Page 22 of Damned
“Oh, yeah?” Robin crossed her arms over her chest and frowned, those dark brows of hers knitted into censure that could match that of an old-fashioned school marm. “What did you eat?”
“Two pieces of Nana’s banana bread and one cup of coffee.” Which wasn’t all that healthy, but Bree doubted Robin knew that.
“Did you take your vitamins, too?”Oh, this precocious child.Everything Robin did made Bree smile.
“Every last one, and I brushed my teeth. Wanna look?” Bree opened her mouth extra-wide, teasing.
Robin peered beyond Bree’s teeth with all the seriousness of a child who loved her mom and knew what was best for her. That she hadn’t suffered a minute of separation anxiety spoke entirely to the love Bree’s mom and dad had for their only grandchild.
“Well,” Robin sighed dramatically. “I guess you need a nap then, because I don’t see nothing wrong inside your mouth or your teeth, neither. They’re really white, Mommy, and you don’t even have bad breath. Give me a kiss, and don’t let the bed bugs bite!”
Grinning inside, Bree bowed to the order of the adorable tyrant on her lap and kissed the tip of Robin’s freckled nose. “I love you, sillykins.”
Robin stretched her sun-warmed arms around Bree’s neck and squeezed as tight as a three-year-old could. “I love you, Mommy, and I’m giving you extra tight hu-u-u-gggs—” She groaned as she squeezed. “—cuz I’m the best bed bug in the world, and us girls like to snuggle!”
“Yes, we do. Take care of Nana, okay?”
“Okey dokie! Nighty-night!”
Bree watched her sweet baby race back to her red balloon with a lump in her throat. Wouldn’t it be nice to feel that carefree again?
“Look at that little one go,” her mother murmured. “There was a time I couldn’t keep up with you, either.”
“She’s growing up too fast,” Bree said, regret choking her. She was failing as a journalist, a daughter, now as a mother. She was sinking, but she didn’t know how to save herself.
Bree lifted to her feet, needing to get away before she fell apart. “I won’t be long. Don’t let her get too much sun.”
Her mom’s attention was still on Robin. “Hope you start feeling better soon.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” Bree leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mom’s cheek. “Sorry I’m grouchy all the time. I really am trying.”
Her mother looked up at her, and for the first time, Bree noticed the tiny silver hairs at her temple. “So are we. We just don’t know how to help you, sillykins,” her mom whispered what she’d always called Bree. “We love you. Don’t forget. Promise me.”
Bree acquiesced instantly. She wasn’t the only one suffering; she recognized that. Her mom and dad had been through so much these last months. First, the kidnapping and worry if they’d ever see their daughter again. Then, the joyful return that had morphed into screaming nightmares, stress, misplaced anger, and misunderstandings.
“I promise, Mom.” Bree kissed her cheek again. “Don’t give up on me.”
Her mother grabbed Bree down onto her lap, as if she were as small as Robin. “Moms and dads never give up on their children, Bree. You should know that by now.”
“I do. Really, I do. Please don’t cry.” Bree hugged her mom again, then lifted to her feet before Robin noticed Nana’s tears. Then they’d all be crying.
“Sleep tight.” Her mom sounded just like Robin.
“Be back soon,” Bree replied as she walked away from all she held dear.
The house phone rang on her way through her parents’ home to the back stairs that led to hers and Robin’s corner of the world. They’d occupied the entire second floor since Bree gave up her NYC apartment when she’d found out she was pregnant. Because of morning sickness, she’d needed her parents’ help desperately then, and they’d been thrilled when she’d asked if she could come home. More so when she’d delivered a healthy granddaughter six months later.
Bree picked up the receiver, wishing her mom would cancel this foolish, old-fashioned landline. They didn’t need it. The world ran on iPhones, the internet, and Wi-Fi these days. They needed to rely on their cell phones. But her mother insisted the only way someone from her past could ever locate her, on the incredibly small chance anyone was out there looking for her, was over her trusty landline.
Bree answered the beige relic with a crisp, no-nonsense, “Banks’ residence. Who’s calling?”
The voice at the other end was male with a distinct foreign accent, probably Pakistani or Indian, and wanted to sell her a warranty on a car she didn’t own.
“No, thank you.”
But before she could hang up, the creepy telemarketer asked, “Brianna Banks? Is this Brianna Banks I’m speaking with? The reporter? Do you work at USA Timeline?”
She jerked the receiver away from her ear as if she’d been stung by a bee. She stared at the damned thing, her heart screaming in her chest like a freight train gone off its tracks. She couldn’t breathe. Could barely force a swallow. How’d this guy know her name, who she was, and where she worked?
