It was a stance that always manage to cow Thia. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. But no, this was ridiculous. It was one thing not to want to dredge up the pain of old fights with someone long gone. It was quite another to fabricate an entire life story. “Not good enough.”
Grandma Winnie’s brows lifted, perhaps unused to Thia contradicting her. “I am trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Her eyes bore into the certificate as though she could will it into nonexistence if she stared hard enough.
“Grammy?” Thia prompted, when she didn’t answer.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“I can’t lose you too.” The words were so soft Thia nearly missed them. At the pain in them, Thia relented a touch.
“So she wasn’t a doctor. She was into”—Thia glanced at the paper again—“what is that, witchcraft? Who cares? It’s not like it’s real.”
Her grammy didn’t laugh like Thia expected. Instead, she looked even paler.
Heat seared Thia’s stomach, so sharp and biting that she nearly doubled over. But then it was gone. Confused, she pulled the mirror from her pocket.
Before she could inspect it, her grammy shrieked. Her hand flailed, striking Thia hard across the forearm so that she dropped the mirror. Skin smarting, she gaped at her grandmother.
Her grammy had never hit her. Not once. Not even a spanking.
But instead of apologizing, Grandma Winnie dashed for the mirror, snarling. “Get away from that thing.”
For all her grammy’s spunk, Thia was young and spry. She beat her to it, tucking the weave of metal and glass close to her chest.
Her grammy eyed her warily, like she had half a mind to tear it from Thia’s grip with her perfectly manicured claws. “Give-it-to-me-right-now,” she said, so fast it was nearly one word.
“What is it?” Thia demanded, not moving.
Grandma Winnie’s brows shot up. “Stupid girl,” she snapped, and Thia recoiled.
“Grammy, what—”
“Give it.” She swiped for the mirror, and when she missed, she raised her hand into a fist. To what—wrestle Thia for it? To strike her again, properly this time?
Thia didn’t wait to find out. She ducked under the arm, beelining for the door. She didn’t recognize the woman standing in front of her, the harsh curl of her plum-colored lips, the hollowness in her pale gaze. “I…I’m going to stay at Riley’s for a bit.”
The idea that Thia might leave seemed to shock her grammy back to reality. She took a step. “Thia, the storm—”
Arm still stinging, Thia unlocked the door. Her grandmother froze at the click.
“It’s just a storm, Grammy,” Thia said, and left.
THREE
THIA BACKED OUT OF THE DRIVEWAY,BREATH FALLING IN RAPIDbursts. Her heart hammered so loud she could hear it over the hurried screech of her windshield wipers. She turned onto the street, setting a course for Riley’s house.
What the hell had just happened? Her grammy hadhither. And lied. For years. Over what? Her mother’s college major? It made no sense.
Wind careened into the flimsy doors of her vehicle, nearly driving her off the road. Thia swerved, hands aching where they clutched the wheel, and managed to correct the course as the mirror bumped across her knees. Keeping her attention on the road, she released the wheel with one hand and tossed the cursed thing into the passenger seat.
She wished she had her phone—it was still dead in her room where she’d left it. Riley never minded a spontaneous visitor, but the storm was worse than she’d thought. Rain pounded her windshield, and she could barely see a few yards in front of her. She forced air through dry lips, urging her car to keep steady in the onslaught. When lightning flashed again, a new pit settled in her stomach.
Her parents had died in a storm just like this one. They’d gone for an anniversary holiday, leaving Thia with Grandma Winnie for the weekend—well, forever, but they hadn’t known that at the time.
