Through Glass (The Glass Series Book 1) (6 page)

Chapter Nine

And then I feel lost;

I missed my exit long ago

There is no one at the counter at the police station. I frantically pace back and forth. Finally, a young dark-haired cop comes out from an office and asks how he can help me.

“Did Laura Blue pass away?” I ask. “I’m her granddaughter. No one told me. I was just over there and her house is empty. I don’t know where else to go.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know.” He seems confused.

He leaves the room and comes back in with his supervisor.

“Is Laura Blue dead?” I ask, impatiently this time.

“Yes,” the supervisor replies, seeming surprised.

“I don’t understand. Why did no one call me? What happened? This can’t be right!” I yell.

“I’m not sure, ma’am. She was found in her home, in August. That’s the only information I can give you.”

“That can’t be. I was still living here in August,” I argue. “I lived with her up until mid-September.”

“It was August fourteenth. I remember because I responded to the call. A neighbor found her.”

“What about the funeral?” I ask, my voice raised.

“It was a couple days later. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand.” I know I keep repeating myself, but I need an explanation.

“I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am. Do you have any other family you could stay with for the night?”

“No.”

“Well, perhaps we could put you up in a motel for tonight and make arrangements in the morning,” he says calmly.

I can’t say no. I have nowhere else to go.

This cannot be happening.

Chapter Ten

It’s getting so very hard to breathe

An older officer is driving me to the motel. He tries to make small talk about the weather, but I’m really not in the mood for conversation.

“I’m so sorry about your grandma,” he finally says, offering his condolences.

“Thanks.” I don’t really know what else to say.

“How are you holding up? It must be tough to find out this way. Is anyone else here with you?” he asks.

“No.”

“Oh. Well, if there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask,” he offers.

I say thanks again.

I unlock the door to room number four and walk in. I throw my bag down at the door and sit on the bed. I grab my cell phone from my pocket and dial my grandmother’s number once again. There is still no answer.

My eyes are red. My cheeks are burning. I don’t think I have any tears left to cry. I see the lights of the police car out the window as he drives away.

Maybe if I just go to sleep, I’ll wake up to find this is a dream—

Chapter Eleven

I can’t cry now, or my makeup won’t last

The sun is shining in my face, and I reach for my phone to check the time. It’s early. I sit up in the bed. I’m still in the motel room. Last night did actually happen.

I feel like I need to go to my grandma’s one more time, to make sure this is real, so I walk over.

I am standing outside, staring at the big white building. There is still no car in the yard, or movement inside the house. It looks exactly like it did when she first bought the place fifteen years ago. Until then, we had lived in a tiny apartment, just her and I. My parents weren’t around. My mom, who was my grandma’s daughter, had been friends with the wrong people and got messed up with drugs. I didn’t even know my dad. My mom lost custody of me soon after I was born, and she didn’t seem to care. She continued to party with her friends, drinking and spending weeks in motel rooms with strange men. I was sent to live with my grandma. My mom never visited. She never even called me on my birthdays.

My grandma was angry with her. She had tried desperately to keep my mom away from that crowd before she got pregnant, and then during her entire pregnancy, to no avail. Grandma also told me that she was certain my mother was bipolar, though it was never diagnosed. Sometimes I wonder if I have problems, too.

Chapter Twelve

Can’t keep thinking of broken glass

The ride home feels like it takes forever. I’ve spent my last bit of grocery money on this train ticket and I literally don’t know what I’m going to do.

Oliver still hasn’t texted me back.

I decide to take him up on his offer. I’ll accept the position at the café. I really have no choice at this point.

Before I even head to my apartment, I stop into Bean There to see him.

Once again, I find him at the corner booth, scribbling in his notepad. I’m sure I look like shit, but I couldn’t wait to see him. Stopping at home to shower was out of the question.

“Hi, Lauren,” he says. He looks worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I texted you.”

“I know, sweetheart, I was busy with several interviews. I have had my hands full all day with Frederick gone. Have you been crying?”

“I went home for the weekend. I went to see my grandma. I was debating whether or not I should move back home with her because I can’t pay rent this month and, well, I miss her. But there was no one home so I went to a diner and the lady there told me she had passed away, which I didn’t believe, because no one ever called to tell me or anything. Shouldn’t they have called?” I talk so quickly, I’m not even sure that I’m breathing.

