Page 57 of Secrets That Bind Us
Something tells me she’s justtooused to this. Doing it alone. Taking care of them alone so much that she's got it down to a T. I wonder how many times Micah left her to do all of this by herself as I bend forward. “Here, let me take him.” And she lets me hold her son.
Myson.Ourson. Because fuck Micah.
“Put him in my room, please. I already know I’ll be up all night between the two of them.”
She shouldn’t have to be. I decide then and there– she won’t be. Never again. If she’s gonna lose sleep tending to the kids, then I’ll lose sleep tending to her. But I do as she says– tucking him in beside our daughter– and head back over to her. She’s rolling up the rug, a frown on her face, but she doesn’t say anything. Don't complain. Just scrunches her face at what I’m betting is the smell.
“I’ll take it. You go shower before they wake up again.” I say, and finish rolling it up. I take a picture of the tag so I can order the exact same one later, before throwing it out in the bin outside, and then take it all the way to the edge of the driveway so the trash company can pick it up tomorrow. I doubt she’ll have time– or remember– and if this is just one of those things I can do to make her life easier, I will.
When I head back inside, she’s still gone, and I get started on cleaning the kitchen and putting away the dinner that was made but wasn’t eaten. Which sucks, because I know this is Marie’s chicken enchilada recipe and I haven’t had it in years. But I’m not here to eat. I’m here to prove I want this.
All of this.
Her.
Them.
My family.
Forever.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dean
Present Day
It's another twenty minutes I’m alone in a house that feels like home but doesn’t. So many days and hours I spent here with Marie during her last years, fixing what I could so she didn’t have to spend money. Which, I realize now, was idiotic of me. Now, knowing that Verity made sure her mother was more than well off financially. Either way, I was lucky to have spent time with the woman that had been more of a mother to me than my own.
Even if she didn’t recognize me toward the end.
I make sure to call the department and my deputy to let them know I won’t be making it in for my shift in the morning. The large Smart TV hanging over the mantle looks completely out of place, surrounded by shelves full of books, little knickknacks, and pictures. I took my time looking at every single one, wearing a weird smile/frown on my face before sitting down and turning on the TV.
I click over to Netflix and put on some vampire show I know Verity watched our senior year. Sure enough, she’s on season three. I can hear the shower turn off, but an uneasiness comes over me. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and that peculiar feeling of being watched settles in my bones.
Something isn’t right.
I quirk a brow and sit straight up; that on-edge feeling I got being on the field sends my internal alarms blaring.
I rise to my feet, go to the window in the dining area, and take a peek outside. Nothing is out of the ordinary or out of place. Not even the motion sensor light turns on. I decide to close the blinds, but in the reflection of the window, I swear I see Marie’s face looking at me. I look over my shoulderquickly, but nobody’s there. I jump when I look back out and see Verity’s reflection standing there, watching me. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt and hopefully nothing underneath. Her hands are on her hips, head tilted to the side, a curious look on her face. “Everything okay?”
I'm quick to pull the shutters closed. “Yeah,” I nod, shaking that feeling away. “Ha, you ever think this house is haunted?”
She shrugs as she sits on the chaise end of the couch. “This house is over a century old. I’m sure the remodel woke up a few ancestors."
“Verity, I’m not being funny.”
“I’m not either.”
I sit beside her, and she doesn’t flinch away from me. I call that a win. “You think it could be your mom?”
She shakes her head, looking pale in the soft glow of the TV show on the screen. God, she’s breathtaking. “If anything, I think Mama just comes back every now and then to make sure we’re okay. Sometimes I get a whiff of her perfume, or I find something I need… Sometimes, when I really need my Mama, I swear I can feel her hugging me. But I don’t think that’s the house. I think that’s just her. Stuff like that has been happening even while we were back in New Haven.”
She stays quiet for a moment and looks away.
“What is it?”
She clears her throat. “The night she died, I had this awful nightmare of her being trapped here in the dark, reaching out to me. When I woke up, I swear she was sitting on the edge of my bed, hair in rollers and in her pink bathrobe. You remember that one?”
