“It’s not that easy. And she’s mean as hell.” There’s more meowing, and I swear she’s rattling her cage. “I worry about getting her to you, Miss Lancaster.”
“I’ve already made the arrangements for you. As long as you’re still willing to make the drive,” I tell him.
I rented a car for Roland to drive across the country with Squirrel, since his old truck probably wouldn’t make it. Once he arrives here with the cat, I’ll purchase him an airplane ticket—first class—and send him home. It’ll take time out of his life, but his schedule is fairly free in the summer, he informed me.
“You’ll leave first thing in the morning?” I ask him.
“Yes ma’am. And I hope to get there by Friday. It’s going to be a long haul, but I have a leash for the cat. And a nice, comfortable carrier. She’ll be in good hands.”
“I don’t doubt it. I’m excited to see her. And you too.”
“You just want your cat.”
“It’s true,” I say with a little laugh.
Spencer was right. I want this, I want that, I want everything.
Including him.
Considering how I was raised, I’ve been indulged my entire life. Money is no object and I’m aware I can be rather demanding.
But when you can pay a retired gentleman with not much going on in his life to transport the wild cat you’re drawn to cross country, then why not?
I can’t wait for Squirrel to be here with me. I need something soft and cuddly to love on. Though she doesn’t sound particularly soft or cuddly.
Oh well. I’ll force her to love me. I’m good at that.
Look at Spencer. I pretty much forced my love on him until he didn’t have a choice but to love me back.
I took a twenty-minute nap after my light lunch and when I wake up, Spencer still isn’t here. I check my phone to see he sent me a text saying that traffic’s horrible and he should be there soon.
He better get here soon. I’m already bored without him.
I wander the halls, staring at the portraits of old Lancasters lining the walls. The original Augustus has the most prominent spot at the top of the stairs, where everyone can see him, and every time I look into his eyes, I shiver. They’re eerily like mine. Light blue and blazing bright. I wrap my arms around myself as I pass by each portrait, examining them until I end up in front of the photograph of my family. One of the last taken before my parents divorced.
Mother is sitting on a chair in the center, my father standing directly to her right, his hand on her shoulder. Whit looms behind her, tall and thin, his expression dead serious. Carolina stands in front of our father, her hair slicked back in a ballerina’s bun, her rosebud lips curled into a barely-there smile.
And then there’s me, standing to my mother’s left, a sullen-faced girl who looks like she’d rather be anywhere but there. I’m thin and pale and wearing a sweater, though I remember we took the photo in the summer, in the library of this very house. I wore the extra layer so I wouldn’t look so frail, but it was no use.
I’m skin and bones and nearly translucent. My mother had reached out at the last moment, right when the camera clicked, catching my hand and holding it so tightly, you can see her fingernails pressing into my skin.
It’s a terrible photo, a representation of our family crumbling, yet Mother is clinging to me, as usual. She also made sure to hang it on the wall. An eyesore to remind her husband of the destruction he wielded that summer. By the end of it, she’d discovered he was cheating on her for over a year with Summer’s mother.
The next summer, my parents put on a brave front, but by the end of it, they’d split. No more official family portraits taken together ever again. We were irrevocably broken.
And I was left alone with her to help pick up the pieces, something a thirteen-year-old should never have to deal with, yet there I was. My mother’s little pet.
“That’s one of my favorite photos of us,” calls a familiar voice.
Shocked, I whirl around to find my mother standing at the other end of the hall, a faint smile on her altered face. I blink at her, holding my eyes closed for a few beats because surely, I’m hallucinating right now. Being in this house always brings them back, all the memories swarming inside me.
But when I open my eyes, she’s still standing there. Even closer now. Her hands are behind her back and she’s wearing a chic, flowing summer dress. It’s sleeveless and long, a bright floral print that stands out against her lightly tanned skin. Her blonde hair is slicked behind her ears and giant pearls dangle from them, a matching oversized pearl necklace around her neck. She looks as if she just stepped off a yacht and decided to make a surprise visit.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice faint.
Her smile is kind—and a complete lie. “I found out you were here and thought I’d pop in.”
Pop in. Like this is a fun little visit that I’m looking forward to. “How did you know I was here?”