“Get your bag, Miranda,” Doreen says as she follows Paul out of the suite. “We’ll get you settled in my room,”
“I’m going to stay with Sophie, Mother,” Miranda says.
Doreen stops and looks over her shoulder with her cat-like green eyes slightly narrowed.
“Miranda,” she says with a note of sharpness to her voice. “I came down here to spend time with you, not to stay in a hotel room by myself. If you don’t want to see me, say so and I will leave with your father.”
Carter and I share a look saying good riddance. However, Miranda says, “Of course, Mother. I’m sorry. Let me get my bag.”
I go to grab Miranda’s bag to carry it for her, but Doreen says, “She can carry it herself, Declan. She’s built like a hockey player. She’s not helpless.”
Miranda flushes a deep pink as she picks up her bag. Of course, she’s not helpless, but she deserves care and consideration. I would do this for my mother or my sister. For Carter’s sister. Hell, I’d do it for everyone. Except for Doreen. She can carry her own damn bag. Goodness knows she’s given Miranda more than enough baggage to deal with.
As I go to follow Miranda out of the room, Sophie says, “Really, Declan? Can’t you allow Miranda and her mother a moment alone? You don’t need to be joined at the hip or the lip or any other parts.”
Now it’s my turn to flush. I don’t remember when my sister got this nasty edge to her. Being the girl with five brothers, she’s always given as good as she’s gotten. But now there’s a meanness and cruelty to her remarks and I don’t like it.
“Sophie,” Ma exclaims. “They’re in love. Of course Declan wants to be with her. You’ll understand someday.”
“Not anytime soon,” she scoffs. “Dance first and only. I don’t have time to be distracted by love or hormones or whatever they have going on.”
“You’re a charmer,” Carter says, and my dad chuckles. Earning them both scowls from Sophie.
“Miranda, come along,” Doreen commands. Before I even have a chance to give Miranda a hug, or a kiss, or have a private word with her, she is out the door and closing it behind her. I worry that closed door is a statement about our relationship.
23
MIRANDA
I’m not sure why I’m following my mother down the hall. I should be with Declan. But here I am with my bag, following her to her suite. We enter and mother points to a bedroom.
“You can put your bag in there.”
I do as she says. I always do as she says.
“This is a nice suite,” I say, looking around the space. Mother sniffs and tosses her long, black hair over her shoulders. There are no traces of silver in it. I don’t know if she colors it or if there’s a chance I may be similarly lucky as I age.
“It’s adequate, but it’s on a middle floor. They couldn’t have given me a room on one of the upper floors? And the view. It’s not even a direct view of the ocean. I have to look at an ugly pier.”
I look out the window. Yes, she can see The Nest. But she also has a beautiful view of the Atlantic Ocean. And she’s not paying for this room, she should be happy for anything she has.
“Yes, mother,” I say. “That pier is where I work, where the rink and offices for the team are. Stores and restaurants, too, if you would like to explore them.”
“I’m sure there’s nothing there I would want,” Mother says. “Here, have some more tea.”
I turn to see her holding out a mug to me.
“Thank you,” I say. “But I’m not thirsty. I had a mug of tea not too long ago.”
Some quiet voice in my head keeps screaming: Who cares about tea? I’m a witch. Why did you never tell me? Why don’t I know? But something else streaming through me lowers the volume dial on it. I can’t hear it. But I know it’s there. I know I want answers to these questions, but…I can’t seem to get them out. She won’t want to talk about that. And I try to always do what she wants.
Mother sets the mug of tea on the counter with a thud.
“Really, Miranda? Must you always be so ungrateful?” From seemingly out of nowhere, she has a tissue she’s using to dry her eyes. Not that I see any tears. “I have important things to do at home, but I dropped everything to come down here for your little crisis.”
She does air quotes around crisis.
“And what is this crazy claim you are a witch? Do you need attention that desperately?”