Jaxson's Song (15 page)

She gasped and came fully
awake, instantly on the verge of hysteria as she sprang into a
position that was an awkward cross between sitting and reclining.
Stomach acid and the remnants of last night’s red wine churned in
her gut as her hands moved over her stomach and sides,
probing—frantic.

She was unhurt. Sitting up
all the way, she grasped the hem of her white tank top and yanked
the cloth clear up to her neck. The glass was hard and cold beneath
her knees as she rose up and twisted this way and that, running her
hands over her body, and sagging in relief when her fingers met
only smooth, unblemished skin.

Just a dream… Kate eyed
the doorway, her eyes dropping lower as she noticed the wine bottle
on its side a couple of feet away from the door. The contents of
the bottle lay spilled across the glass in a rich, dark stain. Red
wine—not blood. Kate gulped as a wave of dizzy sickness washed over
her skin, leaving her hot and then cold.

She climbed unsteadily to
her feet, wincing at how icy the floor was as she padded across the
room to retrieve the now-empty bottle. She started to bend over,
but quickly found out that was an extremely bad idea; her stomach
leapt to her throat, and bile rose to gag her.

Abruptly, she
straightened, blinking back the sudden moisture from her eyes
before making another go for the bottle. This time, though, she was
careful to bend at the knee in a cautious, slow crouch. Lord, how
much had she drank last night? The relatively scant amount of wine
on the floor, and the throbbing at her temples, answered that
question for her.

Memories of last night
flitted through her mind, and she cast a nervous glance behind her.
Bottle in hand, she turned and walked back to the far wall, knelt
down…

Her heart began to pound
at her ribcage as she traced the fingers of her free hand over the
network of thin, spidery cracks in the glass.

“
What in the hell…” she breathed, eyes wide.

Kate glanced from the wine
bottle she clutched, to her own splintered reflection in the
damaged glass of the floor. How? She frowned. There were only a few
likely possibilities. The wine bottle…but there was no wine spilled
or even drops splattered near the glass…or anywhere on this side of
the room, for that matter. Had she maybe—for some unknown
reason—punched the glass last night? But her hands didn’t hurt, and
she had no visible injuries. Could she have flown into some sort of
alcohol-fueled rage and hit the floor hard enough to crack it—and
not be bruised, or at least sore? Was that even possible? The glass
covering the floor looked thick and strong; it would have to be,
wouldn’t it?

The only other explanation
was that the floor had already been broken when she’d moved in. As
explanations went, it was on the flimsy side of plausible, but it
was the only thing that made sense.

Rising to her feet, she
staggered out into the hallway, shutting the door to the glass room
and then leaning against it, as if the scarred wood at her back was
the most substantial, solid thing in her world. It didn’t last. An
instant later, the door flew open and Kate was propelled backward,
her rear end—and then her back—making hard contact with the floor.
The empty bottle rolled away from her, and she stared up at the
mirrored ceiling—straight into a reflection with cold eyes a shade
or two darker than her own, and long, straight hair.

Kate screamed, and the
vision was gone. She looked like herself again. Scrambling to her
hands and knees, she practically crawled over the threshold and
reached up to grasp the doorknob. She pulled herself up, shivering,
and yanked hard at the door, this time making sure the latch
clicked into place.

Her stomach lurched, and
she spun around and ran down the hallway, barely making it to the
bathroom before she threw up. What the hell had she just seen? She
shoved unsteady hands through her sweat-dampened hair and flushed
the toilet.

During broad daylight,
now? Her breath shuddered out before she rose to sit on the toilet
seat. Fingers shaking, she reached out to twist the knobs on the
bathtub. A shower. Things would look better after a hot shower.
Once she washed away the stench of alcohol, maybe the rest of the
night would fade, too.

Taking a deep, fortifying
breath, she stood and crossed to the sink, intending to quickly
rinse her mouth while the water ran in the tub. But she lingered
over her reflection in the age-spotted vanity mirror, slicked her
hands over hair that was just long enough to reach the tips of her
breasts—pulling the strands down until they were taut against
either side of her head. Laying down…her hair could be mistaken for
being straighter than it actually was.

