Mirror of My Soul by Joey Hill (book club recommendations .TXT) 📕

was in was Tyler’s. There was a rose on the pillow next to her, a note from him to come join them for breakfast. When she reached for the note, she saw the ring on her finger. She looked at it for a while, her gaze shifting between it and his bold script on the note. As she touched the stem of the rose his fingers had touched, it occurred to her she was using the things he had left for her in the same way she had used the chant.

At length she rose, washed, put on her slacks and blouse, fixed her hair. It was when she was packing her bag she realized she had made a decision to leave. Suddenly needed to leave desperately. Shouldering her overnight bag, she walked down to the main floor to the foyer and heard them in the kitchen area. Mac and Violet. Joseph and 164

Mirror of My Soul

Leila. Tyler. Talking, laughing, the relaxed atmosphere that friends could enjoy. That she’d enjoyed last night. Why couldn’t she hold on to it? Why did the darkness always come?

Because you’re always running from it. The answer is to stop running, to simply let the darkness have you. She shuddered at the insidious whisper which always sounded so simple, so truthful.

Hands coming at her out of the dark.

She yelped, spun, striking out at the touch. When everything came back into focus, Tyler had her hand, his brow furrowed in concern, his stance non-threatening and reassuring.

“Angel? Where are you going?”

“Home. I have to go home.”

“Come have some breakfast.” His eyes got that firm look, the determined set of his mouth that said he understood what was going on with her and he would help bring her out of it.

Only it wouldn’t matter. It always came back.

“Marguerite.” He took her other hand, caressed her palms with his fingers. “It’s all right.” His gaze took in the shadows under her eyes and he cursed himself for leaving her alone. “You had a bad dream. It was just a dream.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s a warning.”

“Stay here and talk to me.”

“No.” She snapped it, yanked her hands away. “I have to go home.”

“Marguerite, I’m not going to let you—”

“You can’t make me do anything, Tyler Winterman. Not marry you, not stay with

you. Give me some room to make my own goddamned decisions.”

She spun on her heel, left the house and tried to ignore the absurd twist of pain in her heart when he didn’t reach out, use that greater strength and arrogant male chauvinism of his to haul her back, make her stay. It didn’t make any sense to say one thing and want another so much.

When she got in her car and turned it to leave the driveway, he was on the porch, watching her. There was pain in his expression and anger, but something else, too.

Something she chose not to acknowledge. She hit the gas and fled.

* * * * *

It mesmerized her. She didn’t want it to, but it did.

All the way home the light of the sun caught the diamond, made it sparkle,

distracting her so a motorist had to honk to get her moving at one of the intersections.

Damn him, why was he rushing her? Why couldn’t he just let it be for a while?

165

Joey W. Hill

I will never stop loving you. She was at loose ends, uncertain of what to do or be and he’d picked up on it, given her the anchor. Forever. For better or worse.

Well, he’d seen some of her worst. Particularly a few minutes ago. She’d hurt him she knew, but he didn’t let go. And she hadn’t given back the ring. Her lips curved wryly and she almost laughed in the quiet solitude of her car. That had been the emotion in his eyes, damn him. Satisfaction. She’d ranted, stalled, lashed out. But she’d kept it. And she hadn’t said no.

Pulling into the alley by her house, she got out and locked the car. She was going to do something very unlike herself. She was going to go show the ring to Chloe and ask her what she thought of it, listen to her giggle and squeal. Gen was picking up a tea shipment in Miami, so when she got back she’d have another opportunity to go through it again. She liked the idea. They would talk about Tyler, Chloe making suggestive comments that would warm her insides because Marguerite knew the comments to be true and then some. The hold of the dream loosened further. She had the fleeting thought that maybe Tyler was right. If she’d just given herself some time the dream would have faded, and she could have enjoyed breakfast with them.

“Rich, handsome, great in bed and he loves me.” She said it out loud. Wasn’t that the fairy tale? Well, maybe they left out the “good in bed” part in the children’s version, but it was implied for adult ears to hear.

It was at the side door she remembered. Understood what had driven her from

Tyler’s house. Understood why she had known when she fled that she was right and he was wrong.

She wasn’t allowed fairy tales or fantasies. She wasn’t allowed anything good, anything that attracted excessive amounts of happiness, because it attracted the attention of darkness.

She remembered because the pane of glass in the door had been broken out and the door was not fully closed.

Chloe. Chloe was in Tea Leaves. Knowing she should call the police, knowing all the things she was not supposed to do, she went in because Chloe was inside.

The kitchen had been destroyed. Every dish was on the floor broken. Cakes and

cookies had been tossed on top of them and smashed with clear boot prints. She came quietly around the corner of her office, every part of her going still, watchful, pushing out everything that did not have to do with protecting Chloe. The instincts she’d