Little Girl Lost (Georgiana Germaine Book 1) Page 3

  Aunt Laura finished her can of Coke and said, “Shall we?”

  I nodded, and we walked inside.

  The moment my mother saw me, she rushed toward me. She threw her arms around me and said, “Oh my goodness, Gigi. I’m so glad you’re here. Your sister, she’s a complete mess. I am too. Well, we all are. I can’t believe this happened. How could it? And why is it happening to us? Why now? After all we’ve already been through. What have we done to deserve it? I’ve offered up so many prayers today, and I need to know why. I need answers. I need to know where our little girl is.”

  The keyword in my mother’s rambling, question-packed sentences, was the word I. I this, and I that, and this is how I’m feeling, instead of considering we all felt the same way. My mother was a good person with a loving heart, but she was a worrier, a person who assumed the worst outcome in any given situation before it had a chance to play out. Somewhere, somehow, the sky was always falling. As long as she believed it, it fueled her addiction to drama. Unfortunate events were viewed as an opportunity for her to shine, to elicit compassion and pity from others. And the worst part? No matter how many times I’d talked to her about it over the years, it was a side of herself she couldn’t see.

  “Good to see you, Mom,” I said. “Are you doing okay?”

  She pressed her hands together. “You know me. I’m a basket case. All I can think about is Lark out there somewhere with a strange man. Who knows why he took her and what he plans on doing with her? It’s just ... I can’t ... I won’t ... it’s too much.”

  “We’re all concerned about Lark,” I said. “I need you to be strong for Phoebe. We don’t know what happened or why yet, so let’s not speculate.”

  Her eyes flickered the way they always did when I offended her.

  “We do know,” she said. “We know the man who took her is a sick, twisted pervert who preys on small children. It disgusts me to know there are people in this world like him. Even if we get her back, get her home safe, she’ll be traumatized. What she was put through will haunt her for the rest of her life.”

  Sometimes I wondered why I tried to talk my mother down and into a rational state of mind. I almost never got anywhere. It was one of the reasons I’d left town when I had. Being around her while I dealt with my own demons had been more than I could bear.

  “Where is she?” I asked. “Where’s Phoebe?”

  “I gave her some sleeping pills, dear. She’s out cold.”

  “How long ago?”

  My mother shrugged. “I’d guess it’s been about two hours now. Best not to wake her. She needs the rest.”

  Gee, Mom, thanks for the unsolicited advice.

  I walked down the hall and cracked open the door to the guest bedroom. Phoebe was curled into a ball on top of the bed. Mom was right. Phoebe hadn’t even flinched when the door creaked, and I wondered just how much medication she’d been given. I wanted to shake her awake, to let her know I was there for her.

  For now, it could wait.

  I pulled the door closed and turned. Tasha leaned against the wall across from me, her arms folded the way a person does when you’re about to be scolded.

  Through gritted teeth, she said, “Your mom said to let her sleep. Your sister’s been through enough without you coming here and forcing your agenda on her. The cop stuff can wait.”

  Nice to see you too, Tasha.

  “My agenda?” I asked, confused.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  She slid down the wall until she reached the floor, allowing her long, auburn hair to cascade over her shoulders. Her head bobbed toward her chest, and for a moment, I thought she’d passed out until her chin shot up. She pointed at me with a soured expression on her face.

  She uttered a single word, “You,” and then she stripped off the T-shirt she was wearing, revealing a striped, bright-pink tank top underneath. “Man, is it hot in here, or what? I mean, come on. Turn on the air conditioning.”

  She hiccoughed and sprawled her legs out in front of her, and I remained still, waiting to see if her verbal assault would continue.

  “It’s always about you, you know?” she said. “And for you, and because of you.”

  “What’s about me?”

  “Look around. Look at everything you touch. I hate you. I’ve always hated you.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re going through, but now isn’t the time to have this discussion.”

  “Oh, we’re having it.”

  Paul raced down the hall toward us. He looked at me and mouthed the words I’m sorry, and then bent down and attempted to scoop Tasha off the floor. She shoved him away.

  “I saw that!” Tasha said. “I saw what you said to her, Paul. You can stop with all the secret society stuff. I’m right here. Right here! Do you see me? No, you don’t. You don’t ever see me.”

  “Come on, Tasha,” Paul said. “Let’s get you home.”

  “No!” Tasha said. “I’m not going. I’m family. I’m here to support Phoebe. I want to be here when she wakes up. I told her I’d make her something to eat. She needs to eat, Paul.”

  I stared down at the drunken mess before me.

  Something needed to be done.

  I leaned down and jerked her up to a standing position. Then I yanked on her arm, dragging her down the hall. I got her outside and tossed her onto the lawn.

  “All right, Tasha,” I said. “Whatever you need to say to me, say it.”

  “She’s drunk,” Paul said. “I’ll take her home, and she can sleep it off. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

  “I know,” Tasha said, “and you know I know.”

  “What’s your problem?” I asked. “I get you’re going through something with my brother. I do. You don’t get to take it out on me.”

