Page 27 of Peppermint Bark

If I couldn’t dodge this, I’d have to finish quickly, before rumors could start … or escalate.

I glanced imploringly at Jennifer, hoping she’d take pity and continue the meeting. She tore her gaze from that grin, looking a little punch drunk, and wrapped up early.

Shoot.

Chapter 10

Alex

Dad told me that Grace had a surprise. Eavesdropping on her team meeting had been an unexpected joy … although now that she was speed walking down the corridor, I wondered if I’d pushed too hard.

She flicked her badge to her office without looking back, opened a nondescript door, and stepped into the darkness.

Moments later, her face was illuminated by a wall-mounted screen, bathed in an inviting glow. In the corner, a thick tube glowed purple, a floor-to-ceiling lava lamp pulsing with floating beads. My palm grazed over the smooth tube, mesmerized as the lights shifted through the color spectrum, shoulders relaxing as the spheres rose. Gentle orchestral music played from hidden speakers. Fuzzy pillows were strewn around the floor, and a small tent was strung with fairy lights on top of a plush carpet.

My eyes wandered to the corner, where Grace hung inside a pod swing dangling weightlessly from the ceiling. Her legs curled up into the fabric as the chair twisted , her face serene. “Welcome to the Clarke Family Sensory Room.”

I looked around the room again with fresh eyes as she explained, “The hospital can be overstimulating: bright lights, loud monitors, doctors poking and prodding. This helps kids calm those inputs.”

I didn’t want to tell her that I’d read up on what a sensory room was when Dad told me they were donating because I couldn't understand why somebody would give a hospital money for blinking lights.

When I met Grace, I understood: Dad's donation wasn't because he gave a shit about sensory processing, only because it mattered to Grace … but I didn't understand why she cared.

After Grace left Carol’s house two days ago, I’d gone down a rabbit hole of what the hell ‘somatic therapy’ was, reading theory about how external stimulation changes our mood and stress levels … but I still couldn't explain it.

Now I understood. My body was relaxing in a way I couldn't express.

“This is the room Dad was dedicating?”

“Since you technically cut the ribbon, you get the inaugural tour.”

I winced at my overtired outburst. “Dad hasn’t seen it?”

“Not yet. I told the occupational therapists that your family gets to visit first.”

A protective surge rose for the space she was defending: The Clarke Family Sensory Room. My family’s room.

“So nobody has been in here since Dad …”

Guilt crossed her face. “I came here. After you and I spoke the first time.”

She’d snapped at me on the first phone call, but when she called back … “It must have helped because you seemed calmer.”

“Thanks to Connor.” Her fingers covered her lips, beating herself up for slipping.

Connor was a vault. How had she convinced him to cave? "What did he do?"

“He coached me on how to talk to you.” When my scowl deepened, she jumped to his defense. “It’s not his fault. I told him about the ribbon cutting, how stressed I was with the mayor's speech, and your dad — I’d seen him shaking, but he said it was nerves. When he collapsed, the doctors rushed the stage and your sister pressed her phone into my hands before …” She blinked back tears.

My stomach lurched. I’d been so absorbed in the disruption that I hadn’t considered what Grace had been going through. She’d been struggling to hold it together, but she sounded professional. I’d been caught off guard and took it out on her when she’d been trying to do her job.

No, not her job. A favor to Mallory. Amidst the chaos, my sister thought to update me. If the roles were reversed, would I have considered her?

Grace was caught in the crossfire. I’d shot the messenger.

And she retreated into this room to recover after I bit her head off.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, you didn’t deserve that,” I murmured, placing my hand on top of hers, gripping the smooth fabric of her swing. I felt my heartbeat in my fingertips, her pulse beneath my palm. Both racing.

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