ALLIE WAS RELIEVED the old woman didn’t grill her about the therapy session. In fact, Miss Bitty told her that if she didn’t want to go again, she didn’t have to. That she’d find a way to get around the mandatory sessions. Then, she took Allie shopping.
After spending several anxiety-provoking hours in the mall, Allie stood alone in her bedroom and stared at her new clothes. On the way home, she had warned the old woman not to throw her old clothes away. “Because the minute I get myself out of here—”
“It’s all in safekeeping,” Miss Bitty assured her. “You’re free to look as trampy as you wish when you go. For now, though, I’m not running a whorehouse and I won’t let you walk around here looking like one.”
Allie had blinked, wondering if her file had mentioned that she’d grown up in a whorehouse.
Or that she’d once been a whore.
At the mall, they’d bought tank tops and tees, underwear, bras, socks, jeans, shorts, dress pants, a skirt, a little black dress, and a swimsuit. Shoes that fit her: tennis shoes, sandals, flip-flops, wedges, and a pair of heels. A couple of simple necklaces, a pair of earrings, and a watch. They’d even bought her expensive department store makeup to replace the cheap stuff she’d always gotten from dollar stores.
While they were shopping, Allie had nodded off twice on the straight-back chairs the stores kept near the fitting rooms. She’d tried not to but couldn’t help it. She was still lethargic, and all the stimulation of the big crowds, the hum of a hundred conversations throughout the wide aisles, pelted her brain like pressure waves.
Then there were the endless mirrors and harsh fluorescent lighting, all of which frightened her. Her heart had raced so hard for so long, she was completely drained.
Several times throughout the afternoon, people walked up to the old woman to say hello. The people always looked really happy to see Miss Bitty. They’d talk for a couple of minutes, then the old lady would resume her shopping, Allie reluctantly trailing behind her. Later, Miss Bitty explained that the people were clients—some current, some past.
When they finally returned to the house, Bitty had shown Allie how to neatly fold some of her clothing and how to properly hang the rest. But as soon as the old woman left the room, Allie locked the door and pulled everything out again.
She couldn’t get over seeing it all right there, in one place, on the bed. Everything fit well and was brand-spanking new . . . and all of it was hers.
She posed in front of the bathroom mirror, modeling her new clothes, careful to only look at the good side of her face. For once, she actually looked well put together. Almost like the pretty therapist, Renee.
I look nice. Like, for once, I actually look like I have class.
The new image of herself made her almost breathless.
But then she remembered who she really was.
She shrugged off the clothes, put everything back as neatly as it had been before, and crawled into bed. But she made sure to leave the folding closet doors wide open just so she could see the clothes as she fell asleep.
She loved them all, every single piece, but knew that they would never truly be hers, because she’d been taught better than to trust the old woman. She was too kind. Too generous. She hadn’t even yelled at her once . . . and she really, genuinely paid attention to her. All of that and she didn’t even ask for anything in return.
She seems too good to be true . . . which could only mean one thing: she was.
A summer storm was raging outside when something summoned Allie from a sound sleep. Exhausted, she was tempted to ignore whatever it was and slip down deeper beneath the covers.
But she sensed someone’s presence.
Opening her eyes, she sat up and saw Miss Bitty standing in the doorway.
“What’s going on?” Allie asked, irritated to have been woken.
Miss Bitty didn’t answer.
Allie frowned in the darkness. “Is everything okay?”
Nothing. Just the sound of raindrops striking the bedroom window.
Her pulse quickened and she sat up straight. “Miss Bitty? Is that you?” She squinted to try to get a better look, but it was too dark in the room. Frightened, she clung to the comforter.
Lightening flashed outside, briefly illuminating the room. But the doorway was empty. Allie exhaled, wondering if she’d only imagined someone had been there.
Thunder crashed in the distance and her grip on the comforter softened. She watched the doorway for several more minutes, until she was certain no one was there.
I’m just losing it. No one was ever there, she told herself. My God, what is wrong with me?
She lay back down and squeezed her eyes shut, willing her pulse to return to normal. She was just exhausted . . . and her imagination was running wild.
Pulling the covers more tightly around her, she listened to the rain strike her window and soon fell into a restless sleep.
CHAPTER 15
UNABLE TO SLEEP, Miss Bitty stepped into the rain-cleansed air. She walked barefoot to the garden to knead her weathered feet in the cool mud. The practice was called earthing, and it was something she often did when her sense of tranquility eluded her.
After she quit drinking, years ago, she’d turned to practices like earthing for the type of calmness a bottle of wine had provided those many years when she’d been a closet drunk.
Usually it did the trick.
Usually.
As the late-night breeze ruffled her hair, she studied her garden in the moonlight and let the cool mud sink between her toes. She’d been toying with strategies to get Allie to trust her. From what she’d gathered thus far, the girl was very intelligent, so it wouldn’t take much to raise suspicion. She’d have to be calculating.
But that wasn’t all that was concerning her. A sick feeling had bloomed in her gut earlier in the day. Something horrific was on the horizon. Something that could ruin everything.
The entire well-laid plan.