The Road To Echo Point. Carrie Weaver
do you want me to do? Let you off the hook? Say okay, go back to your important job in Phoenix. We’ll manage just fine. Well, you know what, we won’t manage, thanks to you. And I won’t let you off the hook. Nice try.”
He crumpled the wrapper and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can. “I’m going for a run. You do whatever you want. Just don’t leave.”
It was hard to believe this was the same guy who tended the old lady with such patience. There was a hard glint in his eyes and his voice vibrated with anger, as if he wanted to wrap those big hands around her throat and squeeze. Hard.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he slammed out the kitchen door without a backward look. She wasn’t worth the effort to strangle.
Vi set her coffee cup down on the counter and pushed it away. Then she bent over and banged her forehead against the Formica. Once, twice, three times. Not hard enough for it to hurt, but she hoped hard enough to knock some sense into her.
“What am I going to do?” she asked the empty room. As long as the walls didn’t answer, she figured she must have a shred of sanity left.
Daisy could have been lost, or seriously hurt. It had seemed simple enough. Watch Daisy sleep. She hadn’t counted on getting only a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep a night. It was starting to take a toll. Her eyes were gritty, her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
Vi rubbed her temples as she mulled over the whole mess. She’d have to adapt, somehow. That was the key to survival. In nature, in the corporate jungle, even in this weird house. Adapt or die. But how to adapt to something she couldn’t understand and couldn’t predict? The old woman and her idiosyncrasies ruled the whole house, no matter what time of day. Like yesterday. Only a few glorious moments at the computer before Daisy wandered in and accused her of all sorts of nasty things. Theft, kidnapping, murder, they were all part of Vi’s M.O., according to Daisy.
She would get used to it, Ian had said. Ha! Changing her sleep schedule was next to impossible. It was like an alarm went off somewhere the instant her head made contact with a pillow during the day. So much as a long blink and Daisy would wind up. It could be something as simple as a bath and World War III would erupt. Even the thick adobe walls couldn’t block out the yelling, the slap-slap of escaping bare feet on tile, the thud of Ian’s tread in hot pursuit. And sometimes, a dirty word or two.
Once, before she learned to lock her door, Daisy had rushed into her room. The old woman had been nearly naked, her eyes wide with fear, her breathing shallow.
Vi shook her head as she remembered the strange episode.
Daisy hadn’t said a word. Just stood there, scrawny arms wrapped across her sagging, wrinkled breasts, and shook her head frantically from side to side.
Ian had followed close behind, his breathing labored, as if he’d run an eight minute mile.
“Mom…” he’d gasped.
Daisy had feinted to the left, then dodged right.
But Ian was too quick for her. He wrapped her in a big bear hug from behind.
She bit and clawed and lashed out. “Let me go,” she screeched. The air crackled with her terror.
Ian let go.
She backed away from him and cowered in a corner.
It took several minutes for Ian to catch his breath. Vi waited, mute, unable to differentiate between perpetrator and victim.
Finally, he said, “It’s okay, Mom. No bath today. I’ll get you a nice warm washcloth to sponge yourself down with.”
“I don’t need a bath. Had one yesterday.”
“Sure you did.” His voice held more defeat than conviction. “But a warm washcloth wouldn’t hurt. You know, knock down the trail dust.”
“It’s a trick. Just like that woman.” She pointed an accusing finger in Vi’s direction. “She was sent to spy on me.”
“It’s not a trick, Mom. I’ve never lied to you before, have I?”
She ruminated on that for a minute, hands on hips. Apparently she’d forgotten she was naked from the waist up. But Vi hadn’t. Her gaze bounced around the room as she looked everywhere, but at Daisy. At least the other woman wore white cotton briefs.
“Nooo…you haven’t lied. But she’s sneaky. See, she won’t even look me in the eye. And she won’t tell me her name. She’s hiding something.”
Ian shrugged helplessly. “She has problems with new things. Remembers stuff from twenty years ago, but has a hard time with anything new.”
“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” Daisy chirped.
Ian’s lips twitched into a smile. “Exactly. Well, Vi, we’ll just have to keep trying.”
“Who’s Vi?” Daisy interrupted.
Ian sighed and shook his head. “She’s having a hard time with the Vi part. Sometimes giving her a point of reference helps. Mind if I try something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Mom, this is Violet. She’s named after a flower just like you.”
“Yeah, as in shrinking Violet,” Vi muttered.
Daisy practically glowed with excitement. She gestured with her hands as she spoke. “Another flower woman. I should have known immediately. We’re kindred spirits, my dear. This is so exciting.” She floated across the room and slid her arm around Vi’s waist. “I’m so glad you came, Violet dear. It will be so good to have another flower woman to keep me company.”
Vi forced herself not to cringe. If she kept very, very still, her elbow would not brush against the woman’s bare breast. She sucked in a breath and managed a plastic smile.
“Violet. Yep. That’s me.”
Ian gently grasped Daisy by the shoulders and drew her away. “Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed and ready for your volunteer work. You can chat with Vi…ah…Violet, when you get home.”
“That would be lovely, dear.” Daisy twisted around to wave gaily. “We’ll talk later, Violet.”
And that had been the beginning of the end. She would continue to be Violet for the duration of her stay, she just knew it. Once Daisy latched on to something, she didn’t let go. Maybe it was because of all the memories she’d lost. Maybe that made what she did remember all the more precious.
A high-pitched whine interrupted Vi’s reverie, bringing her back to the present. The noise came from the corner. She swiveled on the stool to look into Annabelle’s concerned brown eyes. This time they didn’t trigger a flood of bad feelings. Annabelle was a big dog—what had Ian said?—a chocolate Lab mix? Really nothing at all like the terrier pup she’d had as a kid. The pup her dad had killed.
Annabelle whined again.
“I’m okay. Nothing to worry about, girl.”
Who was the crazy lady now? Talking to animals.
The whine grew more persistent, ending with a half bark.
Vi got off the stool and approached the dog, slowly, carefully. She seemed harmless enough. Head on paws, big beseeching eyes, who could resist?
Vi knelt a few feet from the animal and stretched out her hand. The dog sniffed her fingers, then her big, pink tongue swiped across Vi’s palm.
“Yech.” Vi wiped her hand on her pants, but leaned a little closer.
The dog didn’t move a muscle, just swished its tail slightly. Bolstered with confidence, Vi let her fingers wander over the soft, silky ears.
Annabelle’s tail thumped her approval.
Warmth flared somewhere near her heart.