Page 70 of The Curse of Indy Moore
Sometimes, I wondered where he was, how he was doing, and if he replaced his family entirely. The artificer he married, that woman smiling so smugly as I wept, did they have children? Did he love them, or had he abandoned them, too?
His memories smothered me in a cloud of gloom that put an indescribable ache through my twitching limbs. “Is this relevant?”
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t,” she replied.
“He abandoned us.”
“So you lose them, go to live with an aunt and uncle, where you do not view yourself as immediate family, then you struggle to maintain romantic relationships.” She ceased her pacing to gaze upon my pocket, where Baxter’s letter was stashed. She acted as if we spoke of the day’s weather.
“I don’t struggle to maintain romantic relationships.” My tail gave a slow wag.
“Tell me about them then, these relationships.” She kept flicking her attention to my pocket, reminding me of that damn letter and how I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say in return.
Feeling hot, I crossed my arms. “Is this going somewhere?”
“You’re isolated, and there is no one easier to drag into a pack.”
“I’m not isolated. My aunt and cousins are family—”
“Who you do everything for, so much so that you neglect yourself.”
“I don’t—”
She pointed a sharpened nail at me. “All the clothes you brought from home are riddled with stitches and patchwork.”
Memories of sitting on my bed stitching them together came to mind, and with those memories, shame.
“I don’t need more than that,” I argued.
“But your cousins do? If I were to visit, tell me, would their clothes be better taken care of? Would your clothes still be stashed in crates under your bed?”
I gawked. “How did you…”
“Rooke saw it when he was enchanting the house.” She stepped closer, looming over me. “The night you were attacked, you went into the woods to get your cousin’s doll and did everything, including risking your life, to ensure that she got it back.”
I stood, feeling the need to defend myself. “I didn’t risk my life. The doll was with me, and I made sure it stayed with me.”
“You give them everything and expect nothing in return. Am I right?” she asked, but the words were accusatory, and I couldn’t bring myself to answer.
“I don’t want to talk about this.” So I walked away.
20
Where Indy Hears a Sad Story
Astrangerknewmebetter than I knew myself.
Aunt Agnes did everything she could for all of us. She cared for me like a daughter, but I missed my mom. I missed her every day. Uncle Fern tucked me in and told me stories, but my dad abandoned me. I remembered my father walking out the door, suitcase in hand, never bothering to look back, even as I begged. That artificer stood outside, her hair like spun gold and dress too vibrant to gaze upon. She used her scepter as a hair piece so no one could miss it, so we knew exactly who he left us for. Mom held me close, promising things would be alright, but they never were.
While my aunt and uncle did what they could to make us a home, I always felt guilty that they had to take me in, so I’d done what I could to make up for it. I hadn’t caused trouble. I worked at the farm and a second job to earn my keep. I didn’t ask for anything because I would get it myself, and I did my best to ensure they never hadto ask for anything. If I would be their burden, then I would relieve as many burdens as I could.
Just then, a Mr.-Hawthorne-shaped creature emerged from the kitchen in a pair of fuzzy slippers and a worn blanket. In his hand, he held that large jug of coffee that he slurped down with a satisfied smack of his lips. Those lips—his entire face, in fact—were surrounded by a pale green foam, and a handful of curlers were in his hair. When he caught sight of me, his eyes widened, and he threw the blanket over his head.
“Do not perceive me before my morning coffee!” the creature bellowed and took into a run, or tried to. His slippers were not meant for chase, and they caught on the end of the carpet runner, sending him and the coffee flying. The jug shattered, and coffee soaked into the runner. He grunted when he hit the ground, not bothering to catch himself or move, choosing rather to lay there and groan.
“I’m ruined,” he cried against the carpet.
“If it makes you feel any better, I never expected anything less from you,” I said through my snickering. His appearance dulled the turbulent emotions the professor had wrought. For that moment, all I saw was him and all I felt was joy.
