I Dream of Twila Read online

  I laughed. “Is that how it works? You only have so much room in your head? I can see that being the case. There are days when I feel as if I don’t have enough room for one more thing. That if someone even opens his or her mouth to say something to me I might fall over from too much information rattling around in there.”

  The sound of raucous snickers assailed my ears from the other side of the kitchen door, and when I glanced over my shoulder I saw several shadows moving in the crack between the floor and the bottom of the door. That meant Aunt Tillie was eavesdropping with Clove and Bay. I wasn’t surprised, but I had no idea what she hoped to accomplish by doing … whatever it was she was doing. Seriously, what does that evil woman have planned for the rest of the day? It can’t be good.

  “It’s not that I have only so much room in my head as much as it is that thousands of things are projected in my direction every second of my life and I can’t absorb everything that’s out there.” Cherry was solemn. She either didn’t notice the people laughing in the next room or didn’t care. I wasn’t sure which option I preferred.

  “I have special exercises I do every day so I’m strong enough to keep the voices out,” Cherry continued, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Thistle was murdering her with hateful stares every time she crossed behind the couch and three other people were giggling about twenty feet away, the only thing separating us a thin door and my ability to pretend I don’t hear things. “I make mistakes, of course, but when I drop my barriers I get inundated with visions and whispers. It’s an … uncomfortable gift.”

  “I know someone who can talk to ghosts,” Thistle announced, taking me by surprise with her fortitude. “She can see them, too. People say that’s the most uncomfortable gift.”

  “Those would be people who don’t understand my gift,” Cherry countered. “It’s only my sheer force of will and the strength in my heart that allow me to stand upright and move forward daily.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing at Cherry’s earnest expression. Even I couldn’t fall for that one. Still, I mustered a bit of faux sympathy. “That must be quite terrible for you.”

  “It is.” Cherry’s expression was almost comical. I was glad I invited her into the house for the laughs alone.

  Thistle, however, clearly felt differently. “You managed to read Bay’s hand last night and tell her bad things, but you couldn’t see that the people you were staying with were going to steal your stuff and leave you in the middle of the night. Your magical psychic powers didn’t tell you that was going to happen, huh? What good is your magic if it’s so lame?”

  “Thistle!” I leaned forward, horrified. “You have better manners than that.”

  “I really don’t,” Thistle said dryly.

  “I’ve taught you better manners than that,” I clarified. “Don’t be a … whatever it is you’re being.”

  Thistle narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, what I’m sure was a right saucy comeback on the tip of her tongue. Instead she darted her eyes toward the kitchen door for a beat and then heaved a sigh. “You’re right. I’m being mean. I’m sorry for being rude, Ms. Brucker.”

  The apology stunned me. Cherry either fell for it or decided it wasn’t worth fighting about.

  “Don’t worry about it, dear.” Cherry waved off the apology. “I find the whims of children delightful. I’d never change them for anything. They’re refreshing … and honest. Plus, well, their minds aren’t fully developed, so I don’t have to work as hard to construct strong mental barriers when they’re around.”

  Thistle wrinkled her nose as she ran what Cherry said through her mind. “Wait a second … .”

  I hopped to my feet in an effort to cut off what I was sure would be a screeching diatribe. “It doesn’t matter, Thistle. In fact, why don’t you go into the kitchen and help your great-aunt and cousins do … whatever it is they’re doing.”

  “They’re … cleaning the cupboards,” Thistle said, averting her eyes when I scorched her with a disbelieving look.

  “Really? Aunt Tillie, Bay and Clove are cleaning the cupboards? On a Saturday?”

  “That could totally happen.” Thistle maintained the premise even though she clearly didn’t believe it.

  “Aunt Tillie will punish you for that pathetic lie,” I offered, smirking as Thistle grimaced.

  “Aunt Tillie has her mind on other things,” Thistle advised, her eyes briefly landing on Cherry before flicking back to me. “She’ll be fine with my lapse.”