“Wait, what?”

“She’s dead. I went to the police station and they confirmed it. I had no one else to stay with so they put me up in a motel for the night and I took the train back in the morning. She died, and I was never even notified. Someone should have told me,” I explain, as the tears start streaming down my face.

I don’t tell him about the eviction notice. I don’t want him to know how bad things really are.

“Oh god, Laur, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now,” he says. He’s holding me and being in his arms feels great, but my heart is so broken. “I’ll have Tara close the shop tonight and I’ll take you home.”

Despite the mention of Tara, I accept. I don’t want to be alone right now.

I sit on the floor, petting NyQuil, while Oliver runs a warm bubble bath for me. He sits out in the living room while I sink into the bubbles. I want to forget the last couple days happened. I wish I hadn’t missed the funeral. I wish I had been able to say goodbye. I don’t even know how she died.

If I hadn’t gone home this weekend, how long would it have been before I found out?

I emerge from the bathroom, wearing my pajamas. I curl up on the couch in Oliver’s arms and he holds me until we’re both drifting off to sleep.

“I’ll take the job you offered me,” I whisper.

“We’ll discuss it in the morning, Laur,” he hesitates.

What does that mean? Why do we have to discuss it?

I have no energy left to ask questions, so with tears silently running down my face for what feels like the hundredth time today, I fall asleep. I don’t want to wake up.

Chapter Thirteen

I’ve become what I said I wouldn’t

When I wake up, Oliver is cooking breakfast. I’m not sure what time it is. All I know is that I feel like I could have slept for another few hours, but NyQuil woke me when he jumped onto my chest. I can smell coffee, and it smells amazing. I haven’t had coffee in a whole twenty-four hours. I’m surprised I haven’t experienced withdrawal symptoms.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asks.

“No, it’s fine. Breakfast smells great. Thanks for cooking.” I manage a smile.

“No problem. It sure is a change from shame-eating cereal over the kitchen sink. Oh, the life of a bachelor. Would you happen to have an extra toothbrush? Or, like, Dentastix for the cat that I can chew on?”

“No.” I laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need to work today, I just have to go in to pick up some paperwork, so if you’d like to spend the day together, I’d be more than happy to keep you company,” he offers.

“That would be really nice,” I admit. I smile when I see NyQuil circling Oliver’s legs, clearly begging for a strip of bacon. I realize I’m quite hungry, too.

“Do you want to talk about your grandma?” Oliver asks.

I don’t want to because I know it will make me cry again, but I feel like I need to share this with him so I don’t feel alone. I take a deep breath and then exhale slowly. He is studying my face.

“She raised me. My mom wasn’t around and I didn’t know my dad. We didn’t have any other family so it was really just us. She was good to me. She didn’t have to take me in and give me a home, but she did. The only reason she bought the house was because she felt the apartment was too small for us. She always felt bad that I didn’t have any siblings, so she tried to play ball with me as much as possible, take me to the beach—all kinds of cool stuff. We did crafts together; she was always knitting or quilting, and I learned how to do both. I’m pretty sure she’s the reason I paint. I get my creativity from her. She loved animals, too. We had two dogs. She let me name them when I was four. Meatball and Porkchop. She also rescued a rabbit from the road one night. It was a domestic one. We were pretty sure someone had let it outside, or it got out of an enclosure, and it would have died if we hadn’t rescued him. You know—been eaten by a fox, or something. I named him Stew.” I smiled.

Oliver laughed. “Like rabbit stew. That’s cute.”

“I’m going to miss her,” I sigh.

“Of course you will, but it sounds like you kept her well entertained and she had a long and happy life.”

“I should have visited at the end. It was the first time I was ever away from home.”

I’m holding back tears, not wanting to cry again. I am too drained and exhausted. I feel flush—my face is burning.

“I’m sure she knew you loved her, Laur. And she wanted what was best for you, which means she was happy for you, knowing you were starting to establish a life here,” Oliver assured me.

“I guess so. Only, she didn’t know how bad things actually are for me. I can’t pay my bills. I have no friends.”

