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Mulberry rested her head on her hands, taking deep breaths, jumping as her mom put her hand on her back. She looked at her mom, trying to smile.
But the conference room had the personality of a waiting room, freshly painted beige walls, a modern, sleek glass table, and a massive fern in a planter by the door. And she didn’t want to be here.
“It’ll be okay, Mulberry.”
But Grace’s tone didn’t sound like she believed her words either.
Glancing at her mother’s face, Mulberry’s pulse raced.
Her mother had huge circles under her eyes, and her skin was dry and puckered.
“You didn’t have to do this. We could just wait for the police to look into the break-in.”
“Of course, I had to do this. It’s not like the police have been helpful before, and I won’t take chances with your safety.”
“You need to be on set now,” Mulberry frowned.
“They don’t need me till the afternoon” Grace patted her leg. “I want to be here with you, honey.”
The doors to the conference room slid open, and a thin woman with long auburn hair pushed a little serving cart into the room.
“Mr. Montague apologizes. He’ll be right in. Please let me know if I can get you anything else” she passed them bottles of water, set out a tray of crackers and cheese, paper plates, napkins and cups and left the room.
“Mulberry, you should eat something.” Grace took a plate from the stack and started to fill it for her. Mulberry pushed it away, unable to think about food right now.
Even though seeing her mom’s frown lines made her mouth dry with guilt.
She wiped her palms on her skirt, biting the inside of her lip. She tried to calm the thundering of her heart.
Hard to believe it happened again.
Her mind hadn’t processed it yet.
This time it didn’t end with her being dragged out of her house.
Thrown on a plane.
Tied to the ground and left naked in a tent.
So…at least, she could be grateful for that.
She pushed her palms against her eyes, not wanting to spend any time on that memory.
It had haunted her nights long enough, and she was safe here and now.
She took a deep breath and repeated those words to herself.
Maybe it was one of the coping techniques she learned in therapy.
There were so many of them she couldn’t recall where she’d learned that one.
There had been a lot of treatments.
Tons of counselling.
Even a try at all the reiki and yoga and sound baths.
But there wasn’t anything that erased those memories, and that’s what she wanted.
