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“I understand.” Skye’s voice is gentle. “It’s usually the things we don’t say that keep us from moving forward.” She folds her hands. “The only way to heal a wound is to bring it out into the open air.”
“I’m guessing that’s probably the case here.” I take a deep breath, ready to verbalize something I’ve never been able tobefore. Not even to myself. My eyes glaze over, and my tone goes lifeless. “My mom was hell-bent on me playing the piano. I had zero interest in it—or anything else she tried to push on me. So on this particular day when I was six, she was livid at me for not doing my lesson.” I stop talking because I can’t get the next words out.
“It’s okay,” Skye says. “Take your time.”
I nod, recomposing myself. “In a rush of fury, she said, ‘You’re lazy, unfocused and will never amount to anything.’” I swallow, the tears rushing from my eyes.
Skye goes wide-eyed but doesn’t say anything. She pulls me into a hug, and I sob into her arms. I can’t place exactly why I’m crying because there’s a million and one emotions coursing through me. I’m furious at Mom for saying something so horrible to a tiny, impressionable child. I’m forever hollowed out that my own mother didn’t believe in me. I’m frustrated at myself for carrying this in silence for so long.
Swallowing back another wave of tears, I say, “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive her. Or myself, for that matter.”
“Forgiveness,” Skye says. A single word that involves a labyrinth of human complexities. She waits a breath before she continues, “I’m not sure what to say there. I don’t think it’s possible to forgive people who aren’t sorry for their shit behavior. But I do think it’s possible to come to a place where you see her words for what they were—nonsense spewing from a bitter, unhappy person. When you get there, you’ll realize that you’re not six-years-old anymore, and something was very wrong with your mother. And, in fact, you might end up just feeling sorry for her.” Skye rubs my back. “And someday, if she’s ever remorseful for what she did and deals with her own trauma, maybe you two can start to mend your relationship.”
I swallow back the next wave of tears. “Well, for now, it’d be really nice not to have to carry the weight of all that anymore.”
Skye closes her eyes and hovers her hands over me. Then she starts waving her arms like she’s headed for liftoff. “Be gone. Be gone!”
I blink, and she puts her hands on my shoulders. “Repeat after me.”
“Okay.”
“I crumple it into a tiny ball,” she says.
“I crumple it into a tiny ball,” I repeat.
“I flush it down the toilet! So it is, so it is. So it is!”
27
The Find
Now that I’m up and about, Skye convinces me to go to the place Grams told me her research documents are stored.
“What’s a priest hole?” Skye asks.
“Grams said it’s a hidden compartment where priests hid during raids.”
“Let’s go.”
I try to resist, but I’m with Skye, so that’s not happening. Before I know it, we’re standing in the castle’s library, staring at the far wall where Grams said the hinged oak panel door is located.
“I don’t see it.” I squint to find anything with hinges.
“It has to be well-hidden since no one but your grams found it.”
I go to press against the wall, “Hold on.” Skye puts up a finger, scanning the room and windows. “Okay. Coast is clear.”
We both push, moving along the panels but not finding anything. Skye says, “Let’s try pushing up high since the hinge would swing forward.”
We do that, and sure enough, the panel Grams noted swings up. “Awesome!” I look inside to see the boxes of Grams’s work. It takes Skye and me two trips to get it all back to my room.
After settling in, we spread Grams’s papers out on the rug by the fireplace.
I find a note in Grams’s handwriting titled, “Where I could’ve placed Lady Laire’s sapphire ring.” Then it’s followed by a list of places it could be, which means she’d clearly lost it. I think about how it’s safely stored away in Atlanta, and a shiver runs down my spine. “My ‘engagement’ ring. Grams didn’t mean to give it to me. She lost it.” I meet Skye’s gaze. “It belonged to Lady Laire.”
Skye studies Grams’s note, then flashes me a serious look. “Why don’t we keep that between me and you, okay?”
I know why she’s saying that. Because if anyone knew, they’d want to steal it or put it in a museum. I say, “Sure.”
