“Can you believe this, Dad?” I whisper into the dark. “Maybe I wasn’t crazy after all.”
A horrible thought strikes me, and my eyes pop open. My room is gloomy, and there’s some light filtering in from the outside streetlight since my bedroom is at the front of the house.
What if my dad’s mental issues were because he could see beneath glamours, too? What if he was carrying that horrible burden… and it made him so despondent that he took his own life?
Tears well in my eyes, and I hastily wipe them away with my fingers. I hate thinking my dad perhaps suffered from the same affliction I do, and he went to his death believing it was a mental health issue.
He never knew the truth.
Right then, I have a rush of gratitude toward Carrick Byrne for making sure I knew the reality of what I see. Sure, he’s left me in an awful situation where I have to figure out how to deal with this on my own, but he gave me a comforting truth about myself. My mental faculties are well and firing on all cylinders in the way they should be.
I’m not crazy. Until this moment, I never knew how heavy that weight was.
I close my eyes again, and sleep takes me quickly.
CHAPTER 10
Finley
I’m a walking zombie as I enter the front door of One Bean. Although it rarely happens, I’m ten minutes late for my shift. I’d texted Lisa to let her know, so all is well, and she has things covered like she always does.
The fresh aroma of ground beans and the chatter of patrons perk me up slightly. Still, I need more coffee in my system if I’m going to be able to function after my lack of sleep last night.
Lisa’s behind the counter working one of the machines. I hand out smiles to the regular customers and staff before sidling in beside her. “I’ll give you a bonus if you make me a tall black next.”
She gives me a side glance, grin already in place, but the minute she looks at me, Lisa frowns. “Jesus, Finley. You look like hell. Are you okay?”
“Really?” I ask, because I thought I looked okay before I walked out of the house this morning. Granted, I did nothing more than braid my wet hair and I didn’t bother with even a touch of mascara, but I felt presentable when I looked in my full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
Lisa fills a tall cup of coffee for me. “Your eyes are red as hell, your skin is way paler than normal, and your shirt is inside out and backward.”
Taking my java in hand, I look down to see my t-shirt tag is indeed in the front and blaring the fact I don’t know how to dress myself. “Crap,” I mutter before wincing. “Let me slip into the bathroom and fix this, then I’ll be back out to help.”
She nods before going back to her next order in the queue.
I move out from behind the counter, intent on cutting left down the hall that leads to the bathroom. Thank God I carry eye drops with me so at least I can clear my eyes up, and the t-shirt is a simple fix. Suppose I could slap my cheeks a bit for some color.
The door to Rich’s office opens up and he comes out just as I round the corner, shutting it behind him. I’m going to have to sit down with him sometime today to tell him I’m not going to be able to buy One Bean, a thought that’s causing me a lot of anxiety. I not only lost the Olympic Dreams grant, but none of the others even granted me an interview. Not only am I letting Rich down, but I’m also putting myself in an unknown position as far as my employment.
I’m sure I also have to explain my text to him last night that stated I was going to Carrick’s home, which I’m not looking forward to. In fact, I do a critical study of his expression. I don’t see an ounce of worry about last night, relief I showed up at work, or censure I went to a man’s house for an “interview”.
“Glad you’re finally here,” Rich says with a bright smile, reaching out for my elbow. “We need to talk.”
“I need to visit the restroom first,” I say, pointing with my coffee-laden hand that way. Thankfully, it has a top, or it would have sloshed all over me and I don’t need to look worse than I already do. “Apparently, I look like hell and Lisa thinks I’ll scare the customers off.”
“There’s no time,” Rich replies and starts tugging me toward his office door. “There’s someone here to see you and you’re a bit late. He has another appointment to get to, so I need you in here now.”