She trails off, her gaze darkening. “But then she said that she would see me again, in the woods, but that she might not know me when she did. And then she said something about bad blood or sick blood or something, and I got scared again. I’ve always hated blood, and I didn’t ever want to see her again.” She laughs beneath her breath. “Obviously. I mean, it wasn’t the worst kidnapping in the history of kidnappings, but—”
“Still terrifying,” I agree. “So…did you? See her again?”
She shakes her head. “No. Never. When I started crying again, she took me back to the playground, made me promise not to tell anyone what had happened, and left. I ran to my nanny, fully intending to spill everything, but I couldn’t get the words out. My stutter was worse than ever. By the time I got control of myself, I’d realized that none of them were scared. My sisters hadn’t even noticed that I was missing, and Nanny said I’d only been out of her sight for a few minutes.” She shrugs, her shoulders slumping. “After that, I wasn’t sure if I was crazy or what, so…I kept it to myself. I tried to talk to Zan once, not long after, but she thought I was making it up. She knew I had a big imagination. I was always zoning out at dinner, and Mother would have to wiggle her fingers in front of my face to snap me out of it.”
I push my plate away, too, and reach for Lizzy’s hand across the table. She stiffens but allows me to wrap my fingers around her much cooler ones. “I’m sorry that happened to you. And I’m sorry you’ve had to carry the weight of it alone. But you’re not alone anymore. This woman can’t hurt you. You’re not a child, and you’ll have backup.”
She exhales and pulls her hand away. “No. I don’t want this. I just want to stay here and finish my collection and…” She trails off, her lips turning down.
“And?” I prompt.
“And hide,” she whispers, staring down at her lap. “From my mother and…everything else.”
“You’re too brave to hide, and you deserve answers, to know who this woman is and whether or not anything she said can be trusted.”
Spoiler alert, it can’t, because she was a nutcase.
But I do my best to keep my opinion from showing on my face. The only way I’m going to get her to agree to this is by taking the woman and the curse seriously.
She lifts her gaze and shakes her head. “No. Not now, anyway.”
“Now is the time. I won’t be here later, and you know you won’t do this alone.”
“Sure, I will,” she says, not even trying to sound like she’s telling the truth. “I promise.”
“You shouldn’t make promises you don’t intend to keep. That’s dishonest.”
“My fingers were crossed,” she says, pulling her hand from behind her back and holding it up for me to see. “And you don’t get to call me dishonest, not after your stunt earlier tonight.”
“We’ll start tomorrow,” I say, ignoring the barb. This isn’t about me. This is about her and her future and giving her a life to look forward to and take seriously. “I’ll do all the research and the driving. You can sew in the car.”
“I get carsick without medicine.”
“I’ll buy you medicine.”
Her brows pinch together. “How many times do you need to hear no before you believe I’m serious?”
“Fine.” I lift my hands in the air in surrender. “Stay here and stay doomed. I’ll call your parents in the morning to let them know you’re safe, and then I’ll start for home.”
“My parents don’t need a phone call,” she snaps. “And if they do, I’ll call them.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, syrupy sweet, “but I wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone up here without letting your parents know exactly where you are and how to reach you. I’ll be sure to give them the number for the landline so they can call and check on you regularly.”
“Bastard,” she whispers. “You’re blackmailing me. I opened up to you, told you all about my crazy family, and now you’re using it against me.”
“Because I care about you,” I say, willing her to see that it’s the truth. “Because I want to, need to, help you.”
“Well, I hope you also need to sleep alone tonight,” she says, standing and tossing her napkin onto the table by her plate. “And to do the dishes alone because I’m no longer enjoying your company.”
She bolts for the staircase, and I call after her, “Don’t stay up too late. We’ll be leaving early.”
“I hate you,” she grumbles as she starts down the stairs.
“Is that a yes to a road trip?”
“Fine, yes,” she says, adding in a louder voice as the top of her head disappears from view, “but I’m never telling you anything personal or private ever again.”