Fortune. Erica Spindler
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more. “He wanted you, Skye. I promise you that. But we can talk about this later. You need to rest—”
“No! Mom, I want to talk about it now. Please.” Skye squeezed her mother’s fingers. “If he really wanted me, where is he? What happened to him?”
“What happened to him?” her mother repeated, her voice sounding high and tight. She freed her hand, stood and took a step backward, toward the door. “I told you before. He’s dead.”
“Yes, but…how? What happened?”
“It was an accident.” Her mother reached the door. “I’ve told you that before, too.”
“What kind of accident was it? A car crash? A fire?” Skye lifted herself to an elbow and gazed pleadingly at her mother. She saw her mother’s hesitation, her wavering, and pressed her further. “Where did it happen? Was I there? Were you?”
For a moment her mother said nothing, then she cleared her throat. “It was very ugly. I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe someday.”
Her mother was lying to her, hiding something. But what? And why? A lump in her throat, Skye shifted her gaze to her sketch tablet and the curvy “M.”
Why wouldn’t her mother trust her with the truth? What could be so ugly that her mother…
“Did someone kill him?” she asked, eyes widening. “Is that it? Was he…murdered?”
Her mother made a sound, squeaky and high. She shifted her gaze, as with guilt, and Skye’s heart began to pound. “Was it the mob? Is the mob after us, too?”
“Don’t be silly.” Claire smiled stiffly. “It was an accident and nothing—”
“That’s why we’re always moving, isn’t it?” Excited, Skye sat up and pushed her hair away from her face. “Just like in the movies, we’re on the run from the mob!”
“That’s enough, Skye!” her mother’s voice rose. “I don’t want to hear any more of this ridiculous talk. Do you hear me? No more.”
Tears flooded Skye’s eyes, and she flopped back to the mattress, rolling onto her side and turning her back to her mother. “Forget it. Just go away. After all, I need my rest.”
Claire sighed. “Your father wasn’t a nice man, honey. And his family…” Her words faltered, and she drew what sounded to Skye like a careful breath. “I’ll only say that I’m glad they’re out of our lives forever. That’s why I don’t like to talk about them.”
Heart pounding, Skye turned and looked at her mother. “What do you mean, he wasn’t…nice? Did he, you know…did he hit you?”
Her mother hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Oh.” Skye caught her bottom lip between her teeth, the pressure in her head almost unbearable. “Did he…hit me?”
“No. But—” She bent and cupped Skye’s face in her palms. “When we were with him, I was afraid for you.”
Skye swallowed hard. “Is that why you won’t even tell me where I was born?”
“Yes. I—” Claire sighed again and bent her forehead to Skye’s. “Trust me, sweetheart. When you’re older, I’ll tell you more.”
“Promise?”
She nodded, then smiled. “Our soup’s probably boiled over by now. I’d better check it.”
Skye caught her mother’s hand. “Mom? Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to have…you know, a real family? To live in one place and not…”
Her words trailed off at the sadness in her mother’s eyes.
“Yes,” Claire answered softly. “Sometimes I wish that with all my heart. This isn’t the life I wanted for you. It’s not the way I wanted you to grow up.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t have—”
Her throat closed over the words, and she cleared it. “I didn’t have that growing up and I always thought how nice it would be.”
Her mother had been an orphan. Skye couldn’t imagine that. She couldn’t imagine not having her mother. She would die without her. Feeling guilty for having brought up the subject, she hugged her. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry I bugged you about…you know.”
“Yes, I know.” Her mother stroked her hair again. “Sometimes the truth hurts, baby. Sometimes it’s better not to know the truth.”
Skye tipped her head back and met her mother’s eyes. Something in them, something dark and terrifying, made her tremble. “What is it, Mom? What do you see?”
Her mother pressed her lips to her forehead. “It’s only the past. And the past can’t hurt us as long as we make it stay there. Will you help me?”
Skye nodded, suddenly afraid. Of being alone. Of the past and the future. She clutched her mother. “Don’t ever leave me. I don’t know what I’d—”
“Shh.” Claire kissed her again. “Silly baby. I would never leave you. You’re my whole life. Didn’t you know that?”
Skye relaxed and smiled, remembering a game they had played when she was little—when she had still believed in monsters and bogeymen and things that breathed heavily in the dark.
Every night before bed, she had asked her mother the same thing: Would you fight the monsters for me? And every night her mother had searched out and destroyed the evil things for her. Only then had Skye been able to sleep. Only then had her nightmares retreated.
She tipped her face up to her mother’s and smiled, still remembering. “Would you fight the monsters for me?”
“The biggest and the badest. Always.” Claire smiled softly. “I love you, sweetheart.”
Skye hugged her tighter, nesting her head against her chest, though she knew she was too old to do so. Suddenly, miraculously, her head didn’t hurt. “I love you, too, Mom. More than anything.”
Chapter Seven
Claire closed the bedroom door behind her, then leaned against it, her knees weak. She brought a trembling hand to her mouth, shaken, relieved. Afraid.
How long could she continue to keep the past a secret from Skye? How long before her daughter simply demanded to know everything? Today, Skye’s wild imaginings had touched uncomfortably, even dangerously, close to the truth.
Claire shut her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. There would come a time when she would no longer be able to put off her daughter with transparent evasions and vague promises. Today had proved that time was almost here.
She shook her head, shuddering. Monsters. What Skye didn’t know, what she must never know, was that her mother had already faced and fought the monsters for her, that she had looked squarely into the eyes of evil and had seen the future. Skye’s future. Her own.
And she had run. As fast and as far as she had been able.
But not far enough to stop her daughter’s curiosity, her questions. Not far enough to be finally free of fear.
Claire pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She was tormented by nightmares of huge, dark and distorted birds stalking her daughter. Some nights she awakened bathed in a sweat, heart thundering, certain she would find Pierce standing above her. Or worse, that she would awaken to find that he and Adam had swept Skye away while she slept.
For Adam was very much alive.
And he was searching for them. Still, after seven years, he hadn’t given up.
He wouldn’t, Claire knew. Not ever.
Claire dropped her hands and pushed away from the door, heading back to the trailer’s kitchenette and the