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Mom doesn’t need to hug me, but she doesn’t realize that. I’m notupsetlike she thinks, though it had dragged up some unfortunate memories of Daisy last night.
But now I can only wonder how Daisy feels, and if it’s her turn to feel justified, wherever she is.
If any part of her, like a soul, still exists.
That’sthe thought that makes my stomach twist, along with the memory of Daisy’s grin and the way she’d looked at me so shrewdly, once in a while, from bright green eyes under her dark fringe. My fingers tighten against my palms, and I have to almost physically shove the thoughts away before they drown me in a feeling that I know will be difficult as hell to get away from.
“It’s okay.I’mokay,” I force myself to say without a shake or a waver in my voice. I won’t let her think for a moment that this will break me, because Emily’s death will never have that kind of power over me.
Mom still takes her time pulling away from me, her attention grabbed by Stranger as he gets to his paws on the bed and stretches first forward, then bows his body toward the sheets while arching his voluminous butt high into the air. His tail flicks, and moments later Mom is scratching that upturned rump, her nails providing a better feeling than my bitten-down ones.
I stare at both of them. At my cat begging unashamedly for attention and my mom, who’d sworn she’d never be a cat person as long as she drew breath, but now buys him toys and catnip every few weeks.
What a liar my cats have made out of her. Well, Stranger anyway.
“I’m wondering if we should make an appointment with Dr. Lawson,” she says without looking at me, still making the same movements along Stranger’s spine. “Just to make sure we keep on top of things.”
My chest clenches, stomach following suit, and I shake my head as I walk over and sit on my bed, close enough now that I can catch her eye. “Mom, I’m fine,” I tell her, my voice quiet but firm. Emily’s death won’t break me, and I refuse to let it put me back in therapy, either.
My coping skills are great, and neither anxiety nor overwhelming depression are the things I’m dealing with right now. Not yet, at least.
But I can tell mom isn’t going to let it go, so when she opens her mouth to repeat the argument, I find myself shaking my head once more. “Mom, I’mfine,” I inform her, bunching my fingers in the blanket under me and twisting lightly. “And if you need me to sit here for an hour and explain to you all the ways I will make sure I’m fine and stay that way, then I am more than willing to roll out the PowerPoint.”
Chapter9
When I finally escape my mother’s questions and, far more annoyingly, her concern for my mental and emotional state, I head downstairs to see my dad hovering near the kitchen, pretending to be busy.
He’s going to give me the same talk, but with more facial expression and oomph.And frankly, I can’t deal with that today. Not to the extent that he’s going to take it, anyway. I love my dad and he really is the best parent anyone could ask for, but the concern, right now, is going to kill me.
Or maybe something a little less dramatic.
But when I see him standing there, loitering near the kitchen with the remote held in one hand and, for some reason, a potholder, I make a quick, rash choice and spin toward the front door instead.
The Halloween wreath looms as I get close, black and spiderweb patterned ribbons curled and reaching out with ends wired to hold their shape. My hand goes out to touch the knob under it, and it’s at that moment Dad realizes what I’m doing.
“Hey, Bailey,” he comes toward me across the foyer, the smile hitched on his face bleeding parental concern. “Do you want to talk? I was thinking of making grilled cheese.”
“At nine am?” I laugh, throwing him a smile as I stare at the sharpness of his nose instead of his eyes. “Come on, Dad. Mom already didthe talk. Everything is fine.”
He waits, looking me over as he weighs my words. “Okay,” he sighs finally, his voice heavy. Though I know for a fact that he didn’t want to have the concerned parent talk anymore than I did. He’s not as good at making it sink in as Mom is. “But I’m still making grilled cheese for lunch. Do you want pickles?”
“Is that even a question, Dad?” I joke, yanking the door open so that it doesn’t stick in the frame. No matter how many times they’ve had someone come out to fix it, it always goes back to sticking within a few months.
At this point, I’m pretty sure they’re talking about replacing the door completely, since nothing seems to work long-term. But I’ll miss this door, with its scratches and the purple residue that still stains an area two feet off the floor. Even though Dad has been scrubbing at it for years,the purple cat I drew on the white surface in permanent marker can’t be erased completely.
It brings a small twitch of a smile to my lip as I step outside, waving at Dad before closing the door behind me. The bigger wreath, similar to the one on the inside, shakes when I pull the door all the way shut, and I glance back just to make sure today is not the day that it escapes the little golden hook that attaches it to the door itself.
The best thing about living close to the middle of Hollow Bridge is that no matter what, it’s easy to get where I want to go. Especially without a car. Barely stopping to consider my route, I cut across the street and down an alley between two houses, one of them currently up for sale, that takes me off of my street of Pine and onto the one next to it instead.
I would be lying if I said it’s not because Oak Leaf Street has better Halloween decorations. The people here have taken decorating as a personal challenge, and the scenes littering the yards and even roofs are way better than anything our closest neighbors have.
My feet find the sidewalk again and I glance up at the sky, steps slowing. It looks like it’s going to rain. Eventually, anyway. And the sky in upstate New York usually looks like it’s threatening rain, at least a little, and especially this time of year. We’re not close enough to Lake Ontario for real lake effect weather. But that doesn’t mean we’re completely safe from it.
If the clouds are anything to go by, tonight I’ll be curled up in my room in a blanket burrito, both cats on the sofa, and barreling my way through every Halloween movie I can find while thunder booms outside. Not that I mind, as long as I don’t have to go out in it.
My gaze falls, attention no longer kept by the sky itself as I look at the Davidsons’ yard. I’ve always thought our town should do Halloween decoration bus tours, and Oak Leaf Street could be the one and only stop, if the budget is tight. Hell, even if it’s not, it’s not like Hollow Bridge is big enough to need more than an hour or so of travel to see everything of importance.
This year, the Davidsons have created an outdoor garden cafe that takes up their entire yard. Tables made of ribs and bones have been built or bought, though I’m pretty sure it’s not possible to just waltz into Walmart and pick up decorations like this.
