Page 10 of If She Only Knew (The Cahills 1)

“Will she be able to walk?”

Marla’s heart nearly stopped.

“Of course she will. Nothing’s wrong with her legs, you know that. As I said, she’ll be fine.”

“Then why doesn’t she wake up?”

“It’s what the body does to heal. She needs this rest.”

Cissy snorted softly, as if she didn’t believe a word her grandmother was peddling. “She never liked me anyway.”

What! No way! What a horrid idea and a wrong one. So very wrong. It was just a teenager’s warped perception. Surely she would like, no, love her daughter.

“Of course she likes you.” Eugenia laughed nervously. “Don’t be ridiculous. She loves you.”

Yes!

“Then why did she want a baby so bad? A boy? Why wasn’t I good enough for the both of them . . . oh, just forget it,” she grumbled, moving away from the bed.

“I will because it’s nonsense,” Eugenia said as if through pursed lips.

There was a loud, long-suffering sigh as if the girl thought all adults in general, and her grandmother in particular, were idiots. “I don’t know why I’m even in this family. I just don’t fit in.”

You and me both, Marla thought, though her heart went out to the girl. Had she been so cruel and thoughtless to her own daughter?

“You try hard not to fit in, but you, you just have to apply yourself. Everyone before you was an honor student. Your father went to Stanford and then to graduate school at Harvard and your mother was at Berkeley. I went to Vassar and—”

“I know, Grandpa was at Yale. Big deal. I wasn’t talking about being a brainiac anyway, and what about Uncle Nick? Didn’t he drop out or something?”

There was a tense moment. Marla sense

d Eugenia bristling. “Nick took his own path, but let’s not talk about him now,” the older woman suggested. “Come on, it’s time to meet your father . . .” Eugenia must have shepherded the girl out of the room, for Marla was left alone. She relaxed, heard a nurse enter the room, then take her pulse. A few seconds later that warm, familiar haze of comfort seeped into her veins, chasing away the pain, the anxiety, the fear . . .

She dozed for a time . . . how long, she couldn’t tell . . . but she heard the door creak open then shut with a quiet but firm click. She expected one of the nurses to walk to the bed and say something to her, to try to rouse her, or at least fiddle with the pillows, take her pulse or temperature or blood pressure again, but whoever entered was uncommonly silent, as if he or she was creeping toward the bed.

Or wasn’t in the room at all.

Perhaps she’d been mistaken, or dreaming, only thinking she’d heard the door open. Maybe no one had come inside. Her mind was so fuzzy. She should drift off again, but couldn’t and she thought she heard the scrape of a leather sole against the floor. But . . . no . . . maybe not . . . then she smelled it; the faint tinge of stale cigarette smoke and something else . . . the smell of a wet forest . . . earthy, dank . . . out of place and, she sensed, malevolent . . .

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Fear shot through her. She tried to cry out but couldn’t. Tried to pry her eyes open, but they stayed steadfastly and firmly shut. Her heart was drumming madly, and surely she was hooked up to some monitor. Some member of the staff would come running into the room. Please! Help me!

Nothing.

Not one sound.

Her throat was dry as sand.

Oh, God, what was he doing here?

Why didn’t he say anything?

Who was he? What did he want?

On nearly silent footsteps he backed away. The door clicked open again then whispered shut.

She was alone.

And scared out of her mind.

---