Page 15 of In All My Dreams

“She did,” Auden says quietly, pulling her hand out of my grasp, pointing up at the house. “She told me she wished you didn’t hate him so much.”

I follow her hand and gasp when I seeherstanding there. Looking down at us from her office. The blood dripping freely from her nose...pointing toward the lake with a silent scream on her lips.

“Come on, Miss Auden. You can help me prepare snacks for everyone!” Mrs. Foster yells loudly from the open kitchen door. Auden laughs as I watch her run toward the house.

When I look back up, my mother’s ghost is nowhere to be found.

8

Georgia

Now

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. Shortly after Mrs. Foster and Auden presented us with an entire platter of finger foods and tea, my father had another one of his dizzy spells, and Ian escorted him back to bed to get some rest.

He filled me in on the comings and goings of work—not much changes in the oil industry. The only major change is that Mr. Foster is now filling in for my father while he’s out. Mrs. Foster made sure to make a big hoot about the fact that her husband was now the interim boss. A big step up from the manor’s handyman/part-time oil rig employee.

Ian made himself scarce after he helped my father back to bed. I’m sure he’s busy doing all those fancy doctor things he has to do now. I still can’t believe he finished school, after all that talk of quitting all those years.

After everyone went their separate ways, I decided to take Auden for a tour of the house, taking care to look in all the corners and dark spots before Auden followed me into each room. The manor has six rooms: my father’s room, my childhood bedroom, the guest room, my mother’s office, my father’s study, and a rather large library. There are also the normal, everyday rooms like the kitchen, the living room, dining room, and a handful of bathrooms scattered throughout both stories of the house.

We avoided my mother’s office and my father’s study, naturally, spending most of the day in my childhood bedroom while Auden played with my old toys and I read a thriller book I grabbed from the family library. By dinner time, Auden was more than ready for bed after spending most of the day chasing Horton from room to room as I worked on not looking for my mother’s ghost around every bend.

Maybe I’m slowly going insane being here.

Maybe it’s just this house, conjuring up these memories of the day she died.

Maybe Auden is just feeding off of my fear.

As I’m tucking Auden into bed, I decide to ask her. “Who told you I hated Papa?” I ask nonchalantly as she gets herself nice and buried into the pink blankets.

She pops her head up and gives me a funny look, her eyebrows notched together in concentration. “I don’t know who she is,” she says after a moment of thinking.

“Are you sure that this happened? Not make-believe?”

She shakes her head quickly. “I don’t think it did? Maybe it was a bad dream,” she answers with a loud yawn. “Mama, who is Irene?”

My heart stops the moment my dead best friend's name leaves my daughter's mouth. “Who—who told you that name, hun?”

“I saw it carved into the willow tree next to your name and Ian’s. He didn’t want to tell me,” she answers.

My heart starts beating again. She doesn't know.

“She was a friend we played with when we were your age. Nothing more. Get some sleep, and when I find Horton, I’ll send his butt right in for cuddles, okay?”

“I love you, Mama. No bad dreams for us tonight, promise?” Her eyes grow heavy as she drifts off to sleep.

“I love you, too. I will do my best to keep the bad dreams away,” I promise her, knowing that it’s a lie the moment it passes my lips. I have no power over the ghosts here.

I turn the night-light on and blow her a kiss as I silently leave the room, taking care to leave the door cracked open again. When I look back one last time, I see Horton jump onto the bed and cuddle up next to her. Some things never change.

A small gasp of surprise escapes my lips when I almost run face-first into Ian. “What are you doing creeping around out here?” I ask him as I clutch my hand to my chest, urging the heart attack I almost had to stay at bay.

He chuckles under his breath, rubbing one hand over his face as he watches me look like a fool while his other hand holds a dark blue book. “I was getting the other room set up so I can sleep there,” he answers.

“Oh,” is all I’m able to squeak out. Why do I feel slightly betrayed that he’d want to sleep on an actual bed than sleep on the small couch at the end ofhisbed? “Well, did you get it all finished?”

“Nearly, I just need to grab my stuff from your room.”

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