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“No, I think he’s bringing his daughter, Joanna.” I stifle a grimace. Hosting dinner parties? Wining and dining? These aren’t exactly my strengths. And if the concerned frown on Wyatt’s face means anything, he knows it, too.
“I can come, too,” he suddenly suggests in a rushed voice.
I snap my head up in surprise. His lips are twisted like he can’t believe those words just came out of his mouth.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” I ask warily. “Camilla might not want you—”
He holds a hand up, silencing me. “She’ll be fine. We’ve actually been talking about it a lot. I need to start playing a bigger part in this and not leave it all up to you.” He shrugs. “I’m the one who talked you into taking this job, right?”
I’m not sure if him being there will make things easier or even more difficult, but at least I won’t be alone. “Well… Thank you.”
“No problem.” He smiles and rises from the chair. “I think it would be a good idea to invite Rill and Elizabeth, too. They’re the only ones here to represent the Cypresses now that Orion’s … not here.”
“Okay, sure,” I say apprehensively, not wanting to acknowledge Orion’s absence. It’s all I can do to not worry about Jason every second of the day, let alone my long-lost friend.
“Well, I should get back to Camilla,” Wyatt breathes out as he rises from his chair.
I nod, silently watching him pick up his bag of oranges and walk toward the door until a sudden thought occurs to me.
“Wyatt, wait,” I call out before I can stop myself.
He turns, a questioning expression on his face.
“Do you remember Carrie?” I ask, my voice catching in my throat.
“Carrie?” He quirks a brow. “The beta maid from when we were kids?”
I nod. “Do you know what happened to her? Did she … die?”
He considers my question before shaking his head and staring into the distance. “I don’t remember. Why?”
“No reason,” I reply briskly. “I was just curious.”
He nods, lifting a hand. “See you on Saturday.”
“Yeah, see ya,” I mutter before turning and staring out the window again, my heart sinking to my stomach like a stone.
10
Stupid Girl
Hetty
“You look better,” Gran mutters, rising from the kitchen table on wobbly feet. “The rest helped … and the tea, of course.”
I muster a trembling smile as she cups my cheeks, her cold, bony fingers pressing into my skin. Swallowing my anxiety, I stand straighter and cross my fingers that her critical gaze doesn’t detect any weakness.
At this point, I’ve had so much dianthus tea, I must be radiating its musty, floral scent. If she tries to force another cup on me, I’m going to run away, screaming.
It’s been three days since the falling day, as my delirious brain had started to refer to it. Gran’s kept me in the basement the entire time.
This level of care for my health is unusual, if not absolutely ridiculous. I’ve felt fine for at least two days—less achy and hot, at least—and my ghost has been subdued … almost non-existent, really.
It’s been lonely, though. Cleo, Beth, and Nancy were occupied with chores, so I didn’t have their friendly chattering and laughter to keep me company. Gran was busy, too, only popping in every now and then with my meals and tea. Other than those brief visits, I was left with only my thoughts for company.
And they were dominated by him. Not abnormal, I suppose. But they’ve become more intense after what happened on the falling day.
“Achoo!”
