Chapter Seven

I sauntered through the department store, petting rows of scarves and bracelets. Women in designer suits and painted faces helped other women carry clothes to the dressing rooms or brought them an espresso. Twice I had been approached, but I waved them off. I didn’t want to be pampered. I wanted to be left alone to achieve my mission.

A turquoise scarf with yellow daisies laid folded on a table. Without continuing to eye it, I tucked it neatly into the designer purse I had selected a few racks back. Of course, I had the money to buy both the scarf and the bag, but after feeling dead for days, stealing pumped adrenaline into my veins. My senses jolted alive, and for the moment, I could breathe again. I fingered a silver cuff and folded it back into the leather pocket.

Passing the cosmetic counter, I lifted a sample perfume and powder. Without pausing, I stepped through the doorway, and an alarm sounded above. I did not halt. Instead, I rushed faster toward my car. A new state law prevented the store employees from following customers into the parking lot.

As soon as I left the store, freedom followed me. Some stupid government official totally ruled in my favor. I often marveled at how absurd our society had become, with rules in favor of the criminal. Brilliant. But in this minute, I praised their stupidity. I sprang into my car and drove down the street, entering traffic, super proud of what I had just accomplished.

On the corner, a haggard woman, probably in her late forties, panhandled in ripped sweats and a stained T-shirt. Her matted hair was partially covered by a blue beanie. In her hand, she held a cardboard sign that read, Will eat for food.

The sign amused me, which little did these days. I reached in my purse, lifted out a perfume and the scarf, and handed them out. “Have a lovely day.”

“Thank you,” she said.

The light turned green, and I hit the gas and floored it through the intersection. Fifteen minutes later, I parked in the circular driveway and shut off the car. The engine ticked in the cool autumn air. From the driver’s seat, I leaned my head sideways to stare up at the two-story mansion. The curved adobe front with rust-colored clay tiles—my mom’s favorite attribute—now only brought sadness. Having been born in Spain, Mom said the Spanish architecture made her feel at home. But it wasn’t her home anymore, was it? And it didn’t feel like mine, either.

I slid out of the car, slammed the door, and strolled up the front steps. A soft breeze blew through the air, sending dried leaves skittering across the steps behind me. For a moment, I waited in front of the carved wooden doors, not wanting to go in. Though exciting for the moment, shoplifting had not released the pain deep inside. I did not want to stay here. I would change and go out to party. After a few drinks, all memories would be obliterated. This place, the women who defiled it, the absence of my father, the loss of my mother, and the constant loneliness—all of it. Poof! Gone at the bottom of an empty glass.

I turned the knob, opened the door, and cringed. Tweedledee and Tweedledumb bounded down the stairway, straight for me, with obnoxiously huge grins.

“Oh, good, you’re home.” Charlotte giggled and clapped her hands. “We’ve been waiting for you to get here. Mom has been trying to get a hold of you.”

“Yeah, what’s new?” I pushed past them. The girls trailed me up the stairs nipping at my heels. So insufferable. Go away!

“You really should answer your cell phone, Cindy. I think it’s bad. You should talk to her,” Gabby said.

I stopped and exhaled loudly to make sure they grasped my frustration. “Look, I don’t care about your mom. I don’t care about you. I barely care about myself. I just want to be left alone. So, please, for the love of all chocolate, Hollywood, and social media, leave me be.” I turned back and finished my trek to my room, this time unaccompanied.

Inside, I dropped face-first to my comforter and closed my eyes. My body relaxed. I’d about dozed off, when I heard my bedroom door creak open.

“Cindy,” came Meredith’s distinct smooth voice.

I gave a slight snore, pretending to be asleep.

“I know you’re awake.” Her voice came from the side of my bed. “The police just called. They said you were shoplifting at Darren’s this afternoon.”

I peeked out one lid, then pushed my back against the headboard. “How do they know it was me?”

“You’ve been in magazines before. It’s not like you’re an unknown.”

I shrugged. “So? Dad will make it disappear. He always does.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but you can’t keep living like this. You’re hurting your dad.” She let out a deep sigh. “Which means you are hurting all of us.”

“Us?” I sneered. A lecture from this woman hurt worse than pouring rubbing alcohol on an open wound. “You’re not my mother, Meredith.”

“No, you’re right. I’m not. Because if I were, I would severely punish you for the rest of your life. Your dad is way too soft.”

I stared at her sullen expression. What happened to all the sunshine and roses? Meredith pretended to be so sweet, but deep down I knew all along—the true her. If she kept it up, I would finally have the proof I needed—the evil stepmother.

“I have a message from your father,” she said.

Since when did Dad relay messages through her to me?

“Your father said his threat is real, and he will implement it when he returns. He said, you’d know what that meant.”

I smiled a tight, sarcastic grin. “Great. Can’t wait. Thanks.”

Meredith gaped for a moment.

I detected no anger in her eyes, only pain. But I could not let myself care about this woman. Not for a second. I would not allow myself, under any circumstances, to start feeling anything for her. Not even if my actions caused her discomfort. The mysterious “they” could call me cold and heartless; I didn’t care. It was the way it was. It needed to stay that way. “Is that all?” I snapped.

“You know, Cindy. I never wanted to replace your mom. I only ever wanted to be your friend,” she said, her tone softer.

“Haven’t you noticed, Meredith? I don’t have friends.” I slithered back down under the comforter and rolled away.

“That’s a sad way to live,” Meredith whispered.

“Maybe so, but it’s my life.” After a long pause, I wondered if she had left. I flipped over and saw she still waited, hands folded, waiting for something. “What?” I asked, annoyed.

“I know you have no desire to help me,” she said, “but could you please help do something nice for your father? I would like some pictures for the birthday slideshow.”

Exhaustion assaulted every muscle in my body. I could not fight this anymore. Obviously, this woman would not go away unless I gave her what she wanted. I pivoted slightly onto my back and pointed down over the side of the mattress. “Round box under my bed.”

She knelt onto the floor, lifted the comforter slightly, and withdrew the flowered box.

The sight of her holding my mother’s memories hurt my heart, but I could not battle any longer. It didn’t matter anymore anyways.

“Thank you. I’ll return them after the party on Friday night.” She crossed to the door, then looked back. “Cindy, I really hope something changes. I see you going down an extremely dark path, and I’m afraid of what’s on the other side.”

I closed my eyes to indicate the end of the conversation. A moment later, I heard the snap of her sandals fade down the hall. I flipped to my back and stared at the high, textured ceiling. I don’t know how long I lay like that, but my mood did not improve.