  “Whatever.” I didn’t have time to deal with obnoxious kids when we had a houseguest. “I need you girls to go up to Marnie’s room and make sure everything is clean so Cherry has a comfortable place to sleep tonight.”

  Thistle balked at the order. “She’s spending the night?”

  “She is.”

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Thistle didn’t bother apologizing to Cherry this time. She clearly didn’t care that the woman might find her rude. Thistle was rude … and often on purpose. That was probably never going to change. She didn’t get that particular trait from me, of course. Aunt Tillie taught her that … and it was one of my least favorite things about her.

  “I think that Cherry has been lovely to spend the afternoon with, but you’re being an obnoxious brat,” I replied. “You know better than treating company like this. Really, Thistle, what has gotten into you?”

  I thought Thistle would show grace under pressure and offer another lame apology. Instead she merely shook her head. “Someone was in our house last night, and you invited this woman to stay here even though it was probably her. If you expect me to like that … well … then you’re as crazy as she is.”

  I strode forward and grabbed Thistle’s elbow, mortified. “You take that back, young lady,” I hissed, lowering my voice. “That was a terrible thing to say.”

  “I won’t take it back.” Thistle moved to yank her arm from me but my grip was too tight. “I’m not sorry. Something could have happened to Sugar. He could’ve died or … got lost … or been taken.”

  “He wandered outside.” I tugged on my limited patience and reminded myself that the missing dog had upset all the girls. Thistle was clearly still coming to grips with that panic. The dog was a family member to the girls. They would’ve been brokenhearted had something happened to him. “No one hurt Sugar.”

  “And we’re going to make sure that he’s not hurt,” Thistle pressed. “He’s a dog. He’s a good dog, but he’s friendly to everyone. Someone walked in the house last night and locked Sugar in the shed. What if we hadn’t heard him? What if we’d never thought to look for him there? He could’ve starved or died without water or something.”

  “I think you’re being a bit dramatic,” I argued. “The dog is clearly fine. No one was in the house. I checked the house while you girls were gone. No one was in here, and nothing is missing. Honestly, I checked.”

  Thistle wasn’t ready to let it go. “If no one was inside, how did Sugar get outside?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Maybe we didn’t latch the door properly when we came in last night. Everyone was excitable – Bay was in a bad mood and you girls were trying to perk her up. We could’ve easily forgotten to latch the door properly.”

  “We came in through the front door last night,” Thistle pointed out. “We locked the back door after dinner. In fact, we checked on the back door before we went for our walk because Clove said she saw someone outside and we didn’t want to leave the house unlocked.”

  Crap. She had a point. I’d forgotten all about that. “Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” I hedged, racking my brain for something that would explain the open door. “Sugar is very smart. Maybe we didn’t latch the door as well as we thought and Sugar somehow opened it and let himself out. Did you consider that?”

  Thistle shot me a “well, duh” look and rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Sugar has never opened doors before. Why would he get out of bed? He was sleeping with
Bay. You know how he is. He doesn’t usually get up until Aunt Tillie gets up. Then she lets him outside and drinks coffee with him on the front porch. He was already up and gone when Aunt Tillie got up.”

  “Listen, I know you’re upset but … .”

  “I’m not upset, but I’m not stupid either,” Thistle countered, holding up her hands to stop me from yelling. “Someone was here and opened the back door. That’s how Sugar got out. That’s how Sugar got locked in the shed. You don’t have to believe it. I believe it.”

  “Thistle, you’re being rude,” I said. “How many times have I told you about being rude?”

  “Obviously not enough,” Thistle muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “It’s perfectly okay,” Cherry interjected, offering me a friendly smile. “The girl is upset. She loves her dog. She has a right to be upset.”

  “Yes, well … she still knows better than talking to adults that way.”

  “It’s fine.” Cherry struggled to a standing position, draining her iced tea before leaving the glass on the table and focusing on me. “I will clean up the room I’m staying in myself, if that’s okay. I want to rest for a little bit before dinner.”

