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“Didn’t see anything. I made sure of it. Actually, I’m thankful for it. Having to keep everything buttoned down for her was probably why I didn’t turn into the mall’s new light show.”
“But she suspects something,” he murmurs, again fixing his regard on Nancy Kane. “I can see that already.”
I place a hand on his forearm. It’s like a branch petrified from tension. “I told her I had a stuffed mushroom at the fundraiser and it didn’t agree with me. It’s not far from the truth.”
His blues, so worried and intense, drop back to my face. “All the more reason to get you out of here. Can you text Kell? Tell her we need to leave?”
“She’s probably waist-deep in shoe boxes right now. Even if she heard her phone, she’d ignore it.”
“Then can she find her own ride home? Or can we ask the doctor to give her a lift?”
I want to tell him both options are fine—Kell’s nose is a reliable front line of defense, and Doug has helped every Valari out of worse binds than this one—but something else scratches at the edges of my intuition.
No. Not scratching.
Creeping.
A weirdness I can’t figure out. An energy from someone, newly arrived in the building, that throws my senses on a frazzled fence. I’m not afraid, but I’m definitely not ready to hum along to the lullaby-like tune from the pianist in the courtyard below.
I wrap a protective hand against my middle. The other stays solidly clutched on Maximus.
As soon as Kell rises into view, carried by the escalator from below—
Without a single shopping bag on her arm.
More concerningly, so is the retail diva glimmer behind her grin.
Most alarming of all, so is her shopping buddy.
Dr. Doug isn’t even bringing up a distant but good-natured rear. But Kell hasn’t returned by herself. I get that much from her forced smile before even tapping into her wonky energy.
What. Is. Going. On?
“Funny thing happened on the way to Ferragamo,” she grouses for my ears alone. There’s no time for a return quip since her companion is already moving into both our personal spaces, complete with a cloud of perfume and a nervous Chihuahua under one arm.
“Mother,” I manage to mutter. “It’s…uh…you.”
Veronica chuckles hard enough to make the dog sneeze. At least I hope that’s the case. The tiny animal is exhibiting huge interest in my stomach.
“Last time I checked I was, darling.”
“What are you doing here? The fundraiser… Aren’t you one of the co-chairs?”
Kell jogs a brow. “Told you she’d ask exactly what I did.”
“Then good thing my answer hasn’t changed,” our mother replies. “The drivers talk, you know. When mine found out that yours had been instructed to come here, I was terrified Kell’s leg had gotten worse.”
“So you left a major society event to find out?”
Mother doesn’t flinch about my incredulity. An earnest reckoning takes over her face. I even feel it from her spirit.
“I saidterrifying, didn’t I?” she snaps softly. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying…to get better at all this. Being your mom in the ways that matter, instead of the obvious stuff.”
Kell’s high-pitched chuff is a great representation for both of us. Fortunately, Veronica gets the teasing purity right away. Even she has to know, in some small way, that to most mothers, the obvious stuffisthe important stuff. Things like stressing about their kid’s health to the point that they leave a major Hollywood party to track their daughter down.
Which would, right now, be the coolest—except she’s got the wrong daughter, the wrong health plight, and thereallywrong perception that she can be of help with any of it. At least not yet.
So how much of that do we give away to her? If any at all?
