enveloped me in her arms, bending to kiss my cheek. Gigi’s hair had still been that incredible shade of fiery copper; her eyes—always her best feature—were wide and green and striking. Her skin and nails were meticulously cared for. She smelled and even sounded like my mother, so I curled in.
I could feel her ghostly arms snuggled around me now.
“Do you remember the story I told you when you were little?”
“Which one?” I remembered asking.
“The one about the magical stone that controls time.”
“Of course. I remember every story you tell me.”
“There’ll come a time you won’t.”
I shook my head.
“Yes, dear, but it will be all right. I don’t remember everything my Oma told me. I wish I did.”
“I’ll never forget,” I insisted.
She’d smiled at that.
“You do have a much better memory than me. What if I told you the magic was real?”
I’d thought about this for only a moment and blurted, “I’d ask if I could use it to go back and save Mama.”
I could still picture Gigi. She’d swallowed hard.
“If you could . . . I’d ask you to save mine too.”
Wiping away a tear, I opened my eyes. That was the night she’d given me her rosewood box. I’d forgotten all about what she said. What else had I forgotten?
I touched the satin of her favourite nightgown to my face, gently caressing, pretending I was still with her in that moment, lying against her in bed. Much like the room, the gown still smelled sweet, like her. Despite my thoughts, I wandered to the bed and drifted into that same horrible dream.
CHAPTER TWELVE
B reathless and chilled with sweat, huddled under the blankets, I was convinced someone stood over my bed. Images of a young girl with long, dark, straight hair haunted me. She had beckoned to me from underwater, but I couldn’t reach her. A shadow had stood smoking a pipe at the shore. It felt like he’d followed me out of the nightmare. I sniffed the air; the smell of stale tobacco was gone. With one hand trembling, I fumbled for the switch on the bedside lamp, upset the nightmare had returned.
It was almost noon when I finally gave up and crawled out of bed. I felt exhausted. Normally, my dreams faded when I woke, but this one never did. I had endured it for years, along with a few others, each dream more vivid than the last.
Where was Leslie? I struggled to catch my breath. I bit back tears as I pulled on my sweater and jeans, thinking of Gigi and the first time I’d had the nightmare. I’d woken, screaming, but Gigi had gathered me up in her arms, crooning in a calm, quiet voice that everything would be okay. And it had been okay for long periods of time. Unfortunately, every now and then the nightmares would seep in, like a thief in the night, usually when I was tense, exhausted or vulnerable. I was most definitely tense and vulnerable now. Losing Gigi, watching her fight for every last breath, had been agonizing.
I checked the guest bedroom, but Leslie wasn’t there. The bed was made. It seemed odd that she hadn’t been in to check on me. Especially because I’d had to convince her to leave me alone in the first place. I stepped into the kitchen and was immediately handed a steamy mug.
“Would ya look at those circles under your eyes? Girl, grab me some tea bags. We’ll fix you right up,” Greta bellowed.
“Thank you, but I really don’t care how I look right now.”
I took a sip from my mug and almost spit it back out.
“What the hell is this?”
“That’s a Mississippi Mudslide with a little coffee, of course.”
“Is there alcohol in this?”
Greta looked affronted. “Of course there is. It’s mostly alcohol.”
I sighed, realizing she’d missed the point, and took another large sip.
“Have you eaten?” I said, looking around the empty kitchen.
“No. I was waiting on you.”
I pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. “Have you heard from Aunt Addie?”
“Yes, she’ll be here
I could feel her ghostly arms snuggled around me now.
“Do you remember the story I told you when you were little?”
“Which one?” I remembered asking.
“The one about the magical stone that controls time.”
“Of course. I remember every story you tell me.”
“There’ll come a time you won’t.”
I shook my head.
“Yes, dear, but it will be all right. I don’t remember everything my Oma told me. I wish I did.”
“I’ll never forget,” I insisted.
She’d smiled at that.
“You do have a much better memory than me. What if I told you the magic was real?”
I’d thought about this for only a moment and blurted, “I’d ask if I could use it to go back and save Mama.”
I could still picture Gigi. She’d swallowed hard.
“If you could . . . I’d ask you to save mine too.”
Wiping away a tear, I opened my eyes. That was the night she’d given me her rosewood box. I’d forgotten all about what she said. What else had I forgotten?
I touched the satin of her favourite nightgown to my face, gently caressing, pretending I was still with her in that moment, lying against her in bed. Much like the room, the gown still smelled sweet, like her. Despite my thoughts, I wandered to the bed and drifted into that same horrible dream.
CHAPTER TWELVE
B reathless and chilled with sweat, huddled under the blankets, I was convinced someone stood over my bed. Images of a young girl with long, dark, straight hair haunted me. She had beckoned to me from underwater, but I couldn’t reach her. A shadow had stood smoking a pipe at the shore. It felt like he’d followed me out of the nightmare. I sniffed the air; the smell of stale tobacco was gone. With one hand trembling, I fumbled for the switch on the bedside lamp, upset the nightmare had returned.
It was almost noon when I finally gave up and crawled out of bed. I felt exhausted. Normally, my dreams faded when I woke, but this one never did. I had endured it for years, along with a few others, each dream more vivid than the last.
Where was Leslie? I struggled to catch my breath. I bit back tears as I pulled on my sweater and jeans, thinking of Gigi and the first time I’d had the nightmare. I’d woken, screaming, but Gigi had gathered me up in her arms, crooning in a calm, quiet voice that everything would be okay. And it had been okay for long periods of time. Unfortunately, every now and then the nightmares would seep in, like a thief in the night, usually when I was tense, exhausted or vulnerable. I was most definitely tense and vulnerable now. Losing Gigi, watching her fight for every last breath, had been agonizing.
I checked the guest bedroom, but Leslie wasn’t there. The bed was made. It seemed odd that she hadn’t been in to check on me. Especially because I’d had to convince her to leave me alone in the first place. I stepped into the kitchen and was immediately handed a steamy mug.
“Would ya look at those circles under your eyes? Girl, grab me some tea bags. We’ll fix you right up,” Greta bellowed.
“Thank you, but I really don’t care how I look right now.”
I took a sip from my mug and almost spit it back out.
“What the hell is this?”
“That’s a Mississippi Mudslide with a little coffee, of course.”
“Is there alcohol in this?”
Greta looked affronted. “Of course there is. It’s mostly alcohol.”
I sighed, realizing she’d missed the point, and took another large sip.
“Have you eaten?” I said, looking around the empty kitchen.
“No. I was waiting on you.”
I pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. “Have you heard from Aunt Addie?”
“Yes, she’ll be here
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