Page 25 of The Rookie
She touches my knee and squeezes, then giggles. “Jeez, you really are like a rock.”
Her hand moves up my thigh, and since I’m ticklish, I squirm away on the seat.
When I meet her eyes, I realize they’re glazed over, and she’s smiling and giggling a lot more than normal.
“Do you feel okay?” she asks, wide eyed. “Because I feel amazing right now.”
A sense of sinking dread settles into the pit of my stomach.
“Come inside for a second. We should warm up.” I take her hand and help her off the porch swing, guiding her by the shoulders into the house.
It’s quiet tonight. Just Grandpa and Mom. I leave Summer in the living room, where she admires a crocheted wall hanging, and head to the kitchen.
Frowning, I stop in front of Mom. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Nothing, dear.” Her voice is filled with surprise.
“Don’t mess with this. Summer and I ...”
“What did you do, Jillian?” Grandpa asks.
Mom’s mouth lifts in an uncertain smile. “Nothing you wouldn’t have done.”
“Mother, the truth.”
“Something that needed to happen. Everyone in this house is wound too tightly.”
“You can’t give people edibles without their consent,” I growl at her.
“Special tea?” Grandpa asks.
“It’s all natural. The elderberry and CBD from my garden.”
Austen warned me once that Mom’s version of CBD is basically just cannabis.Fuck!
“This is not good. If word gets back to the league that you drugged Summer, who is my psychologist ...Fuck.” I push my hands through my hair and begin to pace the kitchen.
Summer steps into the kitchen, looking first at Mom, then at me. “Your mom gave me an edible?”
Grandpa huffs. “I told you not to meddle, Jillian.”
“I’m not.” Mom raises her hands innocently. “And it’s nothing. Just something to relax you. I’m so sorry, dear. It’s got a very mild calming effect. That’s all.”
Summer leans one hand against the wall. “I’d better get home. I’m feeling a little strange.”
“I’ll walk you,” I say, approaching Summer cautiously.
She pats my chest with one hand. “Thanks, Lo-Lo.”
Lo-Lo?
I give my Mom a hard look. “We’d better go.”
Mom touches her neck. “It’s fine. I’m sure everything will be fine.” She leans closer to me and whispers, “Keep me posted.”
Summer leans on me as we walk, pointing out the brightest stars, a spooky shadow, and a pine tree that she insists looks like an upside-down orca.
Shit, this isnotgood.
