Page 13 of In All My Dreams

The room feels like a hollow shell without him, much like my own heart has every second of every day that he’s been out of my life. I don’t trust him not to hurt me again, but I also don’t know how to not trust him. He’s always kept me safe in this place, like he did last night. Even from across the room, I felt safer with him here with me.

Everything about him still sets fire to my soul, even if I know this truce can’t last between us. I won’t change my mind about leaving here for good, and how can I ask him to leave after he’s made a life for himself here?

Whatever this is between us . . . it won’t end well.

I tug the navy blue duvet off of myself and notice there’s a note sitting on the small circular table next to the bed. My heart ceases to beat as my fingers brush against the folded cardstock paper.

Not again. He can’t have left again.

I open the letter with shaky hands . . .

G,

Auden woke up and said Horton wanted blueberry pancakes. You looked too perfect to wake. Meet us downstairs when you’re ready.

Love always,

Ian

And Auden, and Horton

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and chuckle to myself. Auden obviously helped write this note since it’s her handwriting that signed her and Horton’s name. I place the note back on the table and half-ass make the bed before heading into the small bathroom to get ready for the day.

Goals for today include fetching a hot cup of much-needed coffee, finding Auden, saying hello to my father, and figuring out what exactly he needs so I can get Auden, Horton, and myself out of this place as soon as I can.

“Georgia, my dear!” Mrs. Foster greets me loudly as I walk into the kitchen. “You’ve grown so much! Look at how beautiful you are, a spitting image of your mother in that dress.” She sets the knife down that she was using to chop a pile of vegetables, her heels clicking loudly as she crosses the checked tiled floor. She wipes her hands on her white apron before embracing me in a hug.

I look down at myself. My yellow maxi-dress and sandals do sort of remind me of my mother, I guess. “Good morning, Mrs. Foster. You’re too sweet. It’s so nice to see you again.” I pull out of her grip and see that she has tears in her green eyes, accompanied by that same crooked smile Ian has. Her thick brown hair is pulled up into a bun, gray streaks pulled taut against her head. She’s only about an inch shorter than I am now, but she’s around thirty pounds heavier than me. Her motherly hug is much needed after such a tremendously stressful journey to get back here.

“Oh no, I don’t want to hear any of that ‘Mrs. Foster’ nonsense. You’re a grown woman now, Georgia, with a daughter of your own if the rumors are true! You call me Lydia from now on,” she chastises me playfully. “Do you want sugar with your coffee? Ian said you might prefer that strange coconut creamer he picked up from the store the other day,” she continues as she moseys around the large kitchen, digging through cabinets and drawers to get everything she needs to make a new pot.

I sit on one of the tufted gray barstools, trying to settle the knots in my stomach that have formed. Ian remembered that I like the coconut creamer, and my heart is trying to do traitorous things to my brain with that knowledge.

“Your father is up and moving around on his own today,” she muses as the coffee percolates loudly, echoing off the white tiled walls and marble countertops. “Have you seen him yet?”

“No, not yet. I was hoping to armor up with coffee before I went to fetch Auden. She’s very excited to meet him,” I tell her as I admire how much this kitchen hasn’t changed. Mother loved everything bright and airy. The whole house is decorated with accents of white, navy blue, and yellow. Every room is tactfully decorated, with sheer curtains to let the natural light shine through. The kitchen is no different. The sink has a large bay window that overlooks the lake. I can see the willow tree branches swaying with the breeze.

The same willow tree my mother took her last breath under. When she failed at murdering me.

The same lake my best friend died in. When she drowned because of me.

These scenes should scare me away, but the morbid part of me wants nothing more than to go visit their gravesites to pay my respects.

Mrs. Foster hands me a coffee mug with black and white polka dots decorated on it. I take it graciously and pour myself some ofthe coconut creamer, watching as the black coffee and creamer swirl together in harmony before taking my first sip. Something tastes off, and I swallow hastily before Mrs. Foster can see the disgust on my face. “Thank you for the coffee, Mrs—Lydia.” Her name feels weird on my tongue, almost distasteful like the coffee I just forced down. I subtly turn the creamer carton in circles until I find the expiration date; it’s definitely not expired. I remind myself to clean out the coffee pot tonight with vinegar to get whatever is in there tainting it.

I might actually die without a real cup of coffee all week long.

She smiles at me before going back to chopping vegetables. I’m sure they’ll go into whatever she was cooking before I interrupted her space. “You’re welcome, dear. But you may not want to thank me just yet...” she says with a pregnant pause.

“Why’s that?” I ask nervously.

She sighs loudly, wringing her hands in her apron again. “Ian and Auden went outside to sit under the willow tree...where your father is. I’m afraid they might have met already.”

I force myself to stay still, like nothing about this is upsetting or shocking at all. “Oh, that’s okay. I had a feeling Auden would hunt him down the moment she woke up. I’ll just head down there now and say good morning to the lot of them,” I tell her as I fake another sip of coffee and head out the side door. “See you later, Lydia. It’s so nice seeing you again after so many years. Thanks again for the coffee.” I wave bye to her with a forced smile before I close the door behind me.

I dump the ruined coffee into the hydrangeas that line the entirety of the manor and leave the mug sitting on the window sill so I’ll remember to grab it on my way back in. Sucking in a deep breath, I force myself to walk toward the willow tree to face my father for the first time in a decade.

I wonder what version of him I’ll get today. The version of him who loved being a father before my mother tried to kill me. Orwill I be greeted by the version that looked at me with disdain, silently wishing it had been me instead?

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