Page 7 of The Charmed Friends of Trove Isle
Liz had purchased this place with the money she’d had in savings for college. After the accident, she’d been too much of a mess to go. So she’d stayed in Trove Isle, worked at her mom’s bakery, and she’d found this modestly sized brick house that was within walking distance of her job, the market, and church. Her father had helped her renovate the place, which had been labeled a fixer-upper, and her mom had painted the shutters and front door a pale shade of blue.
Over the years, Liz had planted azalea bushes out front, which added a cheery splash of vibrant color that she loved to take pictures of, although she always developed them in black and white for a reason she couldn’t explain. She guessed black and white was how she viewed the world around her now. Right or wrong. Whole or broken. She was the latter.
Liz focused on her house and the deep-pink color of the azaleas for a long moment as she took deeper breaths and began to relax.
“You’re sure you’re not going to have one of those episodes of yours?” Rose finally asked.
“Panic attacks,” Liz corrected, uncurling her fingers from the door’s handle. “No. I think I’m okay.”
“Good.” Without any more hesitation, Rose pushed the driver’s door open, got out, and headed toward the porch, leaving Liz sitting in the passenger seat, her chest lifting a little too high and too rapidly with each breath. Liz guessed that Rose was distancing herself in case Liz brought the lack of seatbelt or the speeding back up. Or the brow piercing. Liz wasn’t in the mood for arguing right now though.
After several long minutes, Liz stepped out of the car and followed suit. “I’ll start dinner,” she called as she headed through the front door. Rose was nowhere in sight, which wasn’t unusual. Since Rose had come to stay here, she’d mostly kept to Liz’s guestroom when she wasn’t out with friends.
Liz had kind of hoped she and Rose would have time to grow closer during their parents’ absence. Since Liz was a good bit older, it’d been a long time since they’d actually lived in the same house. Becoming friends with her sister was a fantasy though. They were too different. They were practically strangers who shared the same parents, only together when they were forced to be during the holidays. Any of the other times that Liz went to her parents’ home to say hello, Rose made her presence scarce.
Liz walked into the kitchen, turned on the stove light, and removed the ground beef she’d put in the fridge to thaw this morning. A yawn stretched her face. Since her mom had been gone, Liz had been getting up at four o’clock most mornings to begin baking for the morning rush at The Bitery. The rush didn’t stop after ten. There was cleanup and then the lunch time wave of customers. After that came the afternoon snackers. Then the evening bingers.
Liz’s mom had other employees, of course, including Danette’s sister, Sissy, who often worked on the weekends. It was Liz’s mom who kept The Bitery afloat though, and without her, Liz felt like she was sinking.
“I’m going to the mall to meet Blake and Devin,” Rose announced, coming back into the kitchen. She’d changed from her ripped jeans to a short jean skirt and a yellow sleeveless top cropped at her midriff.
“Just you and two boys?” Liz was responsible for Rose’s welfare right now. Would her parents allow Rose to leave looking like that? With not one, but two boys.
Rose lifted her pierced brow. How had she managed to get a piercing without adult permission? Now Liz had a visual reminder every time she looked at Rose that she was a miserable babysitter.
“They’re girls, if you must know,” Rose huffed.
Liz frowned. “But I’m making dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.” Rose’s gaze flicked around the kitchen, seeming to notice Liz’s efforts. Liz could almost see the guilt creeping in on Rose’s expression as her gaze skittered around the room and her smile faltered. She blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ll eat it for breakfast, okay?”
Liz hesitated. She didn’t want to say no, but Rose was never here. The door was revolving for her. Had she even gotten a full meal since she’d come to live with Liz temporarily? “Maybe you should stay in tonight. After what just happened.”
Rose’s lips puckered into a pout as she folded her arms over her chest. “You’re acting like we almost died. I thought you said you were fine.”
“I am fine.” Liz forced a smile as proof. She was being ridiculous. She could feel it, but it was hard to help. “Okay. Just make sure you wear your seatbelt. And be home by eight o’clock. It’s a school night.”
“Nine,” Rose countered. It wasn’t a question; it was a demand.
They stared at each other in a semi standoff of wills.
“Fine. Nine.” In a battle of wills, Liz was usually the loser, even with a sixteen-year-old.Especiallywith a teenager.
“Sister-jail is the worst,” Rose muttered as she headed out, slamming the front door behind her.
Liz couldn’t agree more. She closed her eyes and took another cleansing breath like Dr. Mayer, her therapist, used to suggest. She hadn’t seen Dr. Mayer in a while. Her panic attacks had become less frequent and she had every stress-relieving and calming technique there was in her arsenal.
Her photography was perhaps the best therapy. Since her parents had left the country, there had been less time for that and more time for stress and worry. Caring for Rose for six weeks combined with Melody being in town might just be Liz’s unraveling. Maybe she should squeeze in a session with Dr. Mayer sometime soon.
Liz walked over to the dining room table and plopped down, not caring about dinner anymore. She’d only wanted to make it for Rose’s sake. She’d had some weird fantasy of the two of them actually eating a meal together and maybe even talking. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
On a sigh, she reached for her laptop, centering it on the table in front of her. She typically ended most days by e-messaging Bri through the prison’s ConnectNetwork system before messing around in Photoshop for an hour or two. Emails were a poor substitution for seeing her friend in person though. Maybe Liz would ride up to the women’s prison in the next couple weeks. However, that would require a bus trip or asking Rose to do the honors of driving her over the bridge and out of town. And neither of those options was all that appealing.
Liz positioned her fingers over the home keys and began to type.
To: Bri Johnson
From: Liz Dawson