  That seemed odd given the fact that Cherry had supposedly been drugged and spent the better part of the morning passed out, but I didn’t see any reason to argue. “Oh, well, sure. It’s up the stairs … the third door on the right.”

  “Great.” Cherry beamed as she moved in that direction. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped and stared. “Um … do you know what happened to my bag?”

  “No. I … .” Crap. Something occurred to me and swiveled to glare at Thistle, who was already moving toward the kitchen with a clear purpose. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Thistle didn’t answer, instead disappearing through the door and leaving me with a perplexed houseguest.

  Oh, well, this weekend clearly wasn’t going how I envisioned.

  Seven

  “ W ait right here.”

  My legs were surprisingly unsteady as I lurched in the direction of the kitchen. What seemed to be harmless eavesdropping with the potential for future mayhem had quickly swung toward the dark end of the spectrum.

  “I don’t understand.” Cherry sounded more confused than suspicious. “I swear I dropped the bag right here when I came in. Where would it go?”

  That was a very good question. Of course, I already knew the answer. “I’m sure it was simply moved by accident. I’ll find it.” I pushed through the swinging door separating the kitchen from the rest of the house, frowning when I saw four figures scurrying toward the door to the back porch. They didn’t even bother glancing in my direction. I didn’t blame them. I was about to lay down the law.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I meant for the question to come out in a booming voice. Instead I merely sounded weary.

  “We’re not doing anything,” Clove answered, spinning fast enough that her hair flew out in an arc and caught on her lip. “In fact, I’m really sad that you would dare ask us something like that when we’re clearly going through a traumatic ordeal.”

  Oh, what a load of crap. All of the girls have specific abilities, but Clove can flip the martyr switch without taking time for a long breath. She can also muster tears out of thin air, which she did now.

  “I feel sick to my stomach because you’d accuse us of doing something bad,” Clove added. “In fact … I’m starting to feel weak because your love gives me strength. I just … it’s awful.”

  Clove let loose a blubbering sigh and turned her head so she could bury it in Bay’s shoulder. I had to give her credit for a masterful performance. Anyone who didn’t know her would think she was genuinely upset.

  I was not most people.

  “Cut the crap, Clove,” I ordered, annoyance bubbling up when her tear-free face popped up from Bay’s shoulder. “I know for a fact that you’re not sitting here mourning my lack of faith in you. I don’t have time to deal with your crap.”

  If Clove is the master of martyrdom, Thistle is the master of turning a situation around and going on the offensive. She learned the technique from Aunt Tillie and refined it a bit to fit her age. It was fairly impressive. That’s the tack she took now.

  “You don’t have time for our crap?” Thistle arched a dubious eyebrow. “Have you ever considered that we don’t have time for your crap? No? Oh, I can tell by the look on your face that the answer is no. Well, let me tell you something, Mom. We’re so very tired of your crap that we can’t stand it.

  “You let a stranger in our house after it was broken into and our dog went missing,” she continued, her voice gaining strength with each charge. “That woman is bad news, and you just let her in our house. Shame on you!”

  I stared at Thistle a moment, the feeling coursing through me hard to define. On one hand I was proud that she could spout that nonsense without cracking a smile. On the other I was completely terrified. She wasn’t even thirteen yet (close, but not quite) and the fact that her evil little mind could work that fast was terrifying. Seriously, what will she be like at sixteen? At twenty? Ugh, I wonder if her powers of persuasion will grow as she ages, like Aunt Tillie. That would be a good swift kick in the … .

  Wait, what were we talking about again?

  “I don’t have time to play this game with you, Thistle,” I snapped. “On my list of things to do this weekend, watching you practice your Aunt Tillie impression is fairly low.”

