Tara said, nodding at the marble kitchen island.
I pulled out the barstool and sat down behind a plate kept warm under a silver dome. When I lifted the lid, a soft cloud of steam rose. Eggs, sausage, roasted veggies, and an English muffin. There was even coffee.
“Wow. Thank you.” I grabbed the fork.
My chest still felt tight, but not in a bad way. Just overloaded. Disoriented. Four-seven-eight. In. Hold. Out.
This, here, was real. The dream last night—no, the memory—was a flashback.
I’d tell Daniel soon. And my new therapist.
Last night, before bed, I’d checked my inbox and seen that she’d accepted my request. I’d scheduled an online session for tomorrow afternoon.
“Are you okay with homemade tortellini for dinner?” Tara asked.
“Tortellini,” Mochi echoed from his cage. “Tortellini.”
“Are you serious? I love tortellini. That would be—”
“Woman,” Mochi interrupted, his voice chirping through the room. “Woman in the basement.”
The fork paused inches from my mouth.
“What did you just say?” My voice came out flat.
Mochi ignored me, pecking at his mirror toy again like nothing strange had just come out of his beak. Like I’d imagined it all over again.
I glanced at Tara. She stood at the counter, slicing tomatoes with rhythmic precision.
“Mochi,” I said, turning to face him. “Say that again. The thing about the woman.”
He fluttered his wings inside the cage and looked up at me, blinking his glassy eyes.
“Pretty day,” he said in that robotic singsong tone. “The sun is shining.”
My gaze drifted out the window. The sun really was shining. Not a cloud in the sky. Birds chirped near the garden. Still, something in my chest tightened. I was annoyed, mostly at myself. None of this was his fault.
“You’re right, sweetheart,” I murmured, reaching in to pet him gently on the head. Just one finger, the way he liked it. “The sun is shining, and we’ll have tortellini.”
“Well, we’re out of flour,” Tara said, returning from the pantry. “I’ll finish cutting the tomatoes for the sauce, then head to the grocery store. Homemade tortellini aren’t much without the actual tortellini.”
She turned to her cutting board. The blade clicked softly against the wood.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked, still watching Mochi out of the corner of my eye.
“Thank you, but not really. I’m almost done,” she replied. Tara had her way in the kitchen. Every motion was smooth and practiced.
But grocery stores? That was neutral territory.
“I could always go to the store too,” I offered.
She laughed lightly. “Ah, nonsense. This is your vacation. And I finally feel like I’m actually earning that generous paycheck.” She brushed tomato skins off her apron. “What are you and Daniel up to today?”
“I want to check out more of the coast nearby. There’s a lighthouse with a little museum, and I think they do tours once a—”
“Woman,” Mochi blurted again, louder this time. “Woman in the basement.”
My head snapped toward him.
Then to Tara.
It felt like someone had just announced the world was ending, but no one else seemed fazed. Tara kept slicing tomatoes, steady and calm.
“Has he been saying that a lot?” I asked. “Woman in the basement?” I tried to keep my tone light, casual.
“Oh, God, yes. Over and over. When the two of us are in here alone. He talks more than any bird I’ve ever seen.”
“Woman. In the basement,” Mochi repeated, his voice clear and chipper, like the words were part of a nursery rhyme.
Tara strolled over and handed him a piece of sliced strawberry through the bars. He snatched it up like it was the best thing he’d ever been given. Leaning in close, she smiled at him.
“Mochi, I told you, this is the kitchen. I’m not in the basement.”
“Woman in the kitchen,” he corrected.
A short laugh burst from Tara as she went back to mixing whatever was in her bowl.
“What a smart bird,” she said, grinning. “Smarter than most people I know.”
She kept chatting, probably about the sauce or something light. But her voice faded into the background. My attention had locked onto Mochi. The things he’d said. The strange timing of it all.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he really did mean Tara. And the incident upstairs was just a hallucination during a fainting spell. However, after everything that had happened, my stomach wouldn’t let it go. Something felt off.
Daniel stepped into the kitchen. “Bad news,” he said.
I looked up sharply. “What is it?”
“One of our biggest cargo ships got caught in a storm. It’s actively sinking. Over three hundred million in damage to the cargo already.”
Tara’s hand flew to her mouth. “Good God!”
“That’s terrible,” I said, my voice tight.
“A helicopter’s coming to pick us up soon,” Daniel continued. “I have an emergency meeting at headquarters in Boston at one. Why don’t you finish eating? I’ll start packing our things.” He kissed my cheek and turned to leave.
I stepped in front of him. “H-how long is the meeting?” My mind scrambled to keep up.
“Probably two to three hours.”
“Do you need me there?”
Daniel shook his head. “No. I’ll have a driver take you to our place in Boston.”
He moved to go again, but I didn’t let him pass.
“Why don’t I stay here, then?” My voice came out confident, certain. “We just got here. And if the meeting is only a couple of hours, couldn’t the helicopter fly you back after the meeting?”
He looked at me like I’d just asked him to cure world hunger. Or cancer. Or prove aliens existed.
“I mean, it makes more sense this way,” I said.