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The footsteps stop, and I hold my breath.
A minute passes.
Could I have imagined the noise?
Hesitantly, I lie back down, but then surge up once again.No, I need to check on Nina.
I rip off the covers and tiptoe to the door, avoiding the creaking floorboards I’ve made mental notes of.
When I peek outside, I see Meredith standing in the doorway of Nina’s bedroom, her back to me. She appears to be frozen in place, staring inside. She looks ghostly in the darkness, her short blond hair like a halo around her head, her long white nightgown reflecting the dim light from inside the room.
A rush of protectiveness surges through me.
I don’t like Meredith. For obvious reasons, considering the woman almost slapped me across the face, but also, I get a terrible vibe from her. Like when you pass a lone man in a dark alley at night. There is something unnerving in her wild, surly eyes.
I watch her for a minute, unsettled by what is happening. Meredith isn’t moving or speaking, she is simply standing in the doorway like a ghost, staring into the master bedroom where her ex-husband’s disabled wife sleeps.
Tristan told me that he gave Meredith medicine that would have her, quote, “out like a light.”
Meredith is definitelynot “out like a light.”
I battle with what to do. Ignoring this odd behavior and going back to bed isn’t an option, so I have to address it. I am Nina’s keeper, after all.
I take a deep inhale, pull my shoulders back, and step into the hallway. It’s funny, although I’m much taller than Meredith, she intimidates me. Most loose cannons do.
I clear my throat.
Meredith doesn’t flinch.
I clear it again, loudly—so loudly that it’s jarring in the silence.
Still, the woman doesn’t turn around.
A chill snakes up my spine.
“Meredith,” I whisper-hiss, stepping deeper into the hallway.
This time, Meredith turns her head slowly, offering me her profile. Her face is devoid of expression, flat, dead. She is neither embarrassed nor surprised at my arrival. Or is it that she simply doesn’t care?
“Meredith, can I help you with something?” I’m careful to keep my voice strong and confident. Which is ridiculous, really, because I’m nothing more than a babysitter.
“Nina is in my bed,” she says matter-of-factly.
I join Meredith in the doorway. Nina is asleep on her back, the night light scarcely illuminating her closed eyes. She looks like Sleeping Beauty, her hands folded on her stomach, her face serene.
A wave of relief comes over me. I can’t imagine how Nina would feel if she woke and saw her husband’s ex-wife standing in her doorway.
I say, “I thought Tristan gave you a room downstairs, didn’t he?”
“He did.” Meredith’s gaze is fixed on Nina. “But this is supposed to be my room.”
Dealing with unstable women was a daily occurrence when I ran a psychic shop in downtown Los Angeles. It was easy—give them advice, take their money, and walk them out the door. The difference now is that I am not in my own territory. I am not the boss. I have no authority here, and therefore, I’m finding it difficult to navigate this crazy situation I’ve found myself in.
Meredith tilts her head to the side. “What did you think when you first met her?”
I feel uncomfortable speaking about Nina when she’s ten feet away. I am very aware that Nina could be pretending to sleep anytime her eyes are closed. Hell, that’s what I would do. I would get so sick of living in a world where I couldn’t react that I would eventually just pretend not to exist.
“I haven’t spent much time with her,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “I haven’t been able to connect with her yet.”