Yes, that was what she had
seen. Nothing more. Ghosts—real ghosts—didn’t exist. They were
stories; midnight tales whispered by candlelight in order to spook
the living. That or make life more interesting, depending on how
you chose to look at it. Feeling somewhat steadier, Kate stripped
out of her shorts and tank top, pulled up the faded chrome knob to
divert the rush of hot water to the showerhead, and stepped
carefully under the spray. Squirting a good size dollop of
mango-scented shampoo into her palm, she proceeded to give her hair
a vigorous scrubbing.

At least the old place had
plenty of hot water and decent water pressure. Not that it
mattered, because she wasn’t staying any longer than was absolutely
necessary. In fact, she would call a realtor as soon as she was
done with her shower. Kate ducked her head under the powerful spray
and squeezed a torrent of soap suds from her hair. The excess water
hit the tub with a satisfying splash, and she watched the fragrant,
soapy water as it swirled around the drain.

Her recently-empty stomach
lurched anew at the thought of what the future held. She would sell
the house—go out West, and then what? Before, her days—her entire
life, really—had been laid out in a clear, concise path. All other
problems and fears and insecurities aside, she had at least known,
more or less, how things were “supposed” to go. But now… She
swallowed and gave her hair a final rinse. Now, the future
stretched in front of her in an endless, murky sea. She didn’t know
what these new, dark waters held; she didn’t even know which
direction she was supposed to go from here, and that terrified
her.

The last time she had felt
so adrift was right after her mother had passed away. At least back
then she’d had Lilly and—Kate froze, eyes widening as the full
implications of her thoughts hit her. She shut off the water and
reached absently for a towel. Back then, she’d had Lilly…and now,
she was alone. No, she reflected, thinking of Lindsey, and
Olivia…of Lilly, and the rest of the family. She wasn’t alone. Not
really. Not exactly. Lilly was out doing her own thing
now.

But…that was what was
supposed to happen, right? Children grew up. They moved away from
home; they spread their wings. Lilly was supposed to go out and
live her own life. That had been part of the plan, hadn’t it? To
finish raising Lilly.

Kate sucked in a deep
breath, inhaling a lungful of thick, steamy air as she wrapped the
towel tight around her body, tucking one corner in at her bust,
near the crook of her arm. There was no denying that all of
this—Lilly’s flying the nest—was a bit sudden. Hell, Kate pressed a
freshly scrubbed hand to her temple, “a bit sudden” was an
understatement if there ever was one. Lilly hadn’t just flown the
nest—she’d leapt out of it, headfirst, and dove for the concrete.
Really, all that was left to do now was damage control. So she’d
sell the house. She’d follow her little sister—and
Chad
—to Reno.
Kate’s teeth snapped together at the thought of what her first
meeting with Lilly’s husband was sure to be like. Maybe—just
maybe—she would be able to avoid kneeing him in the groin. But
probably not.

On that thought, she threw
open the door, and a rush of cold air washed over her skin as she
stalked down the hall to her bedroom, very much afraid that she was
going to throw up again before this morning was over.
So what
, she
reasoned on a shallow breath as she began to dress, if she needed
to throw up, then she’d throw up. It wasn’t like she’d never been
sick before. She’d go downstairs, pop an aspirin or two—or
three—and fix a pot of coffee. Then, she’d search “real estate
offices near Crystal Cove, Florida” on the yellow pages website,
and after that, she’d type a letter of resignation to turn in to
the hospital tonight. Kate groaned as she pulled a purple cotton
t-shirt, worn soft from hundreds of washings, over her head. She
was
so
not
up to going to work tonight. For the first time since she’d arrived
in Crystal Cove, she was grateful for her morgue babysitting
detail. She could at least spend the night hunched over a desk, in
silence. And then, tomorrow…

She paused as she slid her
feet into a pair of white Crocs. Tomorrow…what? She would feed the
cat, catch a few hours of sleep, and get up for work the next
night, and the next, and the next after that? Kill time for the
next few weeks until it was time to leave for Nevada? And then
what? That was the real problem, Kate realized, hugging her arms
around her waist and lingering a moment by the bedroom door. She’d
done what she’d set out to do; Kate hung her head. Lilly was
eighteen years old. Kate’s visions of drop-kicking Chad and helping
her sister obtain a quick divorce evaporated like smoke in the
wind.

