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“Hi, Mom.” I sit up straight and compose myself. “Napping by the pool, actually. It’s a really hard life, you know.”
“Oh, did I wake you? I’m so sorry, I can call back later.”
“No, it’s okay.” Mom sounds stressed. I can hear it in her voice, in the way she’s talking fast and loudly, like she’s yelling at herself, and I’m suddenly much more alert. Mom rarely lets me know when she’s feeling stressed or overwhelmed. “I just wanted to check in, that’s all, just wanted to say hello and see how you were doing.” She laughs awkwardly, and it sounds forced.
Since coming here, I’ve talked to my mom on the phone at least once per day. I made it clear to Fynn the second I stepped into the villa that if I couldn’t call my mother, this wouldn’t happen, mostly because she’d constantly worry and I wasn’t about to have that on my head. He agreed and gave me a burner phone with only her contact programmed into it, and I had to make her memorize the number.
I don’t give her details about what we’re doing. I’ve talked a bit about the villa and the grandeur, but mostly I stay away from the family and what they do. I only tell her that I’m working with a family member and he’s making progress. Otherwise, we talk about her job, about her life, and I try to tell her as little as possible without making her worry too much.
The less she knows the better. She’s safer this way, even though it bothers me to keep things to myself.
But today, she sounds different. The small hairs on my neck raise on end and I sit up straight, heart racing.
“What’s going on, Mom? You sound a little stressed. Did something happen at work?” I want to ask about my dad but I’m afraid that’ll only make it worse if that’s not the issue.
“No, honey, no, work’s fine. Nothing’s going on there, you know how it goes.”
“So then why do you sound like you’re worried about something?”
“I’m not, honey, I’m not, only it’s just—” She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “God, I’m being silly.”
“Mom, you’re freaking me out.” I sit up straight as anxiety pulses in my core. “Are you okay?”
“Your father visited me last night.” She clears her throat and I want to scream. What the hell is Dad doing talking to her? Why are they talking at all? She should know better than to interact with that man. “He told me he talked to you.”
“I saw him the other day, but he didn’t tell me anything. He was acting really weird. Do you know what he was talking about?”
“Ah, sweetie, you know how it is, just ancient history. Old stuff that doesn’t matter to you young people anymore.” She laughs, really forcing the levity in her tone. “You’re sure he didn’t say anything?”
“Mom.” I take deep breaths to keep myself under control. “Will you please just tell me what’s going on?” My voice drops, nearly whispering. “You know I can’t really talk here.”
She pauses, and the quiet on her end is like the silence at the bottom of a canyon. “Those people are always listening, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but if you have something you need to tell me, please just do it.”
“Maybe you should come here. You know, we can talk a little bit.”
I want to scream. I can’t get away from the house without asking Fynn permission, and after running into Cillian the other day, there’s no way he’ll grant it. Besides, they already suspect my father is either a traitor or involved with someone that wants to hurt the family, and there’s no way they’re going to let me go visit my mom in the middle of everything right now.
Even asking will look suspicious.
“I’m not sure I can get away.”
“You’re not a prisoner, are you?”
“No, mother, I’m not a prisoner, but things are complicated right now. The fact that you’re meeting with Dad and having secret discussions doesn’t help my case at all, by the way.”
She sighs and I can picture her in the kitchen rubbing her face with one hand the way she does when she’s stressed. “Just come and see me, okay? I want to tell you a few things you really should know, but I can’t do it over the phone.”
“Mom, can you please just—”
“I’m sorry, honey. Come visit me as soon as you can.”
She hangs up before I can argue.
I nearly scream and throw my phone in the pool. I’m so frustrated I could cry as I slump back in my chair and stare down at my feet.
What the heck is Mom talking about? She met with Dad and now she wants me to come to her place so she can tell me something—some secret she doesn’t want to say over the phone. This is the worst possible timing and I’m so frustrated it’s like a knife in my gut.
