“I wanna go home, I wanna go home, I wanna go home,” Jade chanted, her voice rising with each repetition.
I know exactly how you feel, thought Sam, too weary to stand up.
Through tear-blurred eyes, she saw a pretty young woman burst out the door, a plastic garbage bag in her hand.
“Samara Davis, right? I’m Eliza Bramble. Welcome! I saw you arrive,” she said somewhat breathlessly, hurrying toward them. “I was on my way down, but then I saw your suitcase break and I went to get a bag first.”
“Thank you.”
“Looks like your little one isn’t very happy at the moment.”
“It’s been a long day.” Samara got to her feet, one hand on her chin, the other reaching forward, hoping to distract Eliza with a handshake.
Too late.
She squatted down in front of Sam’s quickly dissolving daughter, her voice friendly, her face open and helpful. “I’m Eliza. And you must be Jade.”
Instantly, the dog moved to stand between Jade and the new person. Eliza looked at Sam, eyebrows raised.
“That’s Bob. Don’t worry, she’s friendly, but Jade is… wary of strangers.”
Sam shoved her underwear into the bag, heedless of order or anything other than getting them out of public view, making a mental note to get rid of every single piece, as soon as she had a chance to buy new ones.
A whole drawer-full of new undies.
Starting over from the bottom up. Literally.
Eliza moved to touch Jade’s hair. Sam knew it was a well-intended gesture but Jade shrank away. Before she could begin crying, Sam scooped her up, the bag dangling from her arm.
“She’s very shy,” said Sam. “It’s been a really long day.”
“Then let’s get you to your room.” The woman stepped back, her smile less sure now. “Don’t worry. I’ll get your luggage. You take care of your little one. There’s some supper in the warming oven, for whenever you’re ready. We’ll get better acquainted then.”
As Samara hurried up the weathered stone path to the front door of Bramble House, her chin throbbing, her arms shaking, her heart broke again for her little girl. It was too much. It was all too much.
Just a few more days, she reminded herself, as she’d been telling herself every day for the past few weeks. A few more days and they’d be in their very own home, finally.
Shelter. Privacy. A place where she and Jade could finally rest and recover. Where she could hear herself think and be alone long enough to grieve the life she’d lost and maybe figure out a way to stop dreading each new day and embrace their future.
She stepped over the threshold, surveying the vaulted ceiling, richly textured walls and elaborate chandeliers. But what must have been a beautiful home at one time now had an air of faded gentility, unspoken and unacknowledged decay.
“Samara Kim.”
She jumped and turned to see an elderly woman who could only be Mabel Bramble. Tall and unbent by age, she stood motionless at the railing, her thin veined hands resting as if posed for a portrait.
Samara flushed, acutely aware of her travel-wrinkled, sweaty attire. Not to mention the unhappy child in her arms and their dog of questionable parentage that was no doubt already shedding all over the well-polished marble.
“I’m sorry we’re later than expected,” began Sam, desperate to break the silence.
“Never introduce yourself with an apology.” Mabel Bramble descended the grand staircase, no smile to soften her words.
Her real estate agent had given Sam an oblique warning about Mabel. Great-aunt to the Carrigan girls of Circle C Ranch, as well as one of the original founders of Marietta, Mabel had strong opinions on how her town had deteriorated, and who was to blame.
But great-aunt Mabel’s lack of lifetime achievement awards wasn’t her problem.
“My name is Samara Davis, actually. This is my daughter, Jade Davis-Kim.”
Mabel sniffed, as if rejecting a husband’s surname was a mark of ill repute never spoken of in polite society. But she stopped in front of Sam and extended her hand.
“Welcome to Bramble House.”
The older woman’s grip was surprisingly strong and instead of letting go, she held Sam’s hand, her eyebrows raised. Waiting.