The Last of the Moon Girls(79)
“The Book of Rhanna,” Lizzy said solemnly.
“We’re supposed to use them for recording our journey, to write about our gifts and how we use them. I drew mine instead. So I could get the faces out of my head.”
Lizzy wrapped her hands around the book but didn’t open it. “Did it work?”
“Not as well as vodka.”
Lizzy held her breath as she looked down at the book. It felt hot against her palms, the leather slick with perspiration. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see what was inside, to know the kinds of images that had lived in Rhanna’s head since that first premonition nearly forty years ago. But she had to see them, didn’t she? To know they were real—to know it was real.
The first sketch was in pencil, crude but accurate enough to recognize what she was looking at: a little girl awkwardly slumped in a car seat, eyes closed. And the lamb.
The sketches improved as Lizzy continued to turn the pages, the details becoming sharper and cleaner as Rhanna’s artistic skills improved over time. Bodies in every imaginable position, their faces eerily still in death. A heavyset man in a plaid shirt, crumpled on a kitchen floor. A runner sprawled facedown on what looked to be a jogging path. An old woman lying in a heap at the bottom of a staircase. It was terrible, like something from a nightmare. And for Rhanna it had been a nightmare. One she’d never shared with a soul.
Lizzy turned to look at her. “All of these?”
Rhanna nodded mutely.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly, because she was. And because she didn’t know what else to say. So much made sense now. Her sudden withdrawal, the haphephobia. She couldn’t fathom living with those kinds of images in her head.
She closed the book, unable to look further. “Are they in here? The Gilman girls?”
Rhanna shook her head. “I was afraid to draw them. What if someone found it? What would they think?”
Another valid point. A drawing like that would have raised a lot of questions—none of them good. “Does it still happen?”
“Sometimes, but not like it used to. I move around a lot, and steer clear of close connections. It’s easier that way. I know it’s not me causing it, that I’m only seeing what’s going to happen whether I’m there or not. But it’s hard not to feel at least a little responsible.” She bunched her shoulders, then let them drop heavily. “Some gift, huh?”
“I’m sorry you had to deal with it on your own.”
“It was my choice. And it’s not an excuse for all the crap I put you and Althea through. Anyway, now you know.”
“Now I know.”
Lizzy started the car and flicked on the defroster to clear the windows. She was right. It wasn’t an excuse. But she couldn’t help thinking of Althea’s words concerning Rhanna, and how eerily true they suddenly rang. You made up your mind about her years ago, leaving no room for the possibility that there might be more to her story. More than either of us will ever know.
Once again, Althea had been spot on.
THIRTY
August 16
Lizzy rolled down her sleeves as she stepped outside and headed toward the barn. The breeze was cool, on the verge of chilly as the sun slid low, reminding her again that summer was slipping away—and that she’d already been here too long. Chuck Bundy’s son was on the mend, and they had an appointment the day after tomorrow to discuss options for listing the farm. Finally, she’d be able to stop dodging Luc’s calls and tell him she was making progress. Sort of.
Human resources had responded to her request to use the balance of her accrued time off for extended leave. Years of skipping vacations and a generous rollover policy had allowed her to accumulate almost eight weeks, but she’d already burned through four of them, which left her with four. Not much time considering all she still needed to do.
A week had passed since Rhanna’s revelation at the cemetery. It was a day neither of them was likely to forget, but it had clearly been therapeutic for Rhanna. She’d spent the next day, and a good part of every day since, out in the shop, experimenting with whatever she could find in the cabinets and drawers. She was also painting again. And perhaps most telling, the unsettling pong of damp earth that used to cling to her was beginning to dissipate, a sign that she’d begun to release the pain and guilt associated with Heather and Darcy Gilman. There was no way to know what the future would hold when they went their separate ways, but for now, at least, it felt good to think that Althea would be pleased. And maybe that would have to be enough for all of them.
Lizzy ducked into the barn, propping the door open behind her. Rhanna’s question about missing the actual hands-on part of perfume making had gotten her thinking. She’d played it off at the time, but the truth was she did miss it. So much so that she’d been toying with the idea of re-creating the Earth Song scent Rhanna had been so fond of as a surprise. She was also mulling over ideas for a scent for Evvie. Something warm and subtle, with a hint of the exotic—a citrusy top note balanced with myrrh, neroli, and jasmine.
But first she’d need to clear her old workbench and sort through her equipment—see what was salvageable, trash what wasn’t, then make a list of ingredients she’d need to get started. She’d also need to start hunting for just the right bottles, preferably vintage. They would be parting gifts, mementos of Moon Girl Farm’s last summer. She wanted them to be special.