  “What’s my problem? Funny you should ask. Everything is always someone else’s problem, isn’t it? It’s sure as hell never yours.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “You want to know?” She glared at Paul. “Go ahead, tell her.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Paul said. “We should go.”

  But there was something.

  Something neither of them seemed ready to say.

  She’d spiraled out, and for whatever reason, Paul and I were to blame.

  “Seen your ex lately?” she asked.

  It was a strange question.

  “No. Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. No reason.”

  Her attempt to bait me into whatever trap she was trying to set wouldn’t work. I lacked interest.

  “You have two choices, Tasha,” I said. “You can leave, or I’ll have you booked for public intoxication.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not ... this isn’t public. You wouldn’t dare.”

  “You know me. You know what I’m like. You think I won’t do what needs to be done?”

  “I’ll take her home,” Paul said.

  “You won’t,” I said. “You’re high.”

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “This isn’t a negotiation.”

  “Go ahead, Georgiana,” Tasha said. “Protect your pathetic brother. Protect him because he’s not man enough to protect himself. Protect him because he’d rather say nothing than communicate with actual words. Your whole family is poison. All of you.”

  My better judgment said to resist the urge to slap her, to take any one of multiple higher roads. I didn’t. I struck her across the side of her cheek hard enough to leave an imprint of my fingers on her skin.

  She pressed a hand to the bright, inflamed area and reeled back. She spewed several expletives, and then a downpour of tears came like a broken faucet.

  “I don’t have time for this crap right now,” I said. “My brother-in-law is dead. He’s dead, Tasha. Game over. Whatever issue you’re dealing with, you are still alive. You haven’t been ripped from your family by a stranger
. Stop thinking of yourself, suck it up, go home, and sleep it off.”

  “I ... I wish it hadn’t happened. Poor Lark.”

  It was the first intelligent words she’d spoken.

  “I’ll take you home,” I said, “and I don’t want to see your face again until you’ve sobered up. On second thought, I don’t want to see your face again until I decide to see you.”

  Paul walked back into the house, slamming the door behind him. I grabbed Tasha and escorted her to the Jeep.

  “You don’t get the privilege of being around my family right now. Sit down and shut your mouth. Or don’t, and I’ll drive you to the police station myself. We can give you a breathalyzer test and go from there.”

  She yanked the Jeep door open and plopped onto the seat, pouting like a spoiled child. I turned back, watching Luka bound in my direction like he was worried he’d be left behind. He jumped inside and slouched down in the back seat. Aunt Laura returned to the lawn chair and chomped away on potato chips, watching the display like it was the best live movie she’d ever seen.

  “Call me when Phoebe wakes up,” I said. “I won’t be long.”

  She grinned. “You got it. And you be careful, now. Feral cats are even more dangerous in the wild.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’m not worried.”

  “I wasn’t referring to Tasha, honey. I was referring to you.”

  I supposed there was a decent amount of feral in me, and if Tasha had any sense left, she wouldn’t force my claws to come out.

  By the time I dropped Tasha home, she’d passed out in the passenger seat next to me. I managed to get her into the house and onto the bed and slipped out before she had the chance to stir up a fuss again. On my way out, I passed by a wall adorned with wedding photos from the day she married my brother. I stopped and inspected each one. She was happy then, staring up at my brother like he was her entire world. What changed?

  I hadn’t heard from Aunt Laura, so I made another quick pitstop at a place I would have been fine to never step foot inside again. I parked in the driveway, opened the door, and let Luka run free. He trotted off to the front yard, stopping to take a big whiff from a rosebush along the way. I jumped out, moved a hand to my hips, and glanced in both directions. I remembered how much I’d hated living here, on a street where cookie-cutter houses and women speed-walking up and down the sidewalk in matching track suits was the norm and everything else was not.

  I’d bristled the first time my ex, Liam, had driven to the end of the street, stopping in front of this very house. I’d looked over at him, hoping he’d feel the same disdain for the place that I did. He didn’t. He was elated. He removed the sale flyer from the tube attached to the real estate sign, checked out the price, and looked at me with a gleam in his eye. I knew what the gleam meant without him saying a word. The house was within our price range.

  Liam was well aware the boring, tan, stucco exterior—one of only three color options for stucco on the houses on the block—wasn’t my style. But it was his, and at the time I’d wanted him to have what he wanted, so I relented and faked my way through blending in with bland façades and humdrum neighbors.

  It hadn’t worked.

  The neighbors gawked at me in my old-fashioned clothes and choppy, pink hair like I’d just stepped off the alien mothership.

  The truth was ... I hadn’t minded.

  I liked it.

  It was the repellent that kept them from inviting me to one of their gossipy, drunken girls’ nights.

  Thinking back on how my ex had talked me into buying the place, I realized he had never been able to resist forcing a tennis ball into a ping-pong sized hole and then watching the disaster play out. I supposed I didn’t blame him. Not for that, anyway. I had a big mouth, but I’d never been any good at expressing my feelings in a relationship. It was my fault just as much as it was his, and we excelled when it came to games of pretend.

