Chapter 7
Aunt Caroline called that night.
I had not spoken to her in eight months.
The last time, she asked for money and called me selfish when I said rent was due.
This time, her voice was sweet.
Too sweet.
“Emily, honey, I heard something strange happened at your restaurant.”
My skin went cold.
“How did you hear?”
“People talk.”
No.
Arthur Langley had talked.
Or Peter.
Or someone had posted.
She continued.
“A man approached you, didn’t he?”
I said nothing.
“Listen to me very carefully. Thomas Whitaker is dangerous.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The old spell.
Fear disguised as protection.
“What did he do?”
“He abandoned your mother.”
“That’s not what her letter says.”
Silence.
Then Caroline’s voice sharpened.
“What letter?”
I looked at Priya, who was sitting across the table with her phone ready to record.
I put Caroline on speaker.
“The letter Mom sent him before she died.”
Caroline laughed.
“That woman was sick and confused.”
“My mother?”
“She had cancer. People say emotional things.”
“She said you threatened her.”
Caroline stopped laughing.
Then said, “You ungrateful little waitress.”
There it was.
The real voice.
Priya’s eyebrows shot up.
Caroline continued.
“I fed you. I clothed you. I kept you from chasing fantasies about a man who did not want you.”
I felt something inside me settle.
For years, that voice had made me feel small.
Now it sounded desperate.
I said, “My attorney will contact you.”
She went silent.
Then screamed, “Attorney?”
I hung up.
Priya smiled.
“That was beautiful.”
I was shaking.
May you like
“It didn’t feel beautiful.”
“Power rarely does the first time.”
