7. Georgia

7

Georgia

Now

W hen I open my eyes the next morning, the first thing I notice is that the door to the guest room is shut. The second thing I notice is that the couch across from the bed is vacant. Ian slept there last night, insisting that I take the bed.

The bed that smelled like him, that sandalwood and citrus mix that's always clung to his skin. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy wrapping myself in his blankets, wishing that they were his arms around me instead. But every time I woke in the middle of the night, he was there. Sleeping soundly on the couch. His hair wild and messy, splayed across his pillow, his lips parted slightly as he breathed silently.

The room feels like a hollow shell without him, much like my own heart has every second of every day that he's been out of my life. I don't trust him not to hurt me again, but I also don't know how to not trust him. He's always kept me safe in this place, like he did last night. Even from across the room, I felt safer with him here with me.

Everything about him still sets fire to my soul, even if I know this truce can't last between us. I won't change my mind about leaving here for good, and how can I ask him to leave after he's made a life for himself here?

Whatever this is between us . . . it won't end well.

I tug the navy blue duvet off of myself and notice there's a note sitting on the small circular table next to the bed. My heart ceases to beat as my fingers brush against the folded cardstock paper.

Not again. He can't have left again.

I open the letter with shaky hands . . .

G,

Auden woke up and said Horton wanted blueberry pancakes. You looked too perfect to wake. Meet us downstairs when you're ready.

Love always,

Ian

And Auden, and Horton

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and chuckle to myself. Auden obviously helped write this note since it's her handwriting that signed her and Horton's name. I place the note back on the table and half-ass make the bed before heading into the small bathroom to get ready for the day.

Goals for today include fetching a hot cup of much-needed coffee, finding Auden, saying hello to my father, and figuring out what exactly he needs so I can get Auden, Horton, and myself out of this place as soon as I can.

" G eorgia, my dear!" Mrs. Foster greets me loudly as I walk into the kitchen. "You've grown so much! Look at how beautiful you are, a spitting image of your mother in that dress." She sets the knife down that she was using to chop a pile of vegetables, her heels clicking loudly as she crosses the checked tiled floor. She wipes her hands on her white apron before embracing me in a hug.

I look down at myself. My yellow maxi-dress and sandals do sort of remind me of my mother, I guess. "Good morning, Mrs. Foster. You're too sweet. It's so nice to see you again." I pull out of her grip and see that she has tears in her green eyes, accompanied by that same crooked smile Ian has. Her thick brown hair is pulled up into a bun, gray streaks pulled taut against her head. She's only about an inch shorter than I am now, but she's around thirty pounds heavier than me. Her motherly hug is much needed after such a tremendously stressful journey to get back here.

"Oh no, I don't want to hear any of that ‘Mrs. Foster' nonsense. You're a grown woman now, Georgia, with a daughter of your own if the rumors are true! You call me Lydia from now on," she chastises me playfully. "Do you want sugar with your coffee? Ian said you might prefer that strange coconut creamer he picked up from the store the other day," she continues as she moseys around the large kitchen, digging through cabinets and drawers to get everything she needs to make a new pot.

I sit on one of the tufted gray barstools, trying to settle the knots in my stomach that have formed. Ian remembered that I like the coconut creamer, and my heart is trying to do traitorous things to my brain with that knowledge.

"Your father is up and moving around on his own today," she muses as the coffee percolates loudly, echoing off the white tiled walls and marble countertops. "Have you seen him yet?"

"No, not yet. I was hoping to armor up with coffee before I went to fetch Auden. She's very excited to meet him," I tell her as I admire how much this kitchen hasn't changed. Mother loved everything bright and airy. The whole house is decorated with accents of white, navy blue, and yellow. Every room is tactfully decorated, with sheer curtains to let the natural light shine through. The kitchen is no different. The sink has a large bay window that overlooks the lake. I can see the willow tree branches swaying with the breeze.

The same willow tree my mother took her last breath under. When she failed at murdering me.

The same lake my best friend died in. When she drowned because of me.

These scenes should scare me away, but the morbid part of me wants nothing more than to go visit their gravesites to pay my respects.

Mrs. Foster hands me a coffee mug with black and white polka dots decorated on it. I take it graciously and pour myself some of the coconut creamer, watching as the black coffee and creamer swirl together in harmony before taking my first sip. Something tastes off, and I swallow hastily before Mrs. Foster can see the disgust on my face. "Thank you for the coffee, Mrs—Lydia." Her name feels weird on my tongue, almost distasteful like the coffee I just forced down. I subtly turn the creamer carton in circles until I find the expiration date; it's definitely not expired. I remind myself to clean out the coffee pot tonight with vinegar to get whatever is in there tainting it.

I might actually die without a real cup of coffee all week long.

She smiles at me before going back to chopping vegetables. I'm sure they'll go into whatever she was cooking before I interrupted her space. "You're welcome, dear. But you may not want to thank me just yet..." she says with a pregnant pause.

"Why's that?" I ask nervously.