  “Come on, Luka,” I said. “Let’s go inside.”

  Luka wagged his tail and fell in line behind me. I unlocked the door, entered the house, and tossed my keys into the bowl on the side table. I stepped into the living room and surveyed the room.

  “Are you kidding me? No flipping way.”

  The house was no longer staged to sell, which was how I’d left it. It looked lived in, and it shouldn’t have—lived in by a giant, stinky slob, which explained why the front yard had been devoid of the real estate sign the agency had placed there before I left. No wonder it hadn’t sold. In the time I’d been away, the interior had gone from vintage chic to a littered man cave stocked with empty beer cans, half-eaten bags of Oreo cookies, and empty drive-through food boxes.

  He’d done it this time.

  And now I’d be forced to communicate.

  This wasn’t okay.

  I wandered through the rest of the rooms in the house and found the untidy theme had been carried throughout. It wasn’t like him. He hadn’t been the poster boy of cleanliness when we were together, but it was a far cry from the way things looked now.

  Luka followed me into the kitchen and paused at the sliding glass door. He pressed a paw against the glass and gave me the same melancholy eyes he always did when he wanted something.

  “I know,” I said. “You want to go out there. I understand. Not today. I’m sorry.”

  I turned away, and he whined in dissatisfaction.

  I stood for a moment and breathed, trying to ground myself. Coming here wasn’t a good idea. I wasn’t ready.

  Luka scratched on the door again and howled.

  He wasn’t giving up, and I couldn’t say no to a face as sweet as his.

  I moved a hand to my hip and said, “Okay, fine. You win. We’ll go outside. Just for a minute, though, and then we leave.”

  I flipped the latch on the door, unlocked it, and slid it open.

  Luka ran for the sandbox on the side of the house to do some digging, and I focused on anything other than what was right in front of me.

  I told myself I wouldn’t do it—I wouldn’t look at the pool.

  My resolve crumbled, and I found myself staring anyway, thinking back on the conversation I’d had with Harvey earlier when he’d said what was happening with Lark had reopened an old wound. It hadn’t just opened—it had cut deep, and I was bleeding out. I stared into the water, so innocent and inviting. Deception at its finest.

  Enough.

  I don’t need to put myself through this.

  Not today.

  I spun around with every intention of running back to the Jeep and leaving, but I didn’t. My rage was too great. I yanked a vase off of the poolside table and hurled it toward the house’s exterior. My aim was about a foot off, and the vase smashed into the kitchen window, sending shattered glass in all directions.

  “What are you doing?” a man said.

  I whipped around, studying him. He looked different from the last time I’d seen him—rugged, with a face he hadn’t shaved for a few days and shaggy, unkempt brown hair.

  “I felt like breaking something,” I said. “So, I did.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Liam said.

  What wasn’t wrong with me?

  I shrugged. “Why did you take the For Sale sign down? And why are you living here in squalor?”

  “I took the sign down because ... What are you doing here?”

  “Answer my questions.”

  “Fine. I took the sign down a few months ago.”

  “Why?” I asked. “We had a deal.”

  “I know. Things have changed. I’ve decided to stay, which you would know if you ever answered your phone.”

  “My phone doesn’t get service where I’ve been.”

  “It gets service when you’re in town, which you would have to visit from time to time, no matter where you’ve been living.”

  “You never left a message.”

  “Didn’t know it was a requirement in order to get you to return my call. And I’m not living in squalor, by
the way. I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy to clean, by the looks of it.”

  He walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “You’re here now. Let’s talk.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’m not staying.”

  “You won’t sit with me, even for a few minutes? We have things to figure out.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “What are you doing here, Georgiana?”

  “I needed my gun out of the safe in the storage shed.”

  “Why were you inside the house, then?”

  “It’s my house too. Does the removal of the sign mean you’ve taken the house off the market?”

  He nodded. “Yup.”

  “It’s going back up for sale. Please clean your mess, gather your things, and honor the agreement you made with me.”

  He shook his head. “I told you, I’m staying, so if you could stop breaking things, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I own half of this house, and I want it sold. You can’t squat here.”

  “When I asked what you were doing here, I meant here in Cambria. You back now?”

  “I don’t know. I ... don’t want to talk about it.”

  He gritted his teeth, flung the chair against the table so hard it chipped a bit of the paint off, and glared at me. “‘Course you don’t. You never want to talk about anything!”

  He stomped inside the house, dissatisfied and grumbling to himself.

  It was my cue to leave.

  “Come on, Luka,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  A disgruntled Luka took his time heading in my direction.

  It seemed I’d upset everyone today.

  I almost made it to the front door before my arm was jerked from behind. I shrugged free of Liam’s grip and grabbed the doorknob without looking back.

  “I wanted to give you something, because who knows when or if you’ll decide to grace me with your presence again,” he said. “Here.”

  He shoved an envelope into my hand.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Have a look.”

  I peeked inside. “Why are you giving me a check?”

  “It’s your half. I’m buying you out. I want the house.”