Till Death(5)

Having no idea, I blinked and shook my head as I twisted toward her. “I think one of the guests is outside.”

“Strange.” She moved behind the hanging pots and walked toward the oven. “None of the guests are actually here. I believe they’re all out.”

I turned back to the window as Mom picked up an oven mitt.

“Of course, one of them could’ve snuck past me,” she said, and the creak of the oven door opening filled the kitchen. “That has been known to happen.”

Nothing moved outside.

There probably hadn’t even been anyone outside. Just nerves. And paranoia. Like before, when I ran into the house and all the way upstairs. Being back home had me on edge and I liked to think no one would blame me for that.

Worrying my lower lip, I thought back to the newscast I’d heard on the radio. My stomach twisted as I clasped my hands together. “I heard something on the radio, about a missing woman in Frederick.”

Mom stopped halfway to the wall oven. Our eyes met, and when she said nothing, knots formed and wiggled in my belly like a hundred tiny snakes. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked.

Focused on the oven, she slipped the mitt on. “I didn’t want you to worry, and I know you’d try not to, but I didn’t want to upset you.” She gave a little shake of her head. “And I didn’t want you to change your mind about coming home.”

I inhaled softly. Did she think I was that fragile? That a missing woman in a nearby state would change my mind? Right after everything had happened I would’ve been that frail. I would’ve broken all over again, but I wasn’t her anymore.

“What is happening with that woman is terrible, but you know what they say. Most cases of disappearances are caused by someone the person knows,” she said. “Probably the husband.”

Except when it happened to me it wasn’t from someone I knew. It was a stranger, someone I never saw coming until it was too late.



Hours later, after I helped serve dinner to the cute elderly couple staying on the third floor and the family of three who were from Kentucky and visiting relatives, I stood in the middle of my new apartment.

God, it felt so weird being back here.

Same but different.

Dinner service had gone fine, but it was odd doing something that felt like second nature even though I hadn’t done it in years. In a bizarre way, it was a lot like being an executive assistant. Just like with Mr. Berg, I had to anticipate things that would be needed. These were just different things. Like when the diners needed their drinks refilled or a plate removed.

Cleanup still sucked, just like I remembered.

But I didn’t think as I cleared off the tables and rinsed the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher while Mom completed the turndown service. My mind was blissfully empty up until the moment I headed upstairs.

The attic had been converted into two and a half apartments. Dad had passed away before the third had been completed, and it remained untouched behind closed doors, separating the two apartments. I wasn’t sure if the third would ever be finished, and if it was, what its purpose would be. Wasn’t like I was going to need the space anytime soon.

Or ever.

Absently, my right hand floated to my left, and I rubbed my ring finger. Even after leaving this town and spending six years with a therapist, I didn’t think that I would ever be able to wear a wedding dress or allow anyone to put a ring on my hand.

My therapist said that could change, but I seriously doubted it. I couldn’t even bring myself to go to my former boss’ third wedding. The whole thing turned my stomach.

Realizing what I was doing, I dropped my left hand and focused on my apartment.

It wasn’t quite like I recalled and I suspected Mom had had the area renovated. Or maybe just with all of my grandmother’s stuff gone, the space seemed larger and fresher. The apartment smelled like pumpkin spice, not musty or old, and it was cute in a comfy, cozy sort of way.

The living area shared space with an open galley-style kitchen that only had a fridge, microwave, and sink. All I needed were barstools for the island. My couch, a thick-cushioned beauty, had been shipped up from Atlanta, along with the necessities. My light gray throw blankets, the soft and warm ones made for cuddling in, were already draped along the back of the couch.

The bedroom was big enough. Small closet, but the bathroom in the narrow hallway between the living room and bedroom featured a soaking tub and shower combo with claw feet that made up for its lack of size.

I spent the rest of the night setting up my apartment, which pretty much meant hooking up the TV and unloading all the clothing—clothing I now wished I’d donated, because my biceps ached from all the folding I was doing.

It was well past midnight by the time I wandered into the bathroom to wash my face. Gaze trained on the white basin of the sink as I rubbed in the cleanser, I bent over and splashed warm water onto my cheeks. Blindly grabbing for a towel I thought I saw earlier, I gave mental jazz hands when my fingers brushed the fuzzy cloth. Drying my face off, I straightened and opened my eyes as I lowered the towel.

And came face-to-face with my reflection.

I jerked back a step, bumping into the bathroom door. “Damn,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. I started to grab for the toothbrush, but I exhaled roughly and did something I hadn’t done in a very long time.

I looked at myself.