She sighs loudly, wringing her hands in her apron again. "Ian and Auden went outside to sit under the willow tree...where your father is. I'm afraid they might have met already."

I force myself to stay still, like nothing about this is upsetting or shocking at all. "Oh, that's okay. I had a feeling Auden would hunt him down the moment she woke up. I'll just head down there now and say good morning to the lot of them," I tell her as I fake another sip of coffee and head out the side door. "See you later, Lydia. It's so nice seeing you again after so many years. Thanks again for the coffee." I wave bye to her with a forced smile before I close the door behind me.

I dump the ruined coffee into the hydrangeas that line the entirety of the manor and leave the mug sitting on the window sill so I'll remember to grab it on my way back in. Sucking in a deep breath, I force myself to walk toward the willow tree to face my father for the first time in a decade.

I wonder what version of him I'll get today. The version of him who loved being a father before my mother tried to kill me. Or will I be greeted by the version that looked at me with disdain, silently wishing it had been me instead?

He's never openly hated me. He's never treated me with anything but politeness. He could've easily turned into one of those fathers who turned to drinking as a way to dull the spells of grief. But he didn't do any of that. He got up, said good morning to me, went to work at the oil rigs, and came home and kissed me good night. Every single night. Rinse and repeat.

He was there in body, but he was absent in heart. And I think that destroyed me just as much as my mother's death did.

" Mommy! You're awake!" Auden comes running out from behind the branches of the willow tree and nearly tackles me to the ground with the force of her hug. "I missed you so much. You slept and slept for so long, and I missed you," she says in earnest.

There's nothing better than knowing your child loves you so much that she misses you when you sleep.

I hug her back, lifting her up, and we both laugh when we both go in for a kiss. "I missed you, too, kid. How were your blueberry pancakes?"

"Those were for Horton, and he didn't even touch them," she says as she rolls her eyes dramatically. "Ian made me eggs and bacon and made them look like a happy face just like you do at home."

As she says this, Ian comes strolling out from behind the willow tree with his hands in his pockets. He's wearing khakis with a sage green sweater that fits him perfectly, showing off those usually hidden arms and shoulders nicely.

Not that I'm looking.

"So you know all about the happy face breakfasts?" I ask him over Auden's shoulder.

"Your mini-me made sure I was very well informed as I was in the middle of making Horton his pancakes," he says with a smile.

"Don't tell Mommy, but your bacon was better," Auden turns and whispers to him, very loudly.

"Hey! My bacon is perfectly crispy!" I protest.

Auden squirms out of my arms and goes and stands next to Ian, grabbing his hand like they are long-lost best friends.

Or like father and daughter.

They both gaze up at me, and it hits me how much she looks like him, like Irene. I've been in denial over that fact since the moment I laid eyes on her after twenty-eight hours of labor.

She looks so much like him. They have the same eyes, the exact same shade of hazel, with gold flecks sprinkled in.

My two galaxies colliding, waiting to explode together as they orbit around me and all my lies.

"Georgia, is that you?"

I turn toward my father's voice, and the sight of him nearly brings me to my knees. He looks awful. His skin is sickly pale and pulled taut against his bones. His auburn hair is almost completely gray now and is thinning more and more. The freckles we share are still there, but they contrast horrifically against the white-yellow pallor of his skin. The red-and-blue flannel hanging loosely around his thin frame...so unlike the burly mountain of a man I knew all those years ago. It's as if this house is sucking his very life force out bit by bit.

He limps over slowly, using a cane to lean on. It shakes furiously in his grasp.

Tears well in my eyes as he stops a few feet from me, his breathing ragged and coming out in gasping pants.

"Hi, Daddy," I finally croak out, closing the gap between us and hugging him gently. "I missed you."

He hugs me back hard, surprising me with the strength still left in his frail body. "I missed you too, Bug."

The tears come out in full force when I hear the nickname. He hasn't called me that since before my mom died. I hug him harder, tampering down the past ten years of resentment and hatred I've had stored in my heart.

"Why don't we all go sit inside and catch up?" Ian says from behind us.

I release my dad and nod to Ian, who is still holding Auden's hand. "Why don't you help my dad inside? We'll be there in a moment," I tell him, holding my hand out to Auden. She happily takes it, and we watch as Ian and my dad slowly make their way back toward the house.

"Mama, why do you hate him?" Auden asks once they're out of earshot. "He seems very nice."

I kneel down to her height, looking into those golden-flecked eyes of hers with concern. "Hate who?"

"Papa."

I smile at her and shake my head. "I don't hate him, hun. He's my dad. I love him a lot. Who told you that?"

"She did," Auden says quietly, pulling her hand out of my grasp, pointing up at the house. "She told me she wished you didn't hate him so much."

I follow her hand and gasp when I see her standing there. Looking down at us from her office. The blood dripping freely from her nose...pointing toward the lake with a silent scream on her lips.

"Come on, Miss Auden. You can help me prepare snacks for everyone!" Mrs. Foster yells loudly from the open kitchen door. Auden laughs as I watch her run toward the house.

When I look back up, my mother's ghost is nowhere to be found.