Oh, hell. During that last fight, I’d been angry enough to tell her to go to a clairvoyant and look at the past, to see for herself what had actually happened. It had been a cruel jab and I hadn’t actually expected her to do it. There were things she hadn’t known about that were beyond hurtful. “Gran, stop. You can’t beat yourself up over this. You were always there for us. You made sure we got by. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I should’ve known. You tried to tell me. I should’ve listened to you.”
I stopped, thinking hard. She was right—she should have known, and I had tried to tell her. But she hadn’t believed me, hadn’t been willing to believe that her daughter could sink so low. Still, saying that would only hurt her more. She didn’t need more hurt, didn’t deserve it. I didn’t want her to spend the rest of her life racked with guilt, thinking “what-if?” I wanted her happy and whole. In that moment, it was very important that I say just the right thing.
If only I knew what it was.
Then something occurred to me, something she had said to me not that long ago. “Gran, do you remember the night after you sold me your house? Do you remember what you said to me when we were sitting on the porch drinking margaritas?”
She blotted tears from her eyes with the wadded-up handkerchief in her hands and, though she didn’t say anything, I thought I saw a small nod. So I continued, “You told me that ‘people aren’t perfect. You have to forgive them. And you need to forgive yourself.’ Well, I forgive you. And you need to forgive yourself. We can’t undo the past, and I don’t want what happened to ruin our future.”
“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.
“You have to try. Please, for me?”
I waited for a long moment until finally I saw her nod.
8
Gwen had blocked out enough time for a double session, figuring that we would need time after the family therapy conference to go over anything I needed help dealing with. Even though family therapy had been a bust, we needed the time anyway.
There was a lot to discuss. We talked about my mother a little, but not for long. I’d hashed out those issues again and again over the years. I’d made peace with my decision to cut my mother from my life until she became less toxic. I love my mom. I can’t seem to stop. But I’ve decided I don’t have to participate in her drama, don’t have to accept the blame she keeps shoving in my direction. And I won’t. So while her histrionics were upsetting and made me frustrated and angry, they weren’t the huge problem they could have been.
No, my big worry was the problem with my gran. She was in so much pain. For good or for ill, she loved my mother with her whole heart—sometimes to the exclusion of her whole mind. Again and again over the years, Gran had done stupid things that had enabled my mom’s bad behaviors. But she’d done those things for the right reasons, truly believing Mom was a better person than she actually was. I felt bad, knowing how much it must have hurt Gran to have that illusion shattered. I told Gwen that I wished I hadn’t suggested she see a psychic to find out the truth.
“But you did. Why?”
“Because I was tired of being the bad guy. It was always my fault. I was always the problem.”
Gwen nodded. “And now you’re not.”
“But I hurt her.”
“No. The truth hurt her.”
“But I’m the one who forced her to see it.”
“No. That was her choice. She could have ignored your suggestion. Instead, she found a psychic and had that person show her the truth. Now that she has that knowledge, she can make informed choices. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
Gwen was right. The Bible says that the truth will set you free. I’m not sure I agree, but I hoped that in this case it would lead to much more honest relationships among the three of us in the future. But oh, getting through the present was going to be hard.
By the time I left Gwen’s office, I was better, though I still felt like I’d been put through the wringer. Intellectually, I knew that we’d made huge progress, but I was emotionally shaky. That always brought the vampire in me closer to the surface. So before I did anything else, I made sure to drink a nutrition shake and chow down on some baby food. I wasn’t hungry, but I ate anyway, and was rewarded by feeling the beast settle back down.
I stuffed the trash into the garbage sack I keep on the passenger-side floorboards and tried to think of what I wanted to do with the rest of my day. I wasn’t due to see Dawna for hours yet. I really didn’t feel up to looking at office space again, but I wasn’t ready to go home either. Bruno was at work at the university and probably way too busy for me to stop by.
So I locked the doors, cranked up the air conditioner and the stereo, and went for a drive along Oceanview. I wished I could have the top down, but that would have to wait until the sun set. For now, it was enough to just drive. Eventually, I even felt up to singing along with the stereo. I’m not in the least bit musical. But nobody was there to hear me, so I sang my heart out.
I should have been paying attention, but my mind was elsewhere. I didn’t notice the vehicles boxing me in until it was too late.
My doors were locked, but my Miata is a ragtop convertible, and while I have reinforcing spells in place, it’d been awhile since I renewed them. Stupid and careless. Not my usual style, but everyone makes mistakes. I just had to hope this one didn’t cost me my life.
I hit the button to make a cell phone call as the car beside me started moving into my lane, trying to force me off the road. No signal. The tow truck in front of me was slowing, the SUV behind tailgating. All I needed was a tiny opening for the Miata to get through, but they weren’t giving me anything. I tried using my psychic ability to reach out to Bruno—to anyone—for help. Amped up by the ring Adriana had given me, that should have worked. Instead, my thoughts rammed into a barrier as smooth and white as an eggshell but hard as titanium. The effort of trying to break through gave me an instant intense headache that brought tears to my eyes. Water streamed, unheeded, down my cheeks as I tried to come up with some plan for escape.
Oceanview is a beautiful stretch of road, but it is not an easy drive. It twists and turns, and there are many areas where the drop-off is steep and rocky. Lots of folks have died going off this road—I didn’t want to be one of them. The thing was, every one of the surrounding vehicles was bigger and more powerful than my little roadster. They could’ve crushed me, or sent me off one of the cliffs easily enough. But they didn’t. They were just very deliberately forcing me to stop on the shoulder.
That was pretty damned scary, because I knew full well that there are worse things than dying—maybe not as permanent but definitely worse.
I pulled onto the shoulder and stopped, putting the car in neutral but leaving the engine running. I got my gun out and laid it in my lap, then set a couple of spell disks on the dashboard as backup.
I was about to be attacked by three men. I grabbed my phone, again trying to dial 911, but the signal was still blocked. But hey, my cell has a really good camera. So I snapped quick shots of the three of them and the license plates of their vehicles, then shoved the phone under my seat.
Ready as I would ever be, I waited. The two who went to the passenger side of my car had the look of hired muscle: big, brawny, with attitude and prison tats. One was black, the other white, but other than that they were interchangeable, both wearing jeans and battered band T-shirts that had seen better days. The white guy held a classic Louisville Slugger in his left hand, its tip resting gently against the rough gravel of the road’s shoulder.