Page 70 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
She stopped. “It’s not an emergency or anything, Melanie. I’m just going to see Anthony in the hospital.”
I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “He’s in the hospital?”
“Yeah—they’re not sure what’s wrong with him. It’s some kind of virus, they think, but they can’t figure it out. He can’t keep down any food or liquid, so he’s hooked up to an IV.”
I met her concerned gaze. “And he’s been that way since we were all in the cemetery?”
She nodded. “I think he’s... susceptible to evil spirits. Remember his car accident?”
“But I thought Marc had done something to his car.”
“Could be, but he did tell Thomas he saw someone or something in his backseat right before the accident, and then he was pushed down the stairs when he was alone in the house, and now this. I can’t imagine how Marc could cause Anthony to be this sick. I’m thinking the negative presence we keep sensing is having an effect on Anthony because he’s trying to dig for answers that whatever it is doesn’t want him to find.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to tell Anthony he should move into my house when they stabilize him enough to release him from the hospital. It’s a big house, and I’ll be there to make sure nothing happens to him. And he’ll be away from the cemetery.”
“You want him to move in with you?”
“No, not like that. It’s to protect him, and only until he’s one hundred percent better.”
I peered closely at her. “Was this your idea or his?”
Her gaze slid to the space behind me. “It was sort of both of ours.” She paused. “Although he may have mentioned it first. I think he’s scared. And this way, someone will be home to work on the puzzle all day long. We’ve only got about one-quarter of it done. There are way too many bricks with nearly identical patterns, with only tiny swirls or lines to make them unique. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s an intentional design at all.”
I’d had the same doubt but had been keeping my thoughts to myself. It was as if I really believed that if I didn’t say anything out loud, it couldn’t be true. Instead, I said, “I don’t think Thomas is going to like this very much.”
Jayne pressed her lips together. “I don’t think he has any say in the matter.”
The carriage clock chimed, and I yanked open the front door. “I don’t want to keep you—tell Anthony I said hello and call me later and let me know how he’s doing.” I closed the door, then waited until I could hear her retreating footsteps.
I raced to the dining room window and peered out, looking for my mother on the sidewalk. When I didn’t spot her, I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and hurried into Nola’s room.
Sophie looked up from where she knelt in front of the jewelry cabinet. “Is there a fire I should know about?”
“No, sorry. Jayne just left and my mother’s not here yet, so I only have a few minutes to come see Nola’s room.”
She looked confused. “I have no idea how those three things are supposed to be related to each other.”
I sighed. “My mother and I are supposed to take JJ and Sarah to Hampton Park this afternoon. The weather’s so nice....” I paused, wondering at the expression on her face.
“And you didn’t want Jayne to go with you?”
I closed my mouth, realizing that, yes, not wanting Jayne to accompany us had been the reason I’d been rushing around, making sure she was out of the house before our mother arrived. I swallowed. “Maybe.”
“Don’t be ashamed to admit it, Melanie. It’s understandable. You’ve only recently rediscovered your mother and built a strong relationship. You never thought you’d have to share her, and now you do. And nobody asked you first.”
It felt as if a bowling ball had been lifted from my chest. I took two deep breaths, enjoying the new sensation of lightness. “I hadn’t really put it into words, but, yes. You’re right. And this afternoon I just wanted it to be my mother and me. Not because I don’t like Jayne or don’t want us all to have a good relationship; it’s just that I wanted some alone time with my mother and the twins. Is that so wrong?”
Sophie shook her head. “Of course not. And admitting to yourself what you need is the first step toward building stronger relationships with others.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate you telling me things I need to hear. Most people don’t have the nerve.” My gaze took in her crazy green-streaked hair, her 1980s Benetton sweater with enormous shoulder pads, the same mom jeans she’d worn to the wreath-making workshop, and her Birkenstocks. “So, despite your questionable style sense, you still qualify as my best friend.”
“Ditto,” she said, using the bedpost to help her stand. “And remind me to pick up some chakra stones for you. You seem stressed.”
“Gee, really? I can’t imagine why.” I walked toward the bed, recognizing the rectangular piece of wood Meghan Black had found in the cistern; it was still resting in a nest of newspaper. “I guess this has something to do with why you’re here? Besides dispensing advice, that is.”
She grimaced. “And deflecting nosy reporters, too, apparently. That Suzy Dorf was here looking for you. Seems she went to your office but was told you weren’t there, either.”
“Good to know that Jolly at the front desk is doing her job. What did you tell her?”
“That you weren’t here and I had no idea when you’d be back. She did have one question for me, though.”
