Page 15

"You haven't been around as much lately."
Her mother's comment tweaked her guilt. "You and Arthur were busy."
"He was just trying to help you, Callie. You were so mean to him last night."
She frowned. "It wasn't that bad."
"I was mean to him, too." Her mom's bottom lip began to tremble once more. "I let my insecurities get away from me. My imagination—it's too big. Arthur always told me that. He said I just made stuff up in my head. But it seemed so real."
She didn't know what her mother was talking about, but she didn't like what she was hearing. "What kind of stuff?"
"I thought… It doesn't matter anymore."
"What did you think?"
"I'm tired. I don't know what I'm saying."
"You should sleep. No more going out on the balcony."
"What?" she asked in confusion. "Was I on the balcony? I thought I was dreaming. Is that why my feet are so cold?"
"You'll warm up soon. Close your eyes and think about something happy."
"Arthur made me happy."
"Going to the beach makes you happy, too," she reminded her. "Remember when we'd drive up to Santa Barbara and walk on Butterfly Beach? You loved the feel of the sand between your toes. It was warm, too. We'd stretch out on the ground, the sun on our faces, and we'd hear music playing from the nearby hotels. It was so pretty."
Her mother's eyes closed as she talked in gentle, soothing tones, telling her a story she'd told her a hundred times before. And when her chest rose and fell with peaceful quiet, Callie got to her feet.
She walked over to the balcony doors and made sure the lock at the top was on. Then she grabbed the desk by the window and pulled it over to block the doors. At least, if her mom tried to get out, she'd hear her.
Then she walked down the hall to the guest room where she stayed when she was there. She pulled out her phone and called her mother's doctor again. The service put her through this time, and he agreed to come over to the house to determine whether or not her mother needed to be admitted to the hospital.
The thought of that possibility made her nauseous. Her mom had been doing well for a long time. She didn't want to see her hospitalized again. But she also knew that sometimes that had to happen to get her mother back on track.
She frowned as she heard a clatter from downstairs. She'd thought Flynn had left. But he had probably decided to take advantage of her mom's breakdown to search the house. She headed down the hall, wondering if she had any legal ability to make him leave.
But that would mean calling the police, and would they really throw an FBI agent out of the house? Even if they did, wouldn't that only cause more problems in the long run?
She hurried down the stairs, pausing by the window on the landing as the outside crowd drew her attention. There was a crush of people in front of the house, and her heart sank at the sight of a news van and a reporter setting up their shot on the sidewalk. Thankfully, no one had come into the yard, and the house was set back from the street, but the media still felt too close.
This was the last thing her mom needed, and she mentally kicked herself for not anticipating the arrival of the press. She should have never brought her mother home. Although, in reality, she doubted she would have been able to get her mother to go to her apartment. She'd wanted to be close to Arthur and their life was here.
But now her mother was living in a fishbowl and the arrival of her psychiatrist might raise questions—questions that she didn't want her mother to have to answer. She knew she could count on Dr. Clarke to be discreet, but a smart reporter might still figure out who he was and why he was there.
Looking away from the window, she drew in a breath and then wrinkled her nose in confusion. It smelled like bacon. Moving into the kitchen, she was shocked to see Flynn standing at the stove, scrambling eggs.
"What the hell are you doing?" she asked in amazement.
"Cooking breakfast," he replied, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "I didn't eat earlier, and I have a feeling you didn't, either. How's your mother doing?"
"She's…look, you need to leave. I told you to go."
"I know, and I thought about it, but I didn't want to leave you alone to deal with everything."
"I've been alone, dealing with everything, for most of my life." Even as she said the words, she immediately regretted them. She didn't need to give Flynn any more ammunition to go after her mother. He'd already seen far too much.
"Well, today, you're not alone. You need to eat, because things may get worse before they get better."