The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets) (21 page)

I repeated exactly word for word what Storm said, “What if the puppy jumped into the bad man’s lap and made him crash?” I exclaimed with a good amount of emotion. “She’s a good puppy and doesn’t deserve to be sent to the pound.”

Both of the police officers nodded, agreeing with me that this was very probable. Even though I knew the truth, I could not tell them it was my angel that had caused the man’s misfortune.

Bingo...Storm’s words worked like magic. My parents finally conceded and allowed me to keep the puppy. Storm was my hero, once again.

From that day on, my parents encouraged me to be an attorney. They were so surprised that I had such great reasoning skills at such a young age. If only they knew.

Nonetheless, thanks to Storm I had a new puppy. I named her...well, actually my grandmother helped me choose her name. We called her Good Little Karma, but shortened her name to simply Karma. Her name was very apropos to how she became a new member of our family.

Storm, Karma and I were like the
Three Musketeers
from that day forward. We shared so many happy times together. I really loved to have Storm around when I was a kid; he was my best friend. We would play Barbie’s together. I was Suntan Barbie and he was the voice of Ken and Karma was their baby. I know that pretending Karma was our baby sounds strange, but I had a vivid imagination. Heck, if anyone knew I had a voice in my head, aside from my grandmother, they would be convinced he was just a part of my imagination. Or, that I was a bit touched, in the term of having a screw loose. But, I knew different. Storm was real.

Prior to the kidnapping attempt, I was certain there was a bogeyman that lived under my bed. After the incident, I was sure of it. Not only was I worried about the bogeyman but it took months to realize the bad man in the car wasn’t coming back after me, either. Storm promised he’d keep me safe from things that went bump in the night. I knew he was just a hello away. He was my trusting security blanket when I would wake in the middle of the night.

His sonorous yet gentle voice was very comforting to me. I felt secure knowing Storm was near, especially after he had saved me from the man in the car. My mother was legitimately happy about their decision, allowing me to keep Karma. She gave credit to Karma for helping me to get over the botched kidnapping attempt. Secretly, I knew it was Storm who helped me recover from the incident.

He used to tell me bedtime stories about far away lands to help me fall asleep. The one I loved the most was about a beautiful girl that traveled the world to find her prince. It was the best story of them all, complete with a happy ending.

Years later, I asked Storm if he had carried me that day in the park. His answer was
no;
he explained that the best he could ever do was warn me when danger was lurking. I wondered how much of that was true.

-21-

Spring What?

Where am I now—oh, here I am...still stuck in a time warp of yesterday’s memories. God, the drug had me spinning from year to year. My memories were out of order, random, making me feeling out of control of my own thoughts.

I wanted to tell Dr. Tagorski that I had enough of peeling back the memories. So I did and said, “I need to deal with what I had lost, my recent memories and not the past.”

“It’s all relevant Brielle...this will lead you to what happened three weeks ago.”

“Do you think I’m crazy yet?”

“I think well...” He cleared his throat... “I’m enlightened, please, continue.” And, so I did.



Here I am...again, I am not in a happy mood. I remember that it was my dad who slapped together the plans to go to St. Augustine, Florida for my spring break vacation. Thanks to him, I had a few experiences of a lifetime—

“We need to expand your cultur
e,” he claimed, trying to sell me on the idea of visiting St. Augustine, rather than Disney World or tanning on a beach.

In my opinion, Manhattan offered a plethora of culture, so we did not need to travel anywhere else to expand our culture. New York is one of the hottest tourist spots in America. Vacationers come in droves for the love of New York to visit our museums, shop in the finest boutiques, dine at the best restaurants and to view our historical landmarks. If my dad wanted us to expand our culture, there was plenty to see and do without leaving home. What was he thinking, taking us to some boring little seaside town for spring break? If Dad wanted a borderline—conservative and stuffy vacation spot, why not just head to the Hamptons? That was my thought anyway.

I fought against going to St. Augustine. Anywhere but that place! What teenager in the entire world, would want to spend their spring break learning about American history? Spring break is supposed to be a “break” from learning. When my father refused to relent, I whined and fussed about it for weeks.

I had decided at a young age that I was born to be rich and famous. This idea was instigated by all of the tarot card readings that my grandmother secretly performed with me. No matter what my mother’s views were on the tarot cards, it was a great bonding time for my grandmother and me.