  “And what’s on your list?” Bay challenged, taking her turn to argue. I was mildly curious about how she’d choose to attack. She has a penchant for watching a situation and picking the exact right way to ensure she wins. She gets that from Aunt Tillie, too, but she’s somehow stronger and more thoughtful when she does it. I don’t know how to explain it.

  “Well, for starters, I have to put together a grocery list for the week,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. I was just as ready to argue with her as she was with me. “You know how important shopping is around here.”

  Bay rolled her eyes. “You guys buy the same stuff every week. Why not just use the list from last week, switch things around and add chicken instead of beef or something? That way Mom and Marnie will think that you did all the work, but it will only take you five minutes.”

  My mouth dropped open at the suggestion. I wanted to be offended, but it was actually a good idea. “Well, I didn’t think about that. Thanks for the idea. That’s hardly the only thing I’m focusing on right now, though. In fact … .” I tilted my head so I could see around the island and grabbed Cherry’s open satchel from the floor. “What are you doing with this?”

  Instead of answering, Aunt Tillie pasted an innocent expression on her face. “Why would you possibly think we have anything to do with that bag? That’s an ugly bag.”

  “Totally,” Clove agreed. “It’s brown. You know how we feel about brown bags.”

  I honestly had no idea how any of them felt about brown bags. Personally, I preferred a little color when it comes to clothes and bags, but that’s neither here nor there. The color of the bag had absolutely nothing to do with the question.

  “Why is that bag in here?” I asked, my voice firm. “Why are you going through Cherry’s things?”

  Now it was Aunt Tillie’s turn to change tactics, which she did in a manner that surprised even me … and I thought forty years with the woman had shown me everything she had to offer.

  “We believe she’s a threat to the family, and we’re banding together to fight the threat,” Aunt Tillie replied, not missing a beat. “As for that bag, we were going through it to see if she had anything interesting.”

  I lifted the bag off the floor and kept my gaze focused on Aunt Tillie. “And did you find anything?”

  “Not really, but there is a weird box of herbs in there that I’m pretty sure is black magic.”

  I didn’t realize that Cherry had followed me into the kitchen until I heard her feet s
huffling against the linoleum. I glanced over my shoulder, forced a bright smile, and held up her bag. “Good news! Someone accidentally carried your bag in here. I found it, and everything is accounted for.”

  I handed the bag to Cherry with what I hoped was a winning smile. “It’s all there.” I risked a brief glance at Aunt Tillie for confirmation. “Right?”

  Aunt Tillie nodded without hesitation. “Mostly.”

  I scowled and held out my hand. “What did you take?”

  Aunt Tillie found something on the wall to focus on. “Nothing of consequence.”

  “It’s probably the rose petals,” Cherry suggested. “She mentioned herbs, but I don’t have herbs in my purse. I have a tin with rose petals because I like to scatter them across a pillow before I sleep.

  “You see, I sleep in different places quite often, and it’s hard not having my own bed,” she continued. “By scattering a few rose petals everything smells the same and it feels familiar. It’s the closest thing to having my own bed. That’s what’s in the tin.”

  “Oh, that’s what is in the tin, huh?” I knew I shouldn’t allow my inner smugness out to play, but I couldn’t stop myself when I saw the disappointed look on Aunt Tillie’s face. “Well, that sounds like a lovely tradition. Doesn’t it, Aunt Tillie?”

  Aunt Tillie was never one to admit defeat, and apparently being caught in the act wasn’t about to change that. “I still think she’s most likely evil.”

  “Of course you do.”

  DINNER WAS A dour affair.

  I roasted chicken and vegetables so meal preparation would be easy. Cherry was friendly and chatty – something that threatened to drive Aunt Tillie round the broomstick bend because she kept trying to catch her in lies.

  Aunt Tillie started with friendly questions. What is it like to travel with the renaissance festival? Where did you grow up? Do you like performing for strangers?

  I was mildly impressed with the way she controlled herself under the inquisition, but the poise didn’t last very long because Aunt Tillie started asking more … um, intricate … questions.