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“I see. That’s fine. Just rest now. I’ll be back to check on you later this evening.”
After pocketing the bottle of Valium on the nightstand, Dr. Stevenson exited the bedroom, followed by Eugenia. Oren came over and rested his hand on mine.
“I’ll come back and visit in a few hours if you’re up to seeing me.”
“I’d like that,” I said.
He followed the others out of the room and closed the door. Jace and I were alone again. I didn’t even bother to look at his face. I knew what I’d see.
No more ‘sweetheart,’ I guess.
“Sometimes…” he began. “Sometimes, I think I don’t even know who you are. You were scared? Of what? For how long? You have anxiety issues, and you have no problem mentioning it to Dr. Dickweed, but you won’t say shit to me?”
I opened my mouth to assure him that I hadn’t really been scared—just tired and stressed—but I didn’t think that would help.
“And a psychiatrist? Jesus, Greer, I knew you had a…thing…with the tapping all those years ago. But I assumed it was under control.”
“It was,” I finally spoke. “It is. I just…got too tired. And there was so much going on.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say. Why hadn’t I? Because I hadn’t wanted to bother him with it when we were finally in a good place? Because I didn’t want him to know that I was struggling?
Silence was apparently not the response Jace was after. He leveled me with one final look before turning and leaving the room. As much as I’m sure he wanted to slam the door, he closed it softly on his way out.
I buried my face in the pillow and let the tears leak out of my eyes. After everything we’d been through, just when things were starting to go right for us, my stupid neurosis had to get in the way.
I struggled to keep everything straight. I belatedly remembered Jace had said he’d dropped by with good news. But he hadn’t gotten a chance to tell me what it was. Instead, he’d pulled me back off the scaffolding and carried me to my bedroom. He’d fought with Marina. He’d been so angry when I’d woken up.
I thought back on the last few weeks. I’d loaded him up with a lot of baggage. Sterling’s pedophilia. Anna’s parentage and potential claim to Richmond House. Linus’s and Danny’s murders. The slave quarters. The attic ghost sleeping in the little girl’s bed.
And now you can add ‘mental illness’ and ‘lies’ to the list.
I played with the ends of my hair. God, I was a mess—physically, mentally, and emotionally. I pulled my damp dress away from my skin. I needed a shower more than anything, but I couldn’t even make it to the bathtub down the hall, much less a place that had a shower stall. No wonder Jace hadn’t even touched me. I felt disgusting.
When I’d first come back, when fate had thrown me into Jace’s path and we’d had the one hot hookup after another in his office, I at least felt I was on his level. I was attractive. I’d had career options. I hadn’t been accused of any crime. Now, I might as well have a giant, blinking “crazy” sign above my head. Maybe I hadn’t told him I was still struggling because I thought he’d leave if he found out I wasn’t perfect. Like he had just done.
I couldn’t blame him, really. Jace’s life was wonderful before I came back to town. Professionally, the word ‘successful’ didn’t seem to encapsulate all he’d accomplished in the seven years since he’d begun rebuilding his life. He’d been dating a great girl. He’d tossed her aside for me, and now I’d broken his trust. Maybe this was the end for us. We were over before we’d even had a chance to begin.
I took a deep breath.
The past few weeks had been tumultuous, but this wasn’t the first time I’d had to take stock of my life and what I was trying to accomplish. That’s what you did when you hit rock bottom, right?
Step one, I needed help to get into the bathtub. I’d wash and dry my hair and change my clothes. Step two was apologizing to Jace and doing what I could to explain myself. That’s all I could do. Step three, I’d talk to Oren about the book. But that was another dead end.
The first time I’d come to Richmond House, I’d uncovered two terrible secrets—Sterling was Anna’s father, and he was also a pedophile who abused young girls, including her and my mother. Now, the wreck of the Jonathan Richmond loomed large in my mind with hundreds of enslaved Africans surviving the journey to Astoria only to be chained in the attic. My attic. There’s no way the Historical Society would support me writing those revelations for print. Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of celebrating Astoria’s most prestigious family, its most beautiful example of Victorian architecture? If I was allowed to continue writing the book at all, I’d have to write what was expected of me. I’d have to lie. And I wasn’t sure I could lie about that.
But one thing at a time.
* * *
Eugenia hadn’t been around muchduring the past few weeks, but she promised that was going to change from here on out. At first, she’d insisted she hadn’t felt safe with me because of Linus’s death. Then she’d stayed away because she hadn’t felt safe in general. I just knew she’d been using my grandfather’s money to fund a more lavish lifestyle than she could have had otherwise, rather than spend it on the house—but I decided I didn’t care.
She’d thought me guilty. She’d left me alone in the house. But she wasn’t related to me. Not technically. She didn’t owe me anything. She was just an eccentric old lady living her best life now that Sterling was dead. If my baby daddy had brainwashed me and abused our daughter in a bedroom complete with a hidden dungeon, I’d have gotten my revenge too—any way I could.
I took her up on her offer to help me bathe. I didn’t bother to ask whether she was staying or going tonight, instead focusing on the terrifying fact that I might once again be alone in the house. Of course, it was equally terrifying to think that—even with Eugenia gone—I wouldn’t be alone.
It was dark, almost nine in the evening, when Dr. Stevenson returned. Eugenia escorted him into my room, where I’d been curled up reading on my duvet. I’d changed into a jersey jumpsuit in a deep forest green meant for lounging—but all I wanted to do was sleep.
