had been.
“A bar,” Mel said, when Christian didn’t respond. “The first one we see. Chris needs food, and he needs a good stiff drink. So do I.”
Christian had sworn off liquor before he could have his first drink, the result of being Gabe Carver’s son. Now he wondered if his father had understood something he hadn’t.
“Christian?” Peter said.
“Yeah.” Christian leaned back and closed his eyes. “The first bar we see.”
Julia could find her way through the house with only the occasional stumble. Karen had organized her drawers and toiletries so that she could find the things she needed. Maisy had cleared the halls and rooms. Julia had even learned to make her way out to the garden, where Jake had leveled stones to be certain she didn’t catch a toe and trip. Adjusting had taken time and concentration. Now that the basics were, for the most part, finished, she had little to occupy her mind.
But nothing would have emptied it of Christian Carver, anyway.
“Julia, I’m making a cake. Why don’t you come stir it for me?”
Out of habit, Julia looked up at the sound of her mother’s voice. Karen had gone to Millcreek just before three to pick up more of Julia’s clothes and hadn’t yet returned. Julia knew Maisy’s cake was just an excuse to help her stay busy, but she was more than willing to go along with it. “Can I lick the bowl?”
“I won’t tell the salmonella police if you don’t.”
“I don’t know how helpful I’ll be. You might end up with more on the counters than in your pans.”
“I’ll take that chance.” Maisy hesitated. “See you in the kitchen, honey.”
Julia was sure her mother wanted to take her by the hand and lead her, and it was a welcome surprise that she hadn’t offered. Julia found her way through the hall with no problems and turned the corner into the kitchen, where her luck ran out. She felt for the edge of the counter to orient herself, and her hand brushed something cool and smooth. The contact was temporary. The item crashed to the floor.
“Damn!”
“It’s okay, Julia. Just a bowl. I shouldn’t have left it so close to the edge. It’s my fault.”
“No, it’s not.” Julia wanted to hit something or somebody. And simply wanting to wasn’t nearly good enough. “It’s my fault for being blind.”
“I’m cleaning up the pieces. Don’t come in until I’m done.”
“When is this going to end? If this is all in my mind, don’t you think something would shake loose and I’d see again?”
“I think if it were that simple you wouldn’t have lost your sight in the first place.”
“How am I going to be able to take care of Callie if I can’t see where I’m going? If I can’t see who’s coming?”
Maisy didn’t answer right away. Julia could hear the sound of the broom brushing the floor, the clinking of pottery, the slide of the dustpan.
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Maisy said at last. “It’s one thing to be suddenly blind. That’s terrible enough. But to be blind and afraid that Christian will come back—”
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