I put a finger to the glossy box. “Even if we had a few years, you still should have told me. I’m not a little girl anymore, and I’ll be the next head of this house. I have a right to know when my family members get hurt.”
He purses his lips. “You’ll have to talk to your grandmother about it.”
“I . . .” I haven’t talked to Nana since I found out. Every time I think about it, my stomach gets sloshy and sick. There is so much to tell her, but I can’t watch her die like I watched Mom.
“She keeps asking about you, and Maggie is already tired of being grilled for updates.” He stands. “I can’t imagine how hard this is, but don’t forget that this isn’t only about you. Dorothea deserves much more than a cold shoulder, considering all she’s done for you.”
Watching him go, I’m stunned by the reproach. He shuts my door, but I continue staring at it, baffled that my dad is . . . a dad. How did it happen so quickly? That guilt trip made it feel like he’s been parenting for years. I glance at my pretty computer box, but I can’t get myself to open it. Instead, I flop back into my pillows, the remorse cutting straight to my heart.
He’s right. Of course he is.
I shouldn’t punish Nana, but I can’t help thinking about how long she kept my mother’s illness from me, too. Apparently, Mom had been Cursed around the time I turned four. I was too little to remember or to even know she was sick, so they hid it from me.
Nana didn’t tell me until I was six and a half, and by then I’d already noticed how quickly Mom got tired and how often she needed to go to the bathroom. I just didn’t know it was to throw up the black blood. It was bad enough learning Mom was that sick, but worse to know she’d been that way for a long time while I lived like nothing was wrong. I took her for granted, not knowing how little time I’d actually have with her.
I squeeze my eyes shut. No more crying. I’m so tired of this emptiness, this constant ache in my chest, as if I’ve lost part of my soul.
Grief is such a strange thing. Sometimes it seems to be gone entirely, but then one smell or sound or memory and it’s as if it was waiting there, in the shadows, until you noticed it following you.
Lavender envelops me, and I tense. My lungs can’t seem to get enough of it; they beg to breathe in more to make sure the scent is still there.
That’s when I realize only a moment of true grief can trigger the pendant. The voices kick in, but these sounds make me wonder if I want to look. I venture a peek and quickly shield my eyes again. Yup, that’s my mom and dad doing it. Apparently, the memories don’t come in order. Good to know. I really wish I could plug my ears, but I want to know when it switches.
This is way too much information.
“I love you, more than anything in the world.” Dad’s voice is surprisingly the same as it is now.
“And I love you forever,” Mom says.
As awkward as it is, I can’t help feeling sad, too. They were so happy, and she left because of me. Because of her duty to this house. She used to get this far-off look in her eyes, her smile sad and wistful. I wonder if all those times she was thinking of him.
“Mom!” My mother’s voice bursts with excitement, and I figure it’s safe to look if Nana’s there. My heart stops at the sight of her belly, so large I can’t see her feet on the other end of the living-room couch. Her breathing is ragged, and her arms glisten with sweat. “I think it’s time!”
Nana comes into view, her face much younger than I ever remember it. She hands Mom a rag. “Bite down on that; don’t want you harming your jaw when the pain really kicks in. You think the contractions hurt? Well, you’re in for it.”
“Hardly comforting, Ma.”
I snort. Ah, Nana.
She checks Mom out down there, which I’m really glad I can’t see. “She’s ready, darling. Next time you get a contraction, push like you have to pass a—”
“I know!” she yells. “We’ve gone over this for nine months!”
And then she pushes. For a long time. Mom screams and snaps at Nana anytime she tries to give direction, and I start to wonder why this ended up in the Good Memories category because it scares the crap out of me.
“One more, Carmina. You’re almost there.” Nana takes hold of a goopy lavender blob I can only assume is me. So relieved this is not in color. Baby Me lets out a wail, and Nana holds me up for Mom to see. Even through all the nasty and monochrome, my hair is jet-black. “You did it, honey, and she’s beautiful!”
Mom’s hands reach out, eager to their fingertips. “Let me hold her.”
Nana cleans me and wraps me in a blanket. Then Mom takes me in her arms. I can hear her sniffling as she says, “Hi, beautiful. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She kisses my forehead. “Oh, I wish Joseph were here to see you. He would love you as much as I do.”
She feeds me, which is kind of awkward, but I’m mesmerized by Baby Me, by how crisp this memory is, making the others seem a little hazy. Her joy is so intense I can feel it through the spell.
The scene changes, and it’s the first one I recognize. She’s in her bed, holding on to this very pendant, as I come bursting through the door in all my awkward childhood glory. My frizzy hair is worse than I remember, and I’m covered in dirt. No, those are my freckles. Mostly. I proudly hold up a massive bullfrog. “Look what I caught, Mom!”
“Wow!” she says, her voice not betraying how sick she was at this time.
“Nana said that if I found a big one it would make a stronger spell for you.” I kiss the frog. “I think this one will make you all better!”
She laughs. “I think so, too.”
I come over and give her a big kiss . . . with my frog-slime lips. “I love you, Mommy. I’m gonna give this to Nana now.”
“Come back when you’re done?”
I nod, my hair bouncing wildly with the action. “I’ll bring you a pudding!”
She laughs loudly as I skip out the door. I’d forgotten how perfect her laugh was, warm and sincere, never mocking. It filled you with sunshine, made you want to do anything to hear it again. I never thought about it, but even when she was sick, she didn’t stop being that happy person I remember.
The scene changes again, and my eyes go wide. I know this one, too—she’s in San Francisco with Stacia, when she meets Dad for the first time.
“Don’t worry, Carmina,” Stacia says. “They’re nice. Well, except Jeff, but I’ll protect you from him.”
She gives her sunshine laugh. “Thanks.”
“There they are.” One of the other girls points to a group of guys outside a café. Dad’s there, but he’s not the one I can’t stop looking at. Next to him, tall and brooding, is a boy that looks exactly like Levi.
THIRTY-SIX
Stacia grabs the Levi Guy, who I guess is Jeff, before he says even one word to Mom. She’s already so engrossed with Dad that she’s not paying attention. Everyone else goes slightly hazy, as if her memory only sees my father, but I can tell Jeff is looking at my mother. Stacia whispers something to him. He may not be drenched in shadows and evil, but his glare makes me tremble the same way the Curse did when I cleansed Dad. In my gut, I know Jeff is the guy who killed my mom, the guy who killed Stacia. And I would bet a thousand dollars that he is Levi’s dad.
Stacia and Jeff whispering is all I get before Mom and Dad walk ahead of them into the restaurant. And then we’re back to a making-out memory, which is even more motivation for me to run downstairs to find my father. The moment I’m not alone, the pendant turns off. Dad has commandeered the dusty study for his office, and there he is, talking to someone on speakerphone. He holds up a hand to stop me, clearly in the middle of work.