Her frown eases, and she starts to stroke my hair, murmuring, “Bryn, dearie.”
Lizzie squeezes my shoulder gently. Her hand is so small, it amazes me that she manages to carry the immensely heavy load her job requires.
Family medallions are the last thing on my mind for the rest of the evening as Lizzie and I walk on eggshells to keep Gran calm while trying to get her fed and down for the night.
3
DINNER
Lizzie nearly tackles me when I leave my bedroom the following morning.
“Lena! She’s lucid, really, really lucid!” she squeals.
My breath gets caught in my throat, and I can only manage a nod before Lizzie dashes off down the hall again. Excitement brims in my veins; hopefully, I can get answers from her now.
I grab the picture of my parents out of my room before tracking Gran down in the drawing room. She’s seated in her favorite wingback chair before the windows, sipping her tea. She glances up at me; her blue eyes are clear; she’s still lucid.
I haven’t missed her this time.
Relief lightens each step as I walk towards her and kneel at her side.
“Good morning, Gran.”
She tracks my every moment and pats my cheek. Her expression is solemn.
“How long was I gone this time, Lena?”
“You were in and out for a bit,” I answer. “But you’re here now.”
I hope my smile is comforting enough to ease her worries.
Gran’s smile is tinged with sorrow; she sees right through my foolhardy attempt. “Was it bad?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle; it’s okay, I promise.” The lie comes easily.
I pull the picture out. I don’t really want to ask right this second, but I don’t know how much time we have before she’s gone again.
“Gran, does this look familiar?” I ask, holding the photo out to her.
Taking the picture from my hand, she rolls her eyes. “That’s your mother and father; of course, it looks familiar.”
“Obviously,” I tease back. “But look at her necklace.”
I point to the medallion perched on my mom’s chest. As she studies the picture, I pull out the necklace that I tucked behind my charcoal sweater.
Gran’s eyes flit up to me, noticing the necklace. She gasps. “Where did you get that?” Her head whips back and forth between the photograph and my necklace.
“Lachlan gifted it to me, but he bought it at an antique shop. How did it get there? Did she give it away?” My questions ramble together.
That’s the only thing I could think of happening. Maybe it’s only a piece of junk my mom donated because she didn’t want it? But why am I so drawn to it? Even now, I can feel a slight pulsing from the medallion, like it’s emitting a dull electric current.
“No, she wouldn’t have done that.” She looks back down at the picture of my mom. “But I can’t say any more about it,” she finishes, abruptly.
I stare at her quizzically, my mouth slowly parting in surprise, but she begins staring at the necklace clasped around my neck. Gran reaches out to touch the medallion, but drops her hand, clasping her fingers together in her lap.
“I wouldn’t lose it, though, if I were you,” Gran mumbles, nodding to herself.
“That’s a bit ominous,” I trail off. “Do you know more about it and won’t tell me? Or do you not remember at all?”
