not paranoia.
It was a fine line between them these days.
Annabelle tugged at her pajama leg. “Raff,” she said, holding up the stuffed giraffe.
Grace dredged up a smile. “It’s a beautiful giraffe,” she agreed.
No, she wouldn’t panic.
“Raff owie.”
She’d stay calm…
“Raff owie.”
…get Sean back to his own cottage…
“Raff owie, mama. Raff owie!”
…and then they’d all go back to life as usual, because…
“Raff owie, raff owie, raff owie!” Annabelle wailed, wrenching Grace’s thoughts back to the immediate.
She crouched beside the little girl to calm her, but too late. The toddler evaded her and flopped onto the floor with a screech that all but shattered Grace’s skull. She regarded her niece wearily. Great. This was just what she needed.
A tap sounded at the door, and she reached up to twist the handle. Josh stood outside, dressed and looking remarkably awake, given the hour.
“Want some help?” he asked.
Grace debated the offer. Normally she’d just plop Annabelle into the crib and wait out the tantrum, but even that seemed too much work this morning. She waved her nephew in.
Josh sat down on the floor beside his little sister and stroked her hair. “Hey, Annabelly,” he said over her commotion. “What’s the matter?”
Ah, the magic touch of an adored big brother. Grace watched in bemusement as Annabelle stopped mid-shriek and sat up, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.
She held her toy out to Josh, telling him, in between hiccups, “Raff—owie—’eg.”
“Giraffe has an owie on his leg?”
Breathing in great sobs, Annabelle nodded. “Raff owie ‘eg.”
Josh looked over at Grace. “I think she wants it to have a cast on its leg. Like Mr. McKittrick. Can I use a Band-aid from the first-aid kit?”
If it would bring peace back to the house? Grace nodded. “Please,” she said. “Be my guest.”
Josh popped back to his feet with the nimbleness of youth and held a hand out to his sister. “Come on, Annabelly. Let’s go fix Mr. Giraffe.”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Grace called after them. “As soon as I’m dressed.”
The door closed behind the pair. Despite her words, she remained where she was, still crouched, for a long minute. They’d all been keeping it together so well, learning to function as a family, ignoring the specters hovering over them: the very real possibilities that Julianne would die and that Barry would find them. Grace grimaced.
Sean’s presence, however, clearly illustrated they hadn’t been keeping it together well at all. Josh’s reaction to him. Her own knee-jerk paranoia. And worse, the growing, hardening lump in the center of her chest every time Sean asked a question and she held back, too afraid to answer because she knew—with absolute certainty—that she would begin to unravel if she did.
With a groan, Grace pushed to her feet. Just a little while longer , she told herself. As soon as it was light enough, they’d get Sean back into his own cottage and out of their lives, and then she’d call Luc. Find out how Julianne was doing, tell him about his neighbor’s appearance, and dispel her last, lingering doubts about said neighbor.
But first…
She reached for the jeans she’d discarded on the floor by the bed the night before, then took a clean, long-sleeved t-shirt from the dresser. She pulled it over her head and lifted her hair free. Then she tightened her jaw, swallowed hard, and wiped away another stealthy tear.
First, she needed to get Sean to stop asking those damned, well-meaning questions. And the only way she could do that was to give him just enough in the way of answers.
CHAPTER 9
………………
SEAN LOOKED UP FROM POURING coffee into two mugs as Grace entered the kitchen. She wore jeans again today, and a blue long-sleeved t-shirt that hugged a little more closely than the yellow one of the day before. He held up the coffee pot.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
Her step faltered,
It was a fine line between them these days.
Annabelle tugged at her pajama leg. “Raff,” she said, holding up the stuffed giraffe.
Grace dredged up a smile. “It’s a beautiful giraffe,” she agreed.
No, she wouldn’t panic.
“Raff owie.”
She’d stay calm…
“Raff owie.”
…get Sean back to his own cottage…
“Raff owie, mama. Raff owie!”
…and then they’d all go back to life as usual, because…
“Raff owie, raff owie, raff owie!” Annabelle wailed, wrenching Grace’s thoughts back to the immediate.
She crouched beside the little girl to calm her, but too late. The toddler evaded her and flopped onto the floor with a screech that all but shattered Grace’s skull. She regarded her niece wearily. Great. This was just what she needed.
A tap sounded at the door, and she reached up to twist the handle. Josh stood outside, dressed and looking remarkably awake, given the hour.
“Want some help?” he asked.
Grace debated the offer. Normally she’d just plop Annabelle into the crib and wait out the tantrum, but even that seemed too much work this morning. She waved her nephew in.
Josh sat down on the floor beside his little sister and stroked her hair. “Hey, Annabelly,” he said over her commotion. “What’s the matter?”
Ah, the magic touch of an adored big brother. Grace watched in bemusement as Annabelle stopped mid-shriek and sat up, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.
She held her toy out to Josh, telling him, in between hiccups, “Raff—owie—’eg.”
“Giraffe has an owie on his leg?”
Breathing in great sobs, Annabelle nodded. “Raff owie ‘eg.”
Josh looked over at Grace. “I think she wants it to have a cast on its leg. Like Mr. McKittrick. Can I use a Band-aid from the first-aid kit?”
If it would bring peace back to the house? Grace nodded. “Please,” she said. “Be my guest.”
Josh popped back to his feet with the nimbleness of youth and held a hand out to his sister. “Come on, Annabelly. Let’s go fix Mr. Giraffe.”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Grace called after them. “As soon as I’m dressed.”
The door closed behind the pair. Despite her words, she remained where she was, still crouched, for a long minute. They’d all been keeping it together so well, learning to function as a family, ignoring the specters hovering over them: the very real possibilities that Julianne would die and that Barry would find them. Grace grimaced.
Sean’s presence, however, clearly illustrated they hadn’t been keeping it together well at all. Josh’s reaction to him. Her own knee-jerk paranoia. And worse, the growing, hardening lump in the center of her chest every time Sean asked a question and she held back, too afraid to answer because she knew—with absolute certainty—that she would begin to unravel if she did.
With a groan, Grace pushed to her feet. Just a little while longer , she told herself. As soon as it was light enough, they’d get Sean back into his own cottage and out of their lives, and then she’d call Luc. Find out how Julianne was doing, tell him about his neighbor’s appearance, and dispel her last, lingering doubts about said neighbor.
But first…
She reached for the jeans she’d discarded on the floor by the bed the night before, then took a clean, long-sleeved t-shirt from the dresser. She pulled it over her head and lifted her hair free. Then she tightened her jaw, swallowed hard, and wiped away another stealthy tear.
First, she needed to get Sean to stop asking those damned, well-meaning questions. And the only way she could do that was to give him just enough in the way of answers.
CHAPTER 9
………………
SEAN LOOKED UP FROM POURING coffee into two mugs as Grace entered the kitchen. She wore jeans again today, and a blue long-sleeved t-shirt that hugged a little more closely than the yellow one of the day before. He held up the coffee pot.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
Her step faltered,
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