“You have me.” He pauses. “What happens to her estate?”

“I don’t know. I never thought about that. What should I do?”

“I would think there’s probably a lawyer in charge, or something. You should probably look into that so you can start getting that sorted out. It’s a lot of work. I did it with my dad’s stuff not long ago,” he explains.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I hang my head.

“That’s okay.”

He hands me a plate with scrambled eggs, two slices of bacon, and a piece of toast.

“Orange juice, milk, or coffee?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.

“Obviously I will have the coffee, unless wine is an option. Is wine an option?”

“No, most definitely not. If you want wine, I can make that an option tonight,” he suggests.

“What about rum? I heard that drinking rum before noon doesn’t make you an alcoholic, it makes you a pirate.” I grin.

“No rum either! Drink your coffee!”

I glance at the clock on the microwave. It’s only nine o’clock. I really have nothing I need to do today, so I decide to take it easy. As much as I’d love to spend time with Oliver, I also don’t want him to keep me company out of pity.

I want to paint. I always feel like painting when I’m emotional, whether I am happy or sad. Emotional-Lauren is the most creative side of me.

I walk over to my unfinished canvas and stand in front of it. I am not quite sure where I want it to go, but I want to get working on it so I can finish it.

“Are you planning to do that today?” Oliver asks when he notices that I’m staring at it.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Okay, good. That’s good, Laur. It might take your mind off things, y’know?”

I nod. I think back to our brief conversation last night and I wonder if I should ask about the job offer, but I’m afraid of what he might say. Was he only offering to be nice? Did he find someone better than me? He did interviews all day. He must have hired someone. Or, he doesn’t think I’m fit for the job due to my lack of people skills. I should have kept my mouth shut and not told him I didn’t like working with people, but I assumed he knew me well enough at this point to realize I can suck it up and put on a happy face for the job. Maybe he knows I’m clumsy. Maybe he thinks my head isn’t where it should be due to the loss of my grandma.

I should call whatever lawyer I need to call. Oliver made a good point. I don’t want to deal with it today, but I need to get the ball rolling. If I do end up having to take care of her estate, I would really prefer if it didn’t drag on forever.

“What time are you going to the coffee shop?” I ask Oliver.

“Anytime. I just have to get some paperwork filled out for Tara; I told her she could pick it up later today, so I need to get it ready.”

Tara? Did he really just say that name?
I pause. I don’t know what to say. I hope he doesn’t notice how uncomfortable I feel as I repeat what he just said in my head.

“Okay.” My chest feels heavy when I breathe.

“I needed someone to replace Frederick. Christmas is coming and I’m really short staffed. I don’t want to end up working sixty hours a week just to cover people’s shifts, Laur,” he explains.

“You don’t need to explain.”

Is this why he isn’t hiring me?

Almost as though he can read my mind, he continues to speak while carefully monitoring my reaction. “I’d still like to hire you but I can only offer part-time. I wish I would have known sooner that you wanted the position; I wouldn’t have been so quick to hire someone.”

“That’s fine. I appreciate it, anyway. I’ll take the part-time.” I am hesitant. I don’t actually want part-time hours, but I need to approach the situation like a responsible adult with bills to pay. Besides, accepting his offer means I can keep a close eye on Tara.

“How soon would you like to start?” Oliver asks.

“How about I deal with this estate stuff and we aim for next week?”

“That sounds like a good plan,” he says, nodding. “As for today, I can head out to the shop and give you some space to work on your painting, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I could use a bit of alone time, I think.”

I really want to be alone. I just want to curl up and sleep for a couple more hours. I’m incredibly exhausted. My face is still splotchy and red from crying. I don’t actually want to deal with the estate today, so I will probably put it off until tomorrow.

After giving me a kiss on the forehead, Oliver is gone.

I’m alone. For a second, I feel dizzy.
I’m alone.

I find myself throwing blue paint onto the canvas. It covers the red paint from a couple nights ago and creates an interesting new design. It’s not exactly what I envisioned when I first decided to paint another canvas, but it works. If nothing else, it at least demonstrates the exact emotions I’m feeling as my depression engulfs what was once my passion for life.

