"Why can't I remember her ever telling me about her past? How come I don’t know any stories about my grandparents? How did I not know I had an aunt until a few days ago?” My pulse starts to gallop like a runaway horse, and I can feel my face flushing. “I can tell you her favorite color, her favorite perfume, and what she liked on her burgers. I can draw you a fucking diagram of the freckles on her cheeks. But I can’t tell you the name of her best friend growing up. I can’t tell you where she went to school or why she ran from this place.”
By this time, I'm no longer just pacing; I'm angry pacing. Stomping.
"What kind of fucking mother has no past? What kind of shitty daughter never thinks to ask about it? Did I ask about it and just can't remember? Why can't I remember?" My sentences start to bleed together in my gathering rage, giving an authentic voice to the frustration and fear that I suspect have been building in me for years. Panic, my faithful pain in the ass companion, starts to flutter her black wings. Spinning on my heel with my breathing turning shallow and rapid, I stare Cecily straight in the face.
“What the fuck is going on? Why am I here? Who the hell am I? What do you want from me?” I rudely yell at the top of my lungs. The rational part of my brain keeps telling me to shut up, but oh God, my panicked self is such an asshole. This woman has been nothing but kind to me, and here I am, screaming at her like every bad thing that’s ever happened to me is her fault. Unfortunately, recognizing my shitty behavior doesn’t make it any easier to stop once the freak-out starts. Now she’s going to hate me and send me away before I get any real answers.
Standing and walking forward slowly, likely trying to avoid spooking the psychotic-looking, wide-eyed mess in front of her any further, Cecily reaches out, grasps both of my shaking hands tightly, and simply breathes with me.
No judgment.
No accusations.
No fear.
And as she stands there, silently accepting of my flip-out, my own breathing starts to calm and my heart feels less like it's going to explode out of my chest.
How did she do that?
This woman I met only this morning has somehow instantly made me feel less alone in the world. That in itself should freak me out, but it does just the opposite.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For yelling at you like that, and for the other thing. On the porch earlier.”
Her peal of laughter startles me.
“You think that’s the first time somebody has thrown up on that porch? Or even on my shoes for that matter? Have I got stories for you, my girl.” She reaches up and tucks a strand of shiny raven black hair behind my ear affectionately.
"Stella," she starts, "I can't tell you what happened in your past, or why your mom had you both using fake names, or even why she ran away from here, but I can tell you I will help you figure it out. Something horrible happened, and that’s all I know. I will share whatever I can about your mother when she was young, about our family, about your family. We can figure this all out together.” Her voice quivers with long unshed tears. “Tweedvale is where you belong. I would like you to stay. Please stay."
Lifting my eyes to meet hers, her tension is visible, anticipating my argument to leave and go back to New York. As tempting as the idea of running back to normal is, something is telling me my path has shifted, and my normal will never be the same. There are answers I need that I can only find here, with Cecily's help. I need to find out what other secrets my mother was keeping, and why they were so important they cost us both the family we deserved. I want to learn about my aunt and explore the life that would have been mine all along.
“What about my apartment back in New York?” I ask with caution. Just thinking about having to go back to dealing with Creeper Todd and his grabby hands right now makes me throw up in my mouth a little, but I need to know I still have a place to go back to if this doesn’t work out. “It’s not the best set-up in the world, but it’s mine. And I also have to make sure it’s okay with my boss if I take some extra time off.”
I start mindlessly biting my left thumbnail. Cecily smiles and reaches out to gently pull my hand away from my mouth, just like my mom used to do.
“We can keep up the rent on your apartment for now. I’m sure your landlord won’t care where you are as long as he’s getting his money. As for work, even from the small amount you told me about your friend Sally at dinner, it sounds like she’ll understand why you want to stay here for a little while.” The hope that shines from her pretty face reaches through my defenses and touches my lonely hidden heart, making my decision easier.
"Okay, I'll stay. At least for a little while."
With that one sentence, all of my mother’s warnings and my promises to her turn to dust, and unbeknownst to me, a terrifying game that had been on pause since my mother left here, starts up again.
Choking back something between a sniffle and a laugh, Cecily wraps me in a bear hug and dances us around the kitchen.
Chapter Four
After what might have been the best night's sleep I’ve ever had, I wander downstairs the next morning in search of something to satisfy my rumbling stomach. Admiring the beautiful art adorning the walls along the way, I’m totally not paying attention to where I’m going.
"Good morning, Miss Bradleigh." I nearly jump out of my skin as Spry rounds the corner and smoothly sidesteps just in time to avoid me crashing into him.
"Good morning!" I reply, at a higher volume than necessary, startled out of my daydreams. "Rule number one, don't gawk and walk." I scold myself out loud, and we both laugh.
"Your aunt is in the kitchen, Miss Bradleigh," he says as he moves past me on his way to the front of the house.
"Thanks, Spry. And it's just Stella!" I call to his retreating back before he closes the heavy front door behind him.
Cecily is leaning against the counter in front of a complicated-looking contraption that is chugging and wheezing and spewing out a thin stream of something that may or may not be coffee. She looks up as I walk into the kitchen, and once again, her resemblance to my mother makes my heart squeeze.
“Good morning. How did you sleep?" She gives me a cheerful smile while the machine in front of her spits the last of its dark brown liquid into her waiting cup.
“Oddly enough, I slept well, thanks. I’m usually a light sleeper, especially in new places. Kind of the whole one eye open thing." I shift nervously, not quite sure if I should sit or stand or run. I'm rusty at being anything but alone. Cecily senses my awkwardness and offers me a distraction in the form of a glass of orange juice before shooing me over to the long kitchen table. She follows close behind with her coffee and a plate of fresh muffins.
"I didn't know what you liked to eat for breakfast, so I thought this would be a safe choice before we go register you for school," she says and sits down across from me.
Miraculously, I manage not to choke to death on the chunk of blueberry muffin I just stuffed in my mouth. I chug half my juice and stare open-mouthed at her, hoping my ears misheard what she just said. Cecily stares right back, neither of us giving an inch.
"School.” The word tastes like chalk in my mouth.