Page 140 of Haunt Me

I can almost see her mind racing, thinking about everything that firing Eden’s current therapist will entail: Searching for a new one, vetting through many until she finds the best, then giving them all of Eden’s information and medical history. All this will take some waiting. How much time will pass until the new therapist is in a place to start treating Eden?

Manuela’s fingers are still on my sleeve, and my hand closes around them. “No, wait. Keep her,” I say and she looks at me with surprise. “Keep the current therapist while looking for a new one. Then switch.”

“That makes sense,” Faith jumps in, realizing what I’m saying. “I won’t sleep easy if Eden misses therapy, even for a week.”

Manuela nods. “Therapy helps, sure, but it’s not the only thing keeping her together, you know,” she says.

“It’s not?” Faith and I say at the same time. She snorts; I bite back a laugh.

“No, you idiots. It’s love,” Manuela looks at us with an exasperated expression. “And stop acting like siblings. You didn’t know each other existed until a week ago. It’s freaking me out.”

“I knew he existed a week ago,” Faith says indignantly; I burst out laughing. “I just… You know, I knew him as Issy Woo. Like the rest of the world. I miss those days. He was really cool back then.”

“Hey!” I say a bit too loudly and Faith shushes me.

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” she says. “I bet you’ve woken up the whole house.”

I slap her hand away from my mouth, and two seconds later, Eden walks in, still half-asleep.

I quickly stuff what feels like an entire batch of cookies in my mouth. Acting as if I’ve been in the kitchen, just eating, in the middle of the night. Not that I could ever fool her.

“Eden, thanks goodness you’re here; Issy Woo is eating us out of hearth and home!” Manuela whisper-screams, a tad too dramatically. Meanwhile, those cookies might be the best thing I’ve tasted in my life.

“Yeah, right. I’m just going to pretend that you weren’t talking about me,” Eden stifles a yawn as she takes a seat, and I just want to hug her.

She stays on the other side, a whole table between us.

How can she just sit there, looking so beautiful and sad, hair tousled from sleep, lips plumb, eyes bright and wide, her face like a live painting? How am I going to stay in this house for a minute longer and not even touch her?

I swallow hard, my throat closing up.

“Sorry, En. We’re idiots, ” Faith says. “At least we haven’t woken up Dad.”

“Yet,” Manuela adds ominously.

I am overwhelmed by a feeling akin to emptiness. What is it like to have a dad? I have forgotten. I have gotten used to the idea that it’s not for me anymore, never will be again. He is gone forever. I have accepted it.

But Eden… she didn’t have a dad growing up, while I did.

I was loved and cherished, while she was a prisoner. Now she finally has a real father and I’ll do my best to support her in any wayI can, while she relearns how to be happy. I refuse to even entertain the thought that it might be too late for that.

It won’t be. It isn’t.

If nothing else can help her, thenIwill make it my life’s mission to make sure she learns what happy looks like.

“Do you want me to leave so you can talk about me?” Eden asks.

We all laugh, but she ends up asleep on the couch a few minutes later. The girls and I just sit around her, sort of huddled together, talking in hushed tones. None of us wants to move away from her.

Manuela is smoothing Eden’s hair on the cushion.

“The PTSD episodes exhaust her,” she says. “That’s why she sleeps so much.”

“Might it also be because it’s almost four in the morning?” I rub my eyes. My head is hurting so badly, I feel like ripping them out. I lean forward. “Actually, I want to ask your opinion about something: Do you think that she shouldn’t work for me anymore? During the tour, I mean.”

They are quiet for a second, and I think I know what that silence means—they have talked about this before.

“The tour is organized chaos—and sometimes not so organized. It’s no place for her right now. And being constantly thrown together with me, especially in high-pressure circumstances, can’t be good for her. What do you think? Is staying here something she would like?” I ask anxiously.

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