I walk back to the kitchen and wash the paint off my hands. The water from the faucet hits my hands and turns blue, running clear once again only seconds later. I glance over at the breakfast table. Oliver forgot his notebook. Suddenly, I have the overwhelming desire to flip through it although I know he won’t be pleased. Perhaps I can blame my lack of self-control on my emotional instability as I open it to the first page.

I am shocked to find my name.

I met Lauren today. She spoke a bit about her family and where she grew up, but did not mention anything about her parents. Her grandmother, Laura, was her primary caregiver. She is highly intelligent, friendly, and outgoing. She immediately mentioned her love of painting, and I asked when she’d start painting again. She told me she’d like to start again soon. I feel like she’s keeping something from me, and not fully opening up. I have discussed this with Shay, whom she is close to. I hope we can work through this and that she eventually won’t feel the need to hide anything. I’d really love to develop a relationship where we are both able to communicate openly and freely, without secrets. I’m not a hundred percent certain this is completely possible, but I have hope. I am letting her believe she is in control of whatever sort of relationship we end up in, so that I can get into her head. I need to know what she’s thinking.

“What the fuck—” I mumble, and the words trail off. I’m dizzy again.

I don’t know what to make of this, or if I even want to keep reading. I close the notebook and sit on the dining room chair. I stare at the cover. He’s sketched a cat in the top right corner. I flip through the rest of the book quickly, and realize it is three quarters full. I wonder if it’s all about me.

I want to keep reading but I— “Lauren?”

I jump and gasp, startled at the voice behind me as the door opens. Oliver barges in and heads towards me. He is clearly shocked to find me sitting at the table with his book. “What are you doing?”

“What is this?” I ask.

“You looked at it? I can’t believe you looked at it. How could you do that after I had asked you not to, Lauren? That stuff is private and for my eyes only.” He’s standing several feet away from me and I can tell from his stance that he’s fuming. I flinch when he flails his arms. “You weren’t supposed to see any of that. It’s my notebook. The fact that you’ve looked at it—it’s just not right, Lauren. It’s not right at all.”

He lunges towards me and reaches for the book. Instinctively, I pull back.

“I don’t understand what this is,” I whisper.

“Give it to me, Lauren,” he demands sternly.

“No. Why are you writing about me?”

“You don’t understand what this is,” he says.

“I guess I don’t, so explain it to me,” I plead.

“I will do no such thing. It is absolutely none of your business, Lauren.” This is the fifth time he’s said my full name. He really must be upset.

“Like hell, it’s not. It’s about me, which makes it my business. I deserve an explanation.”

He reaches for me again and I pull away once more. This time, he grabs my arm. He squeezes so hard that I’m certain there will be a mark in the morning. It throbs.

“Ouch.” I pull back.

“Lauren, I need that book back.” He raises his voice this time. I can’t believe this is happening.

He grabs my arm again and pushes his body onto mine, pinning my body against the wall behind the table. He’s bigger than I am and I can barely move. It hurts and I let out a cry. He grabs my wrist, squeezing hard, and the notebook falls from my hand. He reaches down to pick it up, and then he backs away from me.

“I’m sorry, Laur. I really am. You weren’t meant to see any of this, and I’m sorry.” He sounds very apologetic but nothing can excuse what just happened.

“I still need you to tell me what’s going on. You’ve talked to Shay about me? How do you even know Shay and why would she tell you anything? And why do you think I’m hiding things from you? This is fucked up, Oliver.”

“Shay and I have been friends for years and she mentioned that she knew you before you and I started talking. So when we got to know each other, I just asked her about you. It wasn’t a big deal,” he explained. His arms are crossed defensively. He stares me in the eyes.

“All of this is a huge deal. This is really creepy. You’re like—a stalker.”
I don’t believe you.

“I’m not a stalker. I’m just observant. I notice things other people don’t, and I document it. I promise it’s nothing weird, it’s just private.”

“I want you out of my apartment.” If I had still been holding his notebook, I would have thrown it at him. I don’t want to read another word. I just want him gone.

“Okay, fine. I’m leaving. I’m really sorry, Laur. I’ll call you in a couple hours just to make sure you’re doing okay. I care about you,” he assures me. He drops his arms to his sides.