The second I was through the door—
"Mom! Where are you?!"
"In the kitchen! What's wrong?!"
I went to the place with the food and found her by the stove.
She smiled. "I thought about making some cookies. How was—?"
"Are we from here?"
Mom blinked, chuckling a little. "No—of course not."
"Don't lie to me—
"Bella." She took off her oven mitts. "You and I are not from here. My mother grew up here years ago before moving away for college. She never returned when she met my dad. I didn't tell you because I didn't think you would care to know. And if you did know, you probably would've hated this place and not made any friends—and you have friends now. Just two, yes, but see what happened when you didn't know?"
On the drive over, I hadn't thought up any arguments, and still none came to mind. I just groaned and almost stomped my foot before running up the stairs and slamming the door to my room.
I was mad, but I wasn't sure about what. I knew it had something to do with the diary—which I quickly dug out started flipping through, even to the pages I hadn't read yet. I was already halfway through, and so far, there hadn't been anything about a girl being killed. I didn't even know Beatrice's last name. Was she a Ford?"
I opened my door. "Mom!"
"What?" Despite yelling, she still sounded wary.
"Did your mom grow up in this house?"
"… Yes. Why?"
I groaned loudly again and slammed the door, somehow even angrier. Why did that have to be just perfect?! Why did Mom have to move us here?! Uuuuuugh!
*
Sometime later I'd fallen asleep. Being in a fit of anger can wear a person out.
A few light knocks on the door startled me awake, and I managed to hide the diary under my pillow before Mom walked in.
"Are you still mad?" she asked, partially hidden behind the door.
I sighed as I sat up. "No… just mildly annoyed. Why did you move us here?"
Mom came and sat on the other edge of my bed. "Okay, so maybe my reasons for moving here were a bit selfish. I didn't realize it until we got here but… I find it much easier here to write. Want to know why?"
"Do I have a choice?"
She smiled. "I already told you your grandparents died long before you were born, when I was in college. And… I was just like you when I was your age. My mother saw that and kept us in the city. She briefly mentioned moving back to her hometown of Cheshire, but she knew I wouldn't be happy. The truth is… is that I think she always wanted to come back, someday… eventually, and she didn't because of me. You saw how excited I was when we got here. And, now being here, it feels like I've made it up to her. I feel closer to her, and maybe that's helping me write better, now that I don't have this big weight on my shoulders."
Yeah… I was a jerk. "I'm sorry I overreacted."
"Bella, you don't have to apologize. Didn't I just say that I was like you when I was your age? I should've known you wouldn't be happy here—maybe I knew all along—but I got a little selfish and only thought of myself. I'm sorry."
We hugged for a minute, because that's just what you do with your mom after reconciling after you were acting like a complete jerk.
*
Mom went back downstairs to continue writing. I'd gotten a few cookies and went to my room. I was going to finish that diary, but first, I felt that I still had some damage control left.
I sent Charlie my cell phone number via Facebook.
"I'm sorry about what happened," she said the second I answered.
"It's not your guys' fault. I'd already come to Cheshire with a negative attitude, and finding out half my family is from here was a… big surprise."
Charlie laughed. "No kidding. Still, Celia feels bad about it. I explained to her that you didn't know. Hell—I didn't know, but… it was plain to see you didn't know."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. My parents are here—a little mad I didn't introduce you to them—so they want you to come over for dinner tonight. You and your mom, I mean—both of you."
"You sound nervous."
"First, another person unrelated to me came over, and now you're going to eat here? It's… it's… it's Twilight Zone, know what I mean?"
My eyes were drawn from my ceiling to the diary—which I really wanted to finish. "Um… book stuff is happening right now," not a total lie, "so how about tomorrow night?"
"That's good. But, also bad because now my mom is probably going to make me start cleaning for you guys. I mean, no offense—but you're not the Queen of England."
"It's okay," I laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"
"Okay, cool. Bye."
"Bye."
I felt a little better now that that was taken care of. Now, back to the diary.
*
"Bella! I said dinner's ready! Didn't you already finish your homework?"
"Just a second! I'm—reading!" I plowed through the last pages of the diary. The only major event was that Ian Walker had gotten into a fight with the youngest Wyatt brother, and Beatrice was pretty sure it had to do with Charlotte Jones.
What made it interesting was that Charlotte and her mother were housekeepers for the Wyatt family. Charlotte never let on why she always seemed scared whenever she was around the Wyatt boys in school, but Ian—ever protective—jumped to the worst conclusions. Since Charlotte never opened up to Ian or even Beatrice (damn it), Ian decided to demand the truth from the boys themselves.
This fight led to an even bigger fight between the boys' fathers, who each believed the other's son was to blame. This fight led to an even greater divide in Cheshire. People began to openly admit their dislike for either the Walkers or the Wyatts.
What made it worse was that neither of the boys were admitting what the fight was really about. Beatrice tried getting Ian to talk, but he started to avoid her and Charlotte. Since Charlotte wouldn't talk about it anymore—not even helping Beatrice get Ian to talk—Beatrice decided that she was going to investigate what was happening on her own.
"Bella! You're not getting any dessert if you don't come down this instant!"
I'd gotten to the last page as she said that—but not really.
Why?
The last… twelve pages had been torn out!
YOU ARE READING
Cheshire Girl
Paranormal"There were three things about which I was absolutely certain. First, I didn't have my cell phone. Second, my hands hurt from gripping the trunk lid closed. They would probably be useless to put up a fight. ...
