Beautiful Dreamer

Chapter 16

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Chapter Sixteen

I got out of bed slowly, carefully, peeling the blankets away from me with extreme precision. The room was like a meat locker, and a shiver edged through my body as soon as my skin touched air. I felt those eyes following me as I tiptoed as quickly as I could across the glassy floor. It was a guessing game, with me trying to catch sight of the shards in the glint of moonlight and skirt my way around them.

Everything felt lighter the second I was out of my room. It was as if someone had given me glasses, and now I could see everything. I suddenly realized that I was shaking violently. When I held my hands up to my face, they were trembling. Despite my sweater and thick fleece pajama pants, I felt a kind of chill that seeped all the way into my blood.

Downstairs, I thought blindly, feeling my way through the dim hallway. I'll go get a drink of water, and everything will be fine.

Funny, how easy it is to lie to yourself when you're scared.

As my foot hit the bottom step of the stairs, I heard something that filled me with both dread and joy, simultaneously. It was the sound of my mom's car, scuffing concrete as it rolled into the driveway. I saw her headlights through the living room window.

I froze in place, feeling my stomach plummet to my knees. She was back; what did that mean? Should I go back to bed and pretend not to see her or confront her right now, in the middle of the night? I didn't have long to decide. Already, I heard her getting out of the car, arming it. The sound of her footsteps kicking up snow and gravel wandered toward me as I stood there, indecisive.

Logan's form made a lump on one of the couches; the longer one, closer to the fireplace. He was fast asleep, and I knew he would stay that way. The boy was practically Sleeping Beauty when he was tired. If I could be quiet, maybe I'd be able to talk to my mother without waking up either of the siblings. It was worth a try, I figured.

It took a moment, but eventually I heard the sound of a key in the lock of my front door. It inched open slowly, and my mom's head appeared around the corner. There were rings beneath her eyes, and her hair was askew. She didn't seem to see me, poised there in the shadows.

She ducked all the way into the foyer, closing the door gently behind her, and I couldn't stifle a gasp. She was still wearing her suit, the one from the night she'd left, but now there were tears in the fabric, and it was stained with something dark and grimy.

Her head whipped around at the sound of my voice, her expression vulnerable, and her eyes found me in the darkness. We stared at each other for a moment, both of us open-mouthed, before I moved from the stair step and onto level ground. My mother's face was completely open, obvious enough for me to read the surprise and fatigue and worry in her eyes.

She spoke first. “Hello, Parker,” she said. Already, she was piecing her features back together, smoothing them into that typical soulless line. This time, I didn't react to it at all. My entire body was still shaking, and there was still glass on my floor, but I needed to address this now.

“I think we need to talk,” I replied.

We took seats in the sun room, on the two chairs in front of the little wood stove. Aubrey had started it up earlier, because it kept the kitchen warm, but it was just smoldering embers now. Still, it had left a bit of heat in the room.

There we were, mother and daughter, facing each other across a rickety iron table. I wondered if she and Rosemary had sat like this, once upon a time, just holding an innocent conversation because my mother was so lovely back then. I could practically see it: Rose, with her long hair swept into braids, her eyes glowing and a sketchbook in her lap, my mother, smiling, sipping tea and asking her favorite daughter about her day at school. And maybe I was in the picture too, playing with dolls off to the side, forgotten in the moment.