“You know how at the farm you told me that I wouldn’t be allowed to drink anyone else’s milk? BecauseyourLittle girl is only allowedyourmilk?”
“And I meant every word of it.”
“I know. But, um, I guess I thought that kinda went both ways.”
“What do you…oh.” Guilt slams into my chest. “Is that part of what upset you so much yesterday? That Mommy offered her milk to someone else?”
“Uh-huh. I think… I think if Tori had just gotten hurt on her own maybe it wouldn’t have made me so sad. But I was already feeling so jealous and then it felt a bit like you were choosing her over me and then you offered her your milk and it felt like my whole heart was breaking.”
“Oh, my sweet, sweet girl. From this point forward, my milk is just for my babygirl.”
“I’m sorry, I know I’m being ridiculous, I just?—”
“You are being nothing of the sort, little girl. You are being honest, which is exactly what I asked for. I could not be more proud of you right now. I know it’s not easy to share your feelings like that.” I hesitate, feeling uncertain of my next move in a way I’ve never felt with anyone but her.
But if I want honesty from my Little girl, then I have to be honest with her in turn.
“Do you want to see something secret, little imp? Something Mommy has never shown anyone else?”
Her eyes light up, and I know in my heart I’ve made the right choice. “Really?”
“Really. Come on, little one. Let’s go to the attic.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lexie
I didn’t even know we had an attic, but now, knowing that there’s something secret there my Mommy has never shown anyone, I can’t wait to get up there.
Beside me, Mommy tugs at the jacket of the pretty white blazer she’s wearing, a sign of nervousness I’ve never seen from her, and my mind races with possibilities. What could be up here that hasherfeeling nervous?
Together we climb a set of stairs that seems oddly rickety given the house has just been built. Almost like they’ve been built that way on purpose, to add to the atmosphere or something.
Mommy pauses just outside a door that looks equally old and mysterious, seemingly gathering her courage before placing a hand on the door handle and turning it, pushing the door inward.
Into the attic.
Except, it’s not an attic. Not really. It’s an artist’s studio, with huge windows to let in plenty of natural light, canvases and paint and all manner of things scattered around.
Letting go of Mommy’s hand, I walk forward into the space, slowly taking it all in. It’s gorgeous, and obviously well-used, even more than Mommy’s office by the looks of things.
To my right, a riot of color catches my eye and I immediately move toward a large canvas on an easel near one of the towering windows.
And when I’m finally close enough to see the details of the painting, my heart catches in my throat.
“Is that… is that me?”
“It is.” Her voice is soft, unsure, and I glance over to find her standing just to the side, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “My little imp, making mischief.”
That’s exactly what it looks like. A chubby little cherub of a thing with bright-red hair and green eyes, her head thrown back with laughter as she races away from the pretty cottage off to the side. A woman chases her, hairbrush held high, but there’s no malice in her face. The corner of her mouth is tugged up in a knowing grin, and one can’t help but feel she enjoys every second of the imp’s mischief.
Reaching out a trembling hand, I run my fingers over the woman’s face. “You did this?”
“I did.”
“And the paintings downstairs, the fairies and the mermaids who all look so sad… you did those too?”
“Yes.”
