Fearless. Fern Michaels
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sorrow. In the beginning, it was her grief that had saved her, and now, looking back, she knew she wouldn’t have been nearly as successful had she not started her vlog on the subject. Life had a strange way of giving back, she thought. She’d seen so much death. First her father, then her mother, and, finally, her husband. Would anyone be interested in someone like her? Would they see her as some sort of bad luck, a dark omen if she were to reveal this?
She tried to clear her mind, but her thoughts kept returning to her fear of death. Everyone she’d ever loved had died. Suddenly, she felt the familiar gnawing sensation in her stomach. Her mouth went dry, and her hands started to shake. Anna felt the familiar tightness in her throat and painful stomach cramps. She tried to take a deep breath, easing it out slowly, just as she’d been taught all those years ago. In and out. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds. Focus. Laughter. Music. She took another deep breath.
Voices. Glass breaking. Seagulls. The ship’s engines.
Opening her eyes once again, she had calmed down. She returned to the kitchen, took a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and gulped down the entire bottle. She closed her eyes and went to her happy place, a technique she’d learned when she was in therapy. It had been so long since she’d had an attack. Why now? If she had to speculate, she blamed the person who had been stalking her. Now that she was on her own, with no one covering her back, she felt vulnerable.
She should have gone to Orlando with the girls. If she did that now, then she would most likely ruin Christina’s vacation since she adored being alone with Mandy. At this precise moment, she couldn’t care less about her own trip.
Just thinking about why she had panic attacks caused her heart rate to triple and her palms to go damp. “No!” she shouted. “Christina is fine!
“I am not going through this shit again.”
The physical act of talking calmed her down. She didn’t care if anyone was outside her door listening. And who would be, anyway? George? The captain? No, she was letting her thoughts drive her back into that dark place.
She’d spent too much time in therapy to have it all go down the drain over her first vacation alone. All the skills were within her; she hadn’t forgotten them. What she had forgotten, though, was that she might need to use them again.
Calm down, she told herself.
In the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, alone, knowing no one, as much as she didn’t want to, she went to the bathroom, opened her cosmetic case, and took out the bottle of pills she had brought with her. They were always with her. A security blanket of sorts. Yes, she’d dipped into the amber bottle a few times when she really needed them, but if ever there was an appropriate time, it was now. Before she could change her mind, she swallowed the yellow pill. Hating herself for being weak, she knew that if she was going to get through this evening, she didn’t have much of a choice.
Xanax. Her dirty little secret. Not even Mandy knew of the stash she kept in that little bottle. Christina had found it once when she’d asked for some cash, and Anna told her to look in her purse. Her daughter asked her what the medication was for, and she’d lied to her, telling her it was for cramps. She felt horrible for lying to her daughter, but she couldn’t tell her daughter about her hang-up.
If she did, who knew what kind of harm it might cause her? She was thirteen and vulnerable. She didn’t know her like this, the old Anna. The Anna that for years had lived in constant fear of losing her daughter because she blamed herself for her family’s dying and feared it could happen to her child. And the current Anna, who had been looking over her shoulder for weeks. The phone calls. The letters. The e-mails. The constant feeling of being watched. She didn’t want Christina to learn about this side of her.
How quickly she’d reverted back to her old ways, believing she was a jinx because all of her loved ones had died. She knew it sounded insane, but she had felt that way, and been forced to deal with it. When she started therapy, she’d learned there was no way she could have caused their deaths. In time, she was able to put the bad thoughts away and focus on Christina and her own career. She’d never been away from Christina for more than two or three days at a time. The separations were always work-related, and she had managed just fine.
Until now. She was allowing her thoughts to get the best of her.
Being out here in the middle of nowhere, away from her daughter, her work, and all things familiar, had caused her to panic. She was out of her comfort zone, out of control. This, and the crazy jinx she believed herself to have.
Fifteen minutes later, the Xanax started to take effect, more so than normal as she’d had those two glasses of champagne.
She knew better. She wasn’t thinking clearly. Knowing she was in no shape to mingle, or do anything else, Anna gave in to the alcohol and the effects of the anti-anxiety medication.
Chapter 3
Anna woke to the sound of a symphony. At first, she thought they’d gathered outside her door, performing solely for her. Lying flat on her back, it took a few seconds before she remembered where she was.
The cruise ship.
She opened one eye, then the other. Sunlight attacked her eyes. Quickly closing them, she moaned as she recalled the events of the night before. She’d had only two glasses of champagne. And a Xanax. Shit, she’d mixed an anti-anxiety drug with alcohol. A definite no-no. With her eyes closed, she inched her way upright into a reclining position, slowly, so as not to encourage her brain or her stomach to react to her stupidity.
Carefully, she opened her eyes again, and this time, the sunlight streaming in wasn’t so harsh. She realized that the symphony she thought was playing outside her door was in her head. A soft tempo pulsed against her temples. Knowing it wasn’t going to go away on its own, she forced herself out of the bed and into the bathroom. Part of her wanted to heave the vestiges of last night’s stupidity, but another part couldn’t deal with the idea of hanging her head down in order to accomplish the deed. What she considered the sane part of her reached inside the shower. Adjusting the temperature to icy cold, she stripped out of the heavy robe, amazed that she’d actually slept in something so bulky. Of course, she was still in the robe because she had passed out. And without overthinking the situation, she forced herself to stand beneath the icy jets of water.
Lucky for her, there was a seat built into the shower. She directed the waterfall toward her face, then sat down, letting the cool water wash away her brain fog. When she felt stable, she stood, adjusted the temperature to hot, and washed with the Guerlain body wash, and shampooed her hair with shampoo that smelled like orange blossoms. She quite liked it, and squinted to see the brand. Maybe they’d have it available for purchase. She would ask George.
George.
Rinsing the shampoo from her hair, she grabbed a thick towel and wrapped it around her hair and another around herself. On the marble counter, there was a toothbrush and toothpaste, not hers. But it would do until she unpacked. She looked at her image in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. She really felt awful, but knew she’d feel better as soon as she had a cup of coffee and downed a couple of Advil. She’d never been much of a drinker, but there were quite a few times she remembered having more than two glasses of champagne. And she had never felt this crappy the next day. It had to be the Xanax on top of the bubbly. Anna was positive she’d never mixed the two before, and there was no way she would ever mix them again. Lesson learned.
She made a cup of coffee, thankful for the upscale espresso machine. As soon as the last drop filled the small white china cup, she brought it to her lips, inhaled the heady aroma, and took a sip of the rich, dark brew. “This is heaven,” she said aloud just to hear some sound in the room. Standing in the compact kitchen with nothing but the taste of premium coffee and her thoughts, she remembered she had told George that she would attend the welcome dinner. Had he sneaked into her room and seen her sprawled across the bed, passed out? She hoped not, but it was his job to tend to her. He probably thought she was an old drunk, looking for a man. She’d certainly understand if that was what he thought. She brewed a second cup of coffee