So things went back to the
way they were before. What then? In a few years, Lilly would have
been graduating—would still be graduating—and she’d be venturing
out on her own. Because, truth be told…her sister may still need
some occasional help and guidance now and then, but she’d done her
job and finished raising Lilly. That part of her life was over.
Trouble was…she’d never given any thought to what she was going to
do after.

Chapter
Fourteen

One Step Closer

T
he
coffee machine hissed and
sputtered, signaling that hope was at hand. Kate inhaled the scent
of the strong, fragrant hazelnut brew she’d picked up at Publix the
day before, when she’d bought the wine, and she smiled. She poured
a cup and carried it over to the kitchen table, where the legal pad
and the ballpoint pen were set up and ready to go.

Her first sip of the
coffee—light cream, no sugar—was tentative, but after a few more
cautious sips, her nausea remained at a steady low ebb, no better,
but no worse. It wouldn’t have mattered much even if she hadn’t
been able to drink the coffee. It smelled so good, that the aroma
was almost enough. The familiar scent filled the kitchen and
wrapped around her, soothing nerves that had been laid bare and raw
for far too long. If she didn’t think too much about her last
memories of this house, she was almost…comfortable, she realized
with a start. “Comfortable” was the last thing she’d ever expected
to feel in this house…in Florida, even.

“
Stranger things,” she muttered, swallowing another mouthful
of coffee before scooting the cup away in favor of the notepad. She
picked up the pen and bit down lightly on the clear blue pen cap
tucked onto the end of the Bic, then thoughtfully regarded the
notes she’d already made. She had two appointments with local
realtors tomorrow morning. The first, she’d scheduled for an office
visit around eleven. The second meeting was with a listing gent
name Rita Cash. She sounded like a younger woman, probably under
thirty, Kate guessed, and she would be driving out to the house to
have a look around.

It probably wouldn’t hurt
to have a few extra companies listed and lined up in case neither
Realty Pro nor Cove Realty ended up working out, but her head still
felt like someone had tried to do a two-step on it—so far, the
aspirin hadn’t kicked in. Being one of those eternally optimistic,
“glass half full” type of people, Kate held out hope that at some
point today, she would stop being tempted to ask random strangers
to knock her out. Until then, she planned to take it easy. Going
the extra mile and carefully researching—and recording—a long list
of real estate offices within fifty miles of Crystal Cove was not
happening today. So she tore off the top sheet, folded it, and
stuck it in her studded white wallet that sat opposite the coffee
mug.

Task accomplished—for the
moment, anyhow—she idly tapped her pen on the yellow-lined paper
and began to mentally compose her resignation letter. Ten minutes
later, the blue porcelain mug was empty and there was a nice row of
tiny, colored-in hearts gracing the margin of her page, but she was
no closer to writing the dreaded two-week kiss-off. Kate frowned.
She had to write that letter, and it might as well be turned in
tonight. The sooner the hospital had her notice on file, the faster
she could get the hell out of dodge…or, Crystal Cove, as it
were.

Plus, she needed the
reference from the hospital. Without it, getting a job in Nevada
would be harder, and a phone call to the Nevada state board of
health had gleaned information that she’d already figured; she
would have to retake her licensing exam if she wanted to work in
the state. She needed that reference—scanty as it would probably
be, because realistically, how much was her supervisor here in
Crystal Cove supposed to say about an employee who’d watched over
the morgue for a grand total of three weeks? But, at least they
would say that she’d shown up to work on time, and had given notice
when she had to leave…one week later. Kate winced, but squared her
shoulders, determined to face reality head-on and deal with it,
since her carefully laid plans were officially up in
smoke.