Page 39 of One Last Lie

But we didn’t talk about me at all! I certainly would remember if I mentioned my sister.

But you forgot a three-month hospital stay.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

With a sinking feeling, I realize I said that last part out loud. “I didn’t say anything about nightmares to you. You’re certain you’re not mistaken?”

He frowns in what appears to be genuine confusion. "It was only a week ago. You said that you'd been having nightmares about your sister again. They'd stopped for a while, but since arriving here, they'd returned. You thought perhaps the bleakness of the landscape combined with Johnathan's recent death could be affecting you."

My head starts to pound. My throat feels dry, and I swallow painfully and sip more tea before I reply. “Ah. Well, I… I’m fine now. Thank you.”

“Have you been experiencing any lapses in memory, Miss Mary? Any sensations of disorientation, paranoia or missing time?”

“I thought you were here to discuss the children,” I snap, somewhat forcefully.

“The children are in your care, Miss Mary. In the short time I’ve known you, you seem a very sweet and kindhearted woman. However, you’ve shown symptoms of great mental distress. It’s far too early to make a diagnosis, of course, but I do feel you would benefit from some weekly sessions with me. It would be covered under the Ashford staff insurance plan, of course.”

I smile frostily. “Thank you, doctor. I don’t think that will be necessary.”

He holds my gaze a moment. Then he says perhaps the worst thing any psychologist can say to a prospective patient. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve suffered a great tragedy. Anyone who had gone through what you had would feel—”

“Thank you, doctor,” I interrupt. I stand and take his tea from him without asking. “Shall I escort you to the door?”

He meets my gaze a moment, and once more, he fails to hide his feelings from me. Were I not in my employer’s home, I would pour the contents of both teacups all over his smug face.

He stands and smiles. “Thank you for talking with me. I’m very sorry to have offended you. I care for this family very much. I only want to ensure that the children are safe.”

“They’re safe with me, thank you.”

“Of course,” he says soothingly. God, I could slap him right now. “Please consider some sessions with me.”

“I have your card,” I say tersely.

I escort him from the home, then head to the kitchen. Before I can stop myself, I lift the teacups and saucers and throw them violently to the ground.

The sound of the china shattering snaps me back to awareness. I stare in shock at the mess I’ve made. Tea drips down the walls and counters. Splinters of ceramic lay gleaming under the bright fluorescent lights like shards of diamond.

With trembling hands, I begin to clean up. I finish just in time to hear the door open to admit Cecilia and the children. I manage to put a smile on my face to greet them, but my heart pounds with terror.

What is wrong with me?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The next week proceeds without major incident. I manage to sleep through the night without my wanderlust dragging me through the house, and as far as I know, I am plagued by no more nightmares of my sister. The children respond beautifully to their return to school, and while they’re not exactly happy at the prospect of catching up on all their homework, having something to do that takes their mind off of Johnathan’s death is healing.

Elena’s visits have stopped, and from brief conversations with Cecilia, I glean that the board did indeed support her, and Elena is no longer a threat, at least for the moment. Doctor Harrow calls twice, but they are phone calls, thank God, and directed to Cecilia, not me.

I feel my anxiety decrease considerably. Theresa and I see each other occasionally, but she always pales and rushes off hurriedly. That proves to me that she is more afraid of me than I am of her. Javier does scold me for taking the car, but it’s a light scolding, and I get the sense he’s impressed with my boldness more than he’s angry. Paolo begins to join Cecilia and I for coffee, and while I enjoy the chance to talk more with him, it’s the change in Cecilia that really catches my eye.

She dresses differently now. She’s never dressed poorly, but prior to this, she’s always dressed plainly. She’s worn sneakers and jeans or occasionally modest professional dresses. Her hair is either left down or tied in a ponytail and I didn’t see any makeup on her face for the first week I was here.

But in the past few days, it’s as though she’s become a different woman. Or more likely, the woman she always was returns, and I have a chance to see her for the first time.

She wears skirts now, not immodest by any stretch of the imagination, but far from plain. The long-sleeved t-shirts are replaced by handsome blouses that, while again not immodest, are far more feminine and complement her figure. Her hair is teased into an attractive style, and she wears a tasteful amount of makeup. Gone are the sneakers in favor of pumps and boots, and one evening, she dons nylon stockings and a pair of jet-black heels underneath the shortest skirt I’ve seen her wear so far.

She goes out that evening, and while I don’t ask what she’s doing, it’s difficult to imagine she’s doing anything other than meeting a man. It’s been two months since Johnathan’s death. While that’s soon, I wouldn’t fault a still-young woman for choosing to seek some casual company, but with her children still mourning their father’s loss?

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