Cursed [Book 1] ✔

Chapter 1.2: The Two Rs-Rosalind and Rafe

"How long are you planning on staying?"

For a woman of fifty-five, my mother was striking, with dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a face time rarely visited. A scar along the side of her jaw stood out, an angry river cresting the smooth surface of her face. She claimed it was a parting gift from my father. True or not, I had no way of knowing.

She handed me the next dish to dry as she waited for my answer.

"I'll stay for a couple of weeks, Mom," I said.

She closed her eyes and set the sponge on the kitchen sink. "It'll give us a chance to catch up. Plus, you know how lonely it can get in this huge house. Rosalind made it seem less empty. Now, you're my only...."

I caressed her back. "Mom, I know. It's going to be okay."

The lie slipped out easier now, as I'd been reiterating it for days.

An hour before, we had clung to one another. Our crying session had only lasted for about five minutes, but it had felt much longer. When we finished, we agreed on a break from the misery.

Cleaning the dishes was a decent way to pass the time. However, my mother was struggling with our promise against shedding any more tears.

"It's also okay if you need more time to cry," I told her.

She shook her head, grabbing the next dirty dish. "I might feel better after praying." Appealing to me, she asked, "Join me, honey?"

She might've well have asked me to join her on a skydiving expedition.

"Mom, I can't. Don't be mad."

Any mention of religion caused me discomfort. As children, we had never been forced to go to church, and my mother hadn't pressed religious principles onto us. Those who claimed to "speak" with Jesus, read the Bible daily, or have any other relation to the Lord always pulled a frown from me. Prayer was the pinnacle of my discomfort, much to my mother's dismay and Rosalind's amusement.

Thankfully, my mother let me be, this time. "No, no, I'm fine. Let's talk about you. Start catching up right now."

By nature, I was a private person. If I disliked religion, I just liked disclosing personal information more so, even to my own family. My mother knew that, but she also knew I would indulge her.

"What do you want to know?"

"Well, I have so many questions, really. You haven't visited for two years at least." From her words, I knew she felt better because she was trying to push guilt on me.

"I know, Mom. I've just been busy with school and work."

"Are you too busy in Massachusetts to find yourself a boyfriend?"

"Not exactly," I replied.

"What about that last boy you told me about? Thomas, right? The Harvard boy."

Somehow our conversation had transitioned. It was as if things were normal, or could become normal in time. Part of me expected Rosalind to waltz in the kitchen, pick up a wet dish and rag, and commiserate over my latest relationship disaster.

"Mom, he was a few boyfriends back. And Thomas may have been a 'Harvard boy,' but that didn't stop him from being a liar." I had disposed of Thomas, and all the other liars that preceded him.

"Did he cheat on you, dear?"

The look that passed over my face told my mother what she needed to know.

She tsked, drying her hands on a clean dish towel. "Oh, honey, how did you find out?"

Although my mother's curiosity seemed innocent, the conversation took another turn, this time down a dangerous path.