The car begins to slow, and all joy slowly fades from my body as if I can feel it leaking out of my veins through my fingertips into the open air. Ruth Dewitt’s mini mansion comes into view, and Elliot almost brings the car to a complete stop as he faces me.
I move my hand to tell him to keep moving forward. “Don’t look so shocked. This is it. You’re in the right driveway. Go ahead and pull up and then just go around the loop and park on the left where you see the other cars. I think that’s where the maids and other people park.” I don’t know this for sure, but it seems like the most logical explanation, because there are old Hondas and a Toyota Tercel sitting there today.
I know that’s not what Ruth would drive. If she drives herself at all.
“We should have dressed nicer,” Cline says from the backseat.
“She won’t let us inside. I don’t think it will matter.” I tell him quietly.
Elliot parks as I’ve instructed and turns to look at me. “Do you even have a plan? What are you going to do if she doesn’t let you in?”
I run my fingers through my hair and wipe at the mascara under my eyes, hoping I haven’t smeared anything. “She’s a lady. The least she could do is let me use the bathroom.”
“Powder room. Say powder room. Be fancy.” Cline is leaning across the console now so he can look up at the top of the house through the windshield. “Holy shit. Too bad she hates your guts.”
“Yep.” I grab my purse and exit the car. Once outside, I rummage around and find the flowered bag within, locate the correct orange bottle, pop the top and slip a yellow pill onto my tongue quickly, then swallow. I should have done it at least twenty minutes ago, but I wasn’t expecting to be this overwhelmed.
Too late now.
The place is huge. Fountain out front in the circular driveway. Full staircase leading to the wraparound porch. Two stories with pillars running the length of both. It’s essentially the cover of a V.C. Andrews book without the seduced cousin staring out of the upper window in a rainstorm.
I count my steps on the driveway and then count the stairs on the way up. There are no creaking boards as I cross the porch, and once I make it to the door, I pause. I can’t believe I’ve actually made it this far. I know I’m crazy, but this is legitimately insane. I should have called Cara first. There is a moment of hesitation where I think maybe I should walk away, but before my brain can stop my hand, it’s raised, and my finger is pressing the doorbell. There’s a booming bell chiming throughout the expanse of the house.
My instinct is to run, but my feet are firmly planted as if they’re glued to these white-painted wooden planks.
A voice inside my head is assuring me that she won’t be the one to answer the door. Surely she has a person for that type of thing. It would be too low of her to open the door for—
“Can I help you?”
I take a step back under her scrutiny. She’s smaller than I imagined, as I’ve built her up to be a larger-than-life evil villain in my head. We’re about the same height, give or take the three inches of silver hair she has elegantly piled atop her head. She’s dressed formally like she’s about to attend an early dinner.
My voice is gone.
Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step back, her slipper-covered feet not making a sound as the floral skirt of her dress sways around her ankles. All I see is a bunch of green.
“Ruth Dewitt?” It’s all I can manage before she shuts the door in my face.
It cracks back open again, and she purses her lips. “Yes. Again, can I help you?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so overwhelmed. I can’t remember the last time I saw you. It’s me. Audrey.” There’s a strange ringing in my ears, and the tips of them have gone red hot. I can’t feel the ends of my fingertips.
Her posture goes rigid, and her face pales as she takes me in with one long look. “Please leave my property.”
“Grandma—“
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry. I apologize. Look, I know you don’t want anything to do with me, and I can live with that. Really. But I’m twenty one now, and I just want to know about my mom. Patrick doesn’t ever talk about her, and I don’t know anything. You’re the only person who I thought could possibly give me any information on her. What she was like. Who she was.” My voice cracks and I try to tuck away the bit of desperation I’m starting to show.
“She was a wonderful daughter until she met your father. And then she died.”
I close my eyes when she says it, because I know what she’s implying. “I’m sorry. Would you please just give me five minutes of your time?”
Ruth’s eyes flick to a huge grandfather clock standing in the hallway to my right, just in my line of vision. “I have a dinner. Today is not a good day.”
I nod. “I understand. I did come a very long way, though. Would you mind if I used your powder room?”
The look of distrust in her eyes would destroy anyone else, but I’ve experienced much worse. And I’m simply putting on a show to gain entry into this house. Stooping to conquer, if you will. She only nods the slightest bit and then moves out of the way to let me pass.