I blinked a few times, squeezed my eyes shut then opened them again, confused more than startled by her sudden appearance at Dawes House.
How in the hell had she found me? How in the hell had she gotten into my apartment?
“Vivian?” I murmured, still groggy.
She moved in a blur and was suddenly inches from my face. Her expression twisted with disgust. “The devil has found you, girl,” she spat. “I always knew he would.”
Before I could respond, another hacking cough shook her until she gagged and gasped, and then she was gone.
I stared wide-eyed at the space where she’d been, my pulse hammering. It had been a dream. Must’ve been.
I glanced behind me to see Whit still sleeping soundly. Obviously, if my mother had suddenly appeared in my bedroom, spouting her usual brand of hatred and accusations, it would’ve awakened him as well.
Right?
I was still sitting in my bed, too stunned and confused to process what had just happened, when my cell phone rang. Whit stirred as I reached for the phone and watched me with bleary eyes as I answered.
“Is this Zellie Dupont?” a male voice asked.
I frowned. “Yes. Who is this?”
“Ms. Dupont, this is Detective Dwight Jones with the Atlanta Police Department,” the clipped voice said on the other end, all business. “Are you the daughter of Vivian Dupont?”
“Yes,” I replied, glancing at Whit. “She’s my mother.”
“Ms. Dupont, I’m sorry to inform you that your mother has died.”
My stomach clenched, the reason for Vivian’s “visit” now apparent. “How? When?”
“It appears to be natural causes,” he told me. “But it’s difficult to tell. She’s been dead for quite a while.”
Dead for quite a while?
My stomach dropped. Had her phone calls been her attempt to reach out after she’ddied? It freaking figured. Even in death, Vivian had found a way to torment me.
A tentative touch on my arm startled me, and I sent a panicked glance in that direction, relieved as hell to see Whit’s concerned expression.
“Ms. Dupont?”
“I’m here,” I said. I reached out my hand to Whit, who immediately took it and gently squeezed, silently offering me comfort.
“We need you to come down and officially identify the body at your earliest convenience,” the detective informed me.
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus on his words. “Uh, sure. Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I hung up and sat motionless, trying to absorb the news that Vivian was dead. My only remaining tether to my past gone forever. I wanted to cry for her, felt that I should. But there were no tears. There was no sorrow. There was only…relief.
“Zellie?” Whit eventually asked softly. “What’s happened?”
I blinked at him, having momentarily forgotten he was there. “Vivian’s dead.”
His eyes went wide. “Your mother?”
I nodded. “I need to go identify her body. Make arrangements.”
He pulled me to him, kissed my forehead. “What can I do?”
“I’m fine,” I assured him, surprised to find it was the true. “I need to go get Henry and get ready so I can go to Atlanta.”
