Hidden Time by L.A. Boruff

Author:L.A. Boruff [Boruff, L.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boruff, Inc.

Chapter Ten

Present Day

I must’ve fallen asleep because when I awoke, the sun was in the east and shining brightly enough so I knew it was late morning. And my daughter, light of my life, the joy in every day since she was born, was in the kitchen slamming cabinet doors, opening and closing the fridge with unnecessary force, setting a bowl against the counter as if the counter needed some encouragement to accept the bowl, and slamming the silverware drawer. She was angry and this was her passive aggressive sixteen year old way of making sure I knew it.

I sat up and looked over the back of the sofa to where she stood in the kitchen. She had her hair in a ponytail, her t-shirt knotted at her hip, and skinny jeans. She shot me an impressive glower, one reminiscent of her own mother and mine, the biological one, then went back to slamming and smashing.

I yawned and rubbed my hand over my face, then tried to run my fingers through the knotty rat’s nest my hair had become overnight. It was hard to assume position on the high road with a blob of red sitting tangled on top of my head. Although, the Prada pantsuit helped a bit, or would’ve, were it not wrinkled after it had been slept in. It didn’t, however, help my daughter stop slamming things.

“Samantha,” I called. “Is there a problem?” I looked over the back of the couch at her. The house we lived in was open-concept, so I could sit on the sofa and see most everything with just a turn of my head. Could hear everything, too, and didn’t need the extra banging and crashing of my kitchenware to let me know I’d wronged her somehow and managed to do it while I was sleeping.

“Do you know that when I was a kid, you never bought me a single stuffed animal?” She had the stance of an angry warrior ready for battle—legs spread, hands braced so hard her knuckles were white. I, of course, didn’t know I had violated the rules of parenting by not buying stuffed toys for my child.

Plus, I didn’t believe I’d committed such a maternal faux pas. “What are you talking about?” And then it came to me. I’d thrown a stuffed bunny out the window of our hotel in 1984 Tennessee, and she’d gone to retrieve it, then brought it back with her to the future.

“What are you going to do about her?”

The gear shift changes were giving me whiplash. “About who?” I asked, though there was no point in pretending. I’d never lied to her about what I did or how my job had affected our lives.

“About the woman who killed Dad.” She cocked an eyebrow and for one second, Craig came to life in her eyes. Not only had she adored him, over the years, she’d adopted some of his finer personality traits. The curve of her eyebrow when she cocked it was one.

I wanted

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