Suddenly Psychic (Glimmer Lake #1)(42)

It was rare for Robin to do an actual facepalm, but she did. Her palm was on her face. On her forehead, to be exact. Palm. Forehead. Sudden realization.

“I’m doing it too,” she said. “I’ve been doing it for years, and I don’t even remember the man. Grandma Helen married an asshole, and we’ve been walking on eggshells ever since.”

Grace pursed her lips, but she didn’t correct Robin for calling her father an asshole. “I do not walk on eggshells.”

“But you kinda do,” Robin said. “And so do I. We don’t ever ask directly for what we want. You married Dad, who is like the opposite of Grandpa Russell, from what I can remember. He’s a pushover for you, but you still make him play the guessing game.”

And I’ve been doing it to Mark too.

“I’ll order the cranberry with snowflakes,” Grace said. “But don’t be so silly about Hawaii, Robin. It’s Emma’s last Christmas at home.”

Robin stared at her mother’s back as Grace returned to the kitchen. Maybe it was too much for her mother to recognize. Maybe she’d been living in unspoken wishes for too long. Or maybe she just didn’t want to see how the actions of her father still haunted the woman she’d made herself.

But Robin could see it. Robin could see it as clearly as she saw the woman sitting in the rocking chair. Robin watched her rocking back and forth, staring at the memory of a little boy she never got to hold.

What was her name? Could she speak like Billy?

And maybe the most important question Robin had been pondering since she’d spotted the ghost of the man at the car lot.

If spirits could leave, what made them stay?





Chapter 15





Robin sat down at Monica’s kitchen table in a huff. “I need to figure out what I want.”

Monica paused pouring herself a glass of white wine. “I’m making green chicken enchiladas, so if you don’t want that for dinner, you’re on your own.”

“Not dinner. Enchiladas sound amazing.” She squeezed her hand tight, then reached for Monica’s glass and took a long drink. “Thanks.”

“That wasn’t actually for you.” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m practicing taking what I want,” Robin said.

“Okay, rah-rah Wonder Woman, but that was my wine.”

Robin stood. “And I will immediately pour you a glass to thank you for it.”

Monica shook her head. “Okay, weirdo.”

Robin grabbed a long-stemmed glass from the cabinet. “I don’t ask for what I want.” She reached for the bottle of chilled wine. “Emma told me the other day while we were car shopping, and she’s right. I’m starting to do the same thing my mom does.”

“Which is?”

“Never directly asking for what I want and then getting annoyed when people don’t guess correctly.”

“Ah.” Monica reached for the glass Robin held out. “Yeah, you’ve been doing that for a while.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Robin grabbed her wine again. “You know how annoying I think it is when my mom does that!”

“Oh yes, because we all love it when we’re reminded that we’re turning into our mothers.” Monica rolled her eyes. “Yep, I can see that conversation going super well. Great idea.”

Robin bit her lip for a full minute before she blurted out, “You’re babying Jake like your mom babied your brothers, and you don’t do it with Sylvia, just with your boys.”

Monica’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“You always hated that your mom expected so much from you but she let the boys run wild.”

“My boys are not running wild.” Monica glared at her.

“No, but all three of them are kind of aimless and ask you for money all the time while Sylvia is getting her graduate degree and working and hasn’t asked you for anything since she turned eighteen.”

“Robin, you should know boys don’t mature as fast as girls and—” Monica had her own facepalm moment. “Oh dammit, you’re totally right. I’m exactly like my mother.”

“No.” Robin lifted a finger. “No, you are not. You always had the exact same rules for all four of them. But as they’ve gotten older, the boys definitely use you for a crutch more.”

Monica sat next to Robin and took a deep breath. “Okay, since it’s truth-telling time, you need to go easier on Austin.”

Robin almost spit out her wine. “Why?”

“You’re hard on him because he reminds you too much of yourself. And you think you made bad choices in life—which you have not—and you don’t want the same for him. When he finds the thing he loves, he’s going to be just as passionate and directed as you are.”

Robin tried to hold in the snort and couldn’t. “What am I passionate about?” She set down her wine. “Seriously, Monica. What do I have to be passionate about? My life is not exciting. My life just kind of happened and I ended up here.”

“Do you seriously not see it?” Monica put her arm around Robin. “Your mother sold furniture like it was a competition, but you? People buy stuff from you because you have a great eye. But you also care about creating a home.”