Picture This by Jayne Denker

Author:Jayne Denker [Denker, Jayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2014-05-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Not even a sliver of light pierced the gloom of the basement in her grandmother’s home. Just in case one did, however, Celia tucked herself into the farthest, darkest, most cobwebby corner and hunkered down by an old desk. If she were hit with a bit of cheerful sunlight, she suspected she’d go off like a flash pot and leave nothing but a pile of ashes. A very, very small pile.

She sighed and hauled out a handful of papers from one of the desk drawers. All six were filled to bursting. Not for the first time, Celia wondered how in the world she was going to sort out and pack all her grandmother’s stuff before she sold the house and moved Holly into the senior home, especially because she wasn’t particularly committed to the task at the moment.

The papers still in her hand, she stared off into the shadows, her eyes unfocused. She started feeling that agitation again, that same unmoored anger that had filtered through her veins when she’d spent the day gardening, trying—and failing—to work it out of her system. That day she’d been angry at Niall and worried about her grandmother. Today it was . . . something else. Darker, more pervasive. Buried deeper, more harmful when it surfaced. She’d tried to push it back down, but it had been fighting back since last night. And it was winning the battle. Spending time with Niall that night had banished it, which had surprised her. She’d thought that he’d have the opposite effect, but she always felt better when he was around. Not just because he could make her laugh no matter how dire her situation, either. He made her feel . . . capable. Optimistic. Supported.

Cared for.

She recalled the sound of his footsteps the night before—running, catching up to her after she’d made her escape from the auditions. He’d breathlessly begged her to let him give her a ride home—yet again. She’d refused. She’d wanted to walk. She’d wanted to be alone. She’d wanted to sort out what seeing Matt and Laurie—a pregnant Laurie—had done to her.

It had cracked her open, that was what. Everything about her ex-husband, about his betrayal, about their divorce, about his forging a life with another woman—everything she had buried for years—had heaved to the surface, breaking through her thin layer of peacefulness and self-control, like a long-dormant volcano stirring, preparing to erupt. And there was Niall, standing at the edge of the crater. Ready to jump, if she’d just give him a sign.

But she’d demanded he let her go on alone. He’d refused, of course, using some lame excuse about not wanting her to walk alone in the dark. As if anything would happen to her in Marsden. There was no shaking him off, however, so she’d stormed on, practically sprinting, Niall keeping up with his long strides, neither one of them speaking the entire way back to her grandmother’s house.

She’d rushed up the porch steps, intending to run inside without a backward glance at him.

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