The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets) (17 page)

I did the best that I could to ignore all of their buzzing, but they were overwhelming. I had good intentions to obey my mother, but you know what they say about ‘good intentions’—yep, they pave the road to Hell.

All of my good intentions were of no use. The voices would not retreat to where they had come from, which of course, forced me to talk to them. After all, I could not tell them to go away without speaking to them, now could I?

Still, I would not dare yell at them, as my mother had demanded me to. Sometimes, I could hear them chatting amongst themselves in corners of my brain, and their words were sad, morose and filled with pain. So, to holler at them would have been mean and cruel.

I contrived a simple plan. The voices and I would make a pact that they could hang out in the rooms of my mind, on one condition—they could not talk to me when my family and friends were around. They agreed half-heartedly. From that point on, I learned to coexist with them, and they lived by my rules. Hey, it was my head. Poor things, I was a bossy kid.

I never asked why they existed in the first place, at least not during my yearning years. At the time, it just did not seem important to me. In the end, I liked them and they seemed to like me. They became a part of my daily life. However, as the years passed by, there were times they made it easy for me to holler at them, and I did. They could be moody, disruptive and devil-like. But hey, it takes one to know one. I could be an angel or the dickens too!



Often, I was bored with nothing better to do; eavesdropping became one of my favorite childhood pastimes. Actually, eavesdropping was something I continued to do most of my life. I found that you could certainly learn a lot from people when they have no
idea you are listening. It became a sneaky occurrence that I mastered. I believed that this was what led me to write books about mysteries years later. Mysteries were, after all, my favorite genre.

From the dining room adjacent the kitchen, I hid behind the door, barely breathing, so that I could listen to a conversation between Grandmother Katie and my mother.

Grandmother Katie, my favorite and only grandmother was my mother’s mom. My father’s mother passed away when he was seventeen years old. While I typically loved listening in on conversations I was not intended to hear, this was a conversation that I wished I had missed.

“Mom, I caught her talking to them again. I can’t deal with this again...once was enough. I begged her to stop years ago. It is now apparent to me that Brielle has the curse. The same one you have and the same one—” My mother’s words suspended in mid air.

The same curse as who?
I wondered.

What the—what was she talking about? I had inherited a family curse! That was what she called it. A sudden feeling of guilt swept through me for spying on them in the first place. But, just as much as I felt guilty, I wanted to burst through the door and demand to know what the curse was. Instead, I waited quietly, hoping that I would hear more.

I felt very confused. My mother was crying, and it hurt me terribly to see her crying again over me. From what I could overhear, she feared that if people knew that I talked to unknown voices in my head, I would be labeled a freak, crazy, or, worse yet, I would get locked up one day. I had heard most of this from her lips before, but I had never heard that I was at risk of being locked up.

“Brandy, she is not cursed. How can you even say this? You know this is not the case—there’s absolutely no truth to what you are saying and you must know this, sweetheart,” Grandmother Katie said calmly. My mother just shook her head. “People understand things of this nature now-a-days. These kinds of things are acceptable. Can I have some more tea, dear?” Grandmother lifted her teacup slightly from the table.

“Truth? What did the truth get us when we—oh Mother, they will say she is practicing witchcraft or, worse yet, that she is mentally ill...like—” My mother’s words shattered into tears, and her hands shook, as she filled their teacups.

“No. This is not the same situation; that’s a bad example. It’s not the same and you know it,” Grandmother said then sipped her tea. I loved how she held her pinky finger, pointed elegantly in the air beside the teacup. “It’s a gift,” she added.

“Mother, please. Do not support this ‘gift’ or whatever you choose to call it. It’s not normal. You know how this will end, and it’s not good,” my mother hissed. She slapped her hands into her lap. She was trying to win an argument where there clearly would be no winner.

Grandmother Katie repeated to my mother there was no harm in inheriting the gift. A
gift
was what Grandmother called it.

“Brandy, this isn’t about Brielle, is it...?” she asked. “What is really bothering you? Is this really about—” My mother interrupted Grandmother, Katie.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Mother. Please, do not take me—us, there. You need to promise me that you will not encourage Brielle to develop any of these so called gifts.” She hesitated. And, I suddenly felt bad for not keeping my promise to her
.
I cringed. “And don’t tell her the voices are—are—”

“Ghosts?” Grandmother’s eyes sharpened.

Did she say Ghosts? No way. The voices are not ghosts.
Grandmother wouldn’t communicate with ghosts and neither would I.

“Ghosts, angels—whatever. Do not try to excuse the truth...please stop, Mother.”

“How do you know that they’re not?” Grandmother raised a brow pointedly.

“That is absurd and you know it. We know what’s going on here. I can’t talk about this anymore, so please, stop!” My mother begged her.

“Well, I never said they were ghosts, did I?” Grandmother Katie glowered, narrowing her eyes and said, “But, what if they—”

“Mother, please,” my mother stammered.

“Fine, have it your way,” Grandmother said, conceding, but she was clearly offended. She folded her napkin politely and stared past my mother’s stern gaze. “But, if Brie-Brie ever asks me about them, what am I supposed to say to her? Do we just sweep this under the rug and ignore what might be going on?”

“If she does just tell her that it is her imagination. You have a way with Brie,” she admitted, frantically wiping the counters as if she wanted to wipe away the conversation. “Brielle will listen to you, and she will make them go away if you encourage it. If you really wanted to, you could heal this curse.”

“Brandy, I am not going to listen to this anymore. It’s not a curse, so stop with this nonsense!” Grandmother raised her voice to a titter. Her face flushed pink. She raised her fingers and rubbed her temples, exhaling long. I wanted to run into the room and tell them to stop arguing over me. Grandmother was old, and she wasn’t in the best of health.

