Danielle Shepherd looked just as she had in Val’s vision, when she’d been shot to death by an unknown assailant. Of course, she wasn’t dead yet, but looking at her mother sitting at the kitchen table still gave Val the sensation she’d stumbled upon a ghost.
“What a nice home you have,” Danielle said for the fifth time since she’d arrived a couple hours ago.
Max stepped forward from where he’d been leaning on the kitchen island and motioned toward the mug she clutched in her hands. “Can I get you more coffee?”
Normally the nanny would’ve done that—did nannies do that?—but after a quick meet-and-greet, Val had ordered Jamal to keep the kids busy in the study while she and Max vetted the virtual stranger whom she’d stupidly invited into her home based solely on their blood relation.
“That would be nice, thank you. And please call me Dani.”
Max grinned and took Dani’s mug, though Val recognized the smile as one he used to placate people; it didn’t touch his eyes. He wasn’t in a good mood, hadn’t been since the explosion three days ago. Today was also the day of the memorial service for the people that died, eight in all. He’d be expected to say a few words.
Jesus, now was not a good time for this visit.
“How long have you been living here?” Dani asked as Max placed her refilled cup on the table and took a seat.
“Five years.” Val glanced at Max. “Six for him. He lived here before me. It’s his place, really.”
Max frowned at that—it’s our place, Val, she could almost hear him thinking—but she ignored him. Her fingers drummed the table’s surface. How long were they going to keep up this small talk?
Dani took a deep breath and stared into the depths of her coffee. As if sensing Val’s growing frustration, she said, “I guess we should talk about where I’ve been.”
Understatement of the year. “Yes, we should do that.”
“It was hard for me, with two kids. Well, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” Val snapped. “I love my children.”
“Of course. So did I—so do I. But you have money, and a nanny…”
Why did she have to bring up the fucking nanny? Val clenched her jaw, holding back a yelling fit. This woman knew nothing—nothing—about her life. Maybe now would be a good time to tell her to leave.
Dani shrank a little from her daughter’s icy glare. “I had…I don’t know what it’s called these days. People talk about it more now, but they didn’t then. It was, you know, embarrassing. It’s still embarrassing. I guess you’d call it…the correct term these days is…some kind of mental illness.”
“Like what?”
She sighed, fidgeting in her chair. It was obviously an uncomfortable subject for her, but Val needed to hear it. “People have told me bipolar disorder, and manic depression with paranoid delusions, I think. The diagnosis changes sometimes, depending on who I talk to.” She looked at Val and frowned, knowing Val expected her to go on. “I couldn’t stay. There was too much wrong with the world. So I went to Canada and just…wandered around a bit. Found myself in different jobs, different shelters. Then I came back to the States and wandered some more, in and out of hospitals, trying to hold down jobs. I went on and off medicine, but nothing really worked until recently.
“I’ve been staying with some people, and they helped me recover. A lot. You could say they healed me—my soul.” Her eyes turned weirdly cold for half a second, then in a blink softened. “I feel like the fog is lifting for the first time in years. It’s made me realize that I need to make amends with my past, apologize to the people I’ve hurt—especially you. So that’s what I’m trying to do.”
A sob ripped from her chest. She hunched over the table and cried into her coffee. Max patted her back, offering comfort. Val just stared. Did Dani tell the truth? Or did she invent this literal sob story? She certainly seemed sincere. Real tears flowed from her eyes, and she had the twitchy, uncertain demeanor of someone possibly battling a mental illness. Val had seen enough of it to recognize the signs.
But maybe that was the point. This could all be an act. Val didn’t want to care until she was certain.
Max stopped patting Dani’s back to glance at his watch. He looked at Val. “We need to go.”
Now was her last chance to tell her mother to leave. Otherwise, this woman—a stranger in every sense but blood—would be alone with her kids…and the nanny, technically, but he hadn’t learned to use a gun yet, so they might as well be alone.
Val put her hands in her lap and clenched her fists. Her mother back from the “dead,” remorseful and wanting to spend time with her…it was everything she’d wanted as a lonely, awkward kid growing up with a strange ability she didn’t understand. She hadn’t asked her mother about it yet, if Dani could do it, too. How could she? She’d never know if she kicked her mom out now, nor could she leave Dani to a fate of being shot to death.
“We’ll be back in a couple hours,” Val told Dani. “You can set up your things in the guest room on the first floor. Jamal will help you with anything you need until we get back.”
Dani wiped her eyes and smiled. “Thank you, pumpkin.”
Val winced. Don’t call me that. She stood with Max, and they put on heavy black overcoats to match their funeral attire.
Before they left, she stopped by the study, where the kids practiced writing their ABCs on the chalkboard while Jamal looked on from the couch. She pulled him aside. “We’re going to the memorial service now, and my mother will be here, getting settled in her room, I assume.”
Jamal nodded mildly. He probably thought he was used to family drama.
“Listen, I don’t”—she glanced at the kids and lowered her voice—“I don’t really know anything about her. She could want money, she could try to steal things, she could be looking for a story to sell to the press.” She looked at her children again, and Jamal followed her gaze. “I don’t care about any of that shit. Keep the children safe. That’s your only job.” Her eyes cut back to him. “Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, quiet but confident. He hadn’t been with them long, but he’d spent enough hours with Simon and Lydia to notice by now they were special, even if he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. At least he seemed to be getting used to her family’s oddness. He’d stopped sweating every time she talked to him anyway.
“Good-bye, kids.” She knelt down to hug both children at the same time, one in each arm. “Daddy and I will be back soon.”
“Can we talk to Nana?” Simon asked.
“You can talk to her, but only when Jamal is with you.” Knowing they’d sneak away if the mood hit them, she added, “I mean it.” In a whisper: “Don’t tell her what you see. She won’t understand. It could scare her. We don’t want to frighten Nana, do we?”
They’d already gotten this lecture concerning Jamal and anyone else they spent more than a few minutes with, but they were only four years old. Did they really understand that Nana wasn’t any different yet?
Probably not. But she was about to be late to a funeral she couldn’t skip. Her ambiguous, useless warning would have to do.