“My mom started making improvements as soon as there was money, and she hasn’t stopped. People actually have beds to sleep in now.” He looked at me after he said the last piece as if he wanted to take it back.
How horrible to be so poor that there wasn’t even beds to sleep in. After Blake appeared in my life, I’d found the opulence of Richard’s house distasteful as it represented a way of life I wanted nothing to do with. Clothes, food, an exercise room. Everything had been high-end and bought at the price of my freedom. I’d run from it, willingly risking a potential future without beds, warmth, or food, to save us all from a worse fate. And poverty would have happened, if not for Emmitt.
I reined in my thoughts. “So the remodeling inside, the painting outside, you learned all this from your mom?”
He nodded, looking adorable with paint flakes dusting his hair. “Can I ask you a question now?”
Reluctantly, I nodded. I didn’t promise to answer it, though.
“Will you tell me about your stepfather?”
I sighed and stopped sweeping again, remembering how it’d been in the beginning. “It was just me and my mom until after my thirteenth birthday. She met Richard through a friend of a friend.”
“Richard?” he asked, looking puzzled.
I nodded and realized I’d never mentioned Richard by name before. “He was nice. He treated my mom well, and I think he really loved her. Then, things changed.” Things I wasn’t ready to share with Emmitt.
My premonitions had struck. I hadn’t understood what I’d been seeing and wrote it down on paper to show my mom. By that time, they had married and were expecting their first child. Richard had found the paper and known what it was. He’d been amused by what I’d written, but after seeing the accuracy of my predictions, he’d started to use them. He hadn’t demanded anything from me, just said I could give them to him when I thought of any more.
Everything had been fine for a while. We’d moved into a better house, the one in the gated community. We’d been happy. Liam was born, time passed, I went to school, had friends, went on my first parent-supervised date, and my mom got pregnant again.
I wasn’t sure how Richard got involved with Blake, but he had; and Blake had started coming to dinner. My mom had disliked him immediately. Seeing past events clearly for the first time, I understood how much Blake had truly controlled our lives. It had started with my mom’s death. An accidental death that I could now see wasn’t so accidental. Blake had killed her just as he had Richard. After she died, Richard had become Blake’s lackey.
“How did they change?” Emmitt asked quietly, watching me closely.
I’d daydreamed through half the front of the house. I shook myself and finished sweeping quickly.
“My mom died just after Aden was born,” I said softly, remembering how alone I’d felt. “Richard shut us away from the world for four years.”
Emmitt had stopped scrapping and studied me closely.
“Richard. Then, who’s Blake?”
With Blake’s identity firmly glued to my secret, at least in my head, I couldn’t talk about him without everything spilling out. I didn’t want to tempt Emmitt with the power he could gain by possessing my premonitions. I didn’t want him to turn out like Blake.
“I have to check on the boys,” I said in a rush. I leaned the broom against the wall and fled.
I sequestered myself with my brothers for the rest of the day. The other occupants of the house let me be.
Chapter 9
Emmitt knocked on my door the afternoon following our talk. The boys were outside playing, and I was alone. I quietly backed away from the door. It seemed every time we spent time alone, I let too much slip. We needed distance. I needed distance. So, I snuck to the bathroom and avoided him with the skill of a master thief.
After his footsteps faded in the hallway, I risked a quick look out the bathroom door. The sunlit pattern of the French doors on the kitchen floor caught my eye. The island blocked a good portion of it, but not the top half. The shadow of a man drifted through the bright patch. I spent the afternoon reading on the toilet.
It proved more difficult to avoid Emmitt the following day. He stood outside the apartment door when the boys ran out in the morning. Stunned by his unexpected appearance, I gapped at him for a moment before my brain kicked in.
“I have to take a shower,” I said in a rush then slammed the door in his face.
I stayed under the hot spray until my fingers pruned, then I crept around the apartment, stealthily checking the windows and doors. When time passed without spotting Emmitt, I changed into my swimsuit and grabbed a book. No more toilet reading. My legs had gone numb the day before. I eased open the French doors and tiptoed onto the porch.
The warm summer air surrounded me, and I took a slow, deep breath and shook out my blanket.