“That’s what it is to me. A curse,” my mother said with conviction. As her palms hit hard against the granite countertop, her eyes pooled with tears.

Although I didn’t understand the entire conversation between my grandmother and my mother, somehow, I felt it was my fault they were arguing. 

Grandmother pulled out a large yellow deck of cards. “She is a child, don’t do this to her. I feel she needs guidance. The truth could help her understand the gifts she was born with. And, if you accept her—this as a gift, instead of a curse, it might also help you to heal once and for all.” Grandmother’s aging hands gracefully shuffled through the cards.

“Mom, please, I have asked so many times do not read those in my home,” my mother said as she tossed a kitchen towel over the cards. “I need to take a bath. Please, keep an eye on the children. And, no tarot cards; I mean it.”

“Fine, I will read them later at home. Brandy, I think you are over-reacting to all of this. I am sure Brielle is just lonely and has made up some imaginary friends to keep her company.” Shockingly, my grandmother relented. Even, I knew the voices were real. “Why don’t you think about having another baby?”

Wow, nothing like changing the subject.

I would love a little sister!

“That’s insane and you know why!” My mother threw her arms into the air and exited the kitchen.

I stayed hidden in the dining room until I heard her marching up the stairs like a spoiled teenager.

-18-

I spy

I hesitantly peered around the corner of the kitchen, making sure the coast was clear. There was no sign of my mother around. Grandmother Katie was sitting at the table, staring out the window.

“Grandmother, whatcha doing?” I ran to her and gave her a big hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Hello, Angel. Look at me...every time I see you, it looks like you’ve grown another inch.” She placed her palms firmly on each side of my face and aligned it with hers. “A kiss, a peck and a hug around the neck.” She kissed my cheek, pecked the end of my nose with hers and then hugged me.

“Grandmother, that’s for little kids, and I’m twelve and three quarter years old now. I am practically an teenager.”

“So you are. Hmm, did you know I was almost a child bride, and not much older than you?” I nodded,
no
, as my reply. “Well, it almost happened when I was sixteen years old.” She smiled suspiciously. “I told him to take a hike when he tried to get fresh with me.”

“You mean like, he tried to kiss you or something?”

“Yes, he did.” My grandmother nodded.

“Yuck, tell me more,” I said, wide eyed, my curiosity growing.

“Well, the wedding was a few weeks away; it had all been arranged by his snooty parents. I didn’t like them much. Anyway this one night, a few weeks before our wedding date, he took me to a fancy dinner. Then, afterward, he surprised me with tickets to a show. I was very excited because I had never been to a show before. He bought me all the popcorn I wanted. But, when the lights went down in the theater. Oh boy. I figured out why he was being so nice,” her tone rose to a higher pitch.

“Why?” I interrupted. She looked at me and leaned back in her chair and sighed.

“Maybe we should wait until you’re a little older to have this conversation.”

“No, Grandma...I’m almost thirteen. If it’s about the birds and the bees, I already know things. We are learning all about
sex
in health class,” I blurted out.

“Oh my word...the world sure has changed since I was in school.”

“It sure has,” I said, a slow grin spread across my face. “So tell me what happened?”

“Okay, but don’t tell your mother I told you.”

“Oh gosh, I would never tell her,” I said confidently. “She’s a little old fashion when it comes to things like this. But, I’m not. Can you believe that a girl in my school has already done
it
...she’s like fourteen?” I grimaced, rolling my eyes.

Grandma peered at me over the rim of her glasses. “Done it? You mean...she’s had relations with a boy, already?”

“Heck yeah...Grandma, kids start pretty young these days.”

“Oh, dear, that’s not good,” she gasped, furrowing her brows, marring the two lines between her eyes, and so did I. Respectfully, I loved to imitate her facial expressions, and especially her signature one brow raise. Then she looked at me suspiciously.

“I haven’t done anything yet, no way!” I said shaking my head.

“Well, that’s good news,” she said, exhaling long, obviously relieved. “Be a good girl and keep your knees together.”

“Grandma,” I squealed, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “Don’t worry, I will.” There was a moment of awkward silence. “So, what did that boy do to you?”

“Well, the theater was very dark and, the movie was playing on, then suddenly I felt his sweaty palm crawl over my shoulder ever so slow. I just about jumped out of my skin and before he knew what happened, I socked him square in the eye.” Grandmother grinned mischievously and punched her hand into the air. “Boom...he had a shiner for weeks,” she sneered, trying to hold down her laughter.

“That’s hilarious! I guess you put him in his place. Did he get super mad at you?” I asked between rasps of laugher.

“Ooh no, he didn’t say a word, he just got up and left. I think I shocked the pants off of him, but more than anything he was surprised I could hit so hard.”

“Grandma, you crack me up,” I snorted.

“I had warned him that there’d be no hanky-panky until after we were married,” she paused, “After all, I didn’t love him—I liked him okay, but neither one of us were in love.” Grandmother wrinkled up her tiny freckled nose. “In those days marrying a college boy was a smart thing to do.”

I piped in, “If you weren’t in love...then...why were you going to marry him?” I asked, punctuating my words. “That would’ve been a mistake, right?”

Grandmother pulled in her lips and arched both brows. “Oh boy, you ask tough questions, maybe you should study to be an attorney.”

“No Grandma, a mystery writer.”

She narrowed her eyes a fraction. “Well, it was no mystery why I was going to marry him—it was to help my family. It’s what people did back then. You are right though, my little smarty-pants, that would have been a mistake. I only agreed to marry him because it was just after the Great Depression. Things were really terrible back then. But, of course, there were no wedding bells after I walloped him,” she snickered. “Thank goodness,” she whispered, gazing through me.