“I think we should head to the beach instead of expanding our culture. We could all use some work on our white-floured complexions,” I suggested, thinking that my reasoning sounded convincing enough to me.

Where is Storm when I need him?

All I wanted to do was bask in the sun, sneak peeks of the hot lifeguards and drink non-alcoholic Pina Colada’s on the veranda of a fancy hotel. Obviously, I had a pressing need to grow up fast—in first class and in style that was my idea of culture. I argued my point and tried my best to sway my mother to my side. I had almost convinced her until my dad practically begged her, and I quote, “Babe, can I have my way just this one time?” There they were...the ten words that strangled my big plans. Why couldn’t we flip a coin, heads to the beach, tails—flip again?

It sucked for me that my dad did not actually insist on St. Augustine as our final vacation destination; he left the final decision up to mom, which typically ended up working in his favor.

My father was good; he was coy in that he never put demands on my mother. I mean, he knew how to persuade her and she always caved in to his grappling, in part because he never ordered her to do anything. Of course, how could she not give in to him on these terms? He was a smart man. When he pouted, kissed her feet, literally, flashed his squinty brown puppy dog eyes, I overheard her calling them bedroom eyes—eww, and then kissed her—ass-k me no more questions—is the best way to put it, my mother always sided with him.

My dad was a great guy. He was a professor at NYU who taught business science and math. Ugh! Neither one of these classes were among my favorite subjects. All of the students at the college seemed to genuinely like my dad, and as a result, he was very involved with mentoring the students. In fact, he was so involved with the school that we had a foreign exchange student live with us for two semesters. Her name was Milan. She was an extremely curvy Italian girl, with large hips, big bosoms and a sweet face, a native of Rome. I liked her enough. My dad had a strong influence on her career decision. She became a certified public account, boring. To my knowledge, my mother and Milan still keep in touch.

Once on my way to visit my dad on his lunch hour, I fell victim to one of my eavesdropping moments. I spied on some unsuspecting debutants in the thick of a giggling fest. The girls had no idea I was there, and it was one of those times in my life where I knew what it felt like to be a ghost.

“Mr. Eden is so dreamy...it sucks that I hate math, but I will grin and bare it”—she winked—“as long as I can stare at his fabulous ass all day,” the tall skinny blonde remarked, then guffawed.

“Me too, he’s so hot. Hey, can you believe the size of his hands.” The big-busted redheaded girl said with a raspy southern accent and a pointed expression splayed on her face. “Can ya’ll imagine? You know what they say about large hands...don’t ya’ll?”

“What’s that?” The brunette asked, clearly dumbfounded by the old wives tale.

“Big hands, big gloves.” Miss Redheaded raised her brows suggestively and grinned. “And you know what that means...” The redhead girl burst into the most annoying laughter. The other two girls blushed and giggled, too. I rolled my eyes and snarled.

Are they really that superficial? Sluts!

I was mortified they were so casually conversing about the size of my dad’s large hands and referencing them to his male anatomy.
Yuck.
Most definitely, this was not a subject any daughter would want to overhear about her father.

I could admit my dad was incredibly handsome, but eww! Apparently, he stirred the imagination of a few girls—as I’m sure he did my mother’s curiosity at one time, too. But really I didn’t want to think about my dad in this way.

Too bad for those witches, they could daydream all they wanted to, but receiving my father’s physical attention would never become their reality.

Despite what I had overheard, I wasn’t concerned that my dad would be disloyal to my mother. They were so in love and as far as I was concerned, they always would be.

I wanted to punch those girls in their faces, especially the redheaded southern bell with her not so subtle twang. Her voice sounded like a donkey.

Needless to say, we didn’t end up going to Ft. Lauderdale beach, or any beach for spring break. However, that trip came years later, more specifically five years later. My parents didn’t tag along on this trip, and because of that, it was so worth the wait.

-22-

No...Say!

I thought I would die a slow death when the decision was final; we would be going to St. Augustine. After all, my dad explained how majority rules. Not only were we going to St. Augustine, we were also taking a road trip to get there. I could not believe my ears.

Were they serious about a road trip? They had to be kidding me. Where were our first-class tickets on a major airline?

In the end, my dream first-class tickets simply didn’t exist and instead, I was going to be stuck in the backseat of my grandmother’s suburban. She opted to stay home at the last minute. Lucky her! The whole situation just didn’t seem fair.

I felt as if I was trapped in one of those
Chevy Chase
Lampoon Vacation
movies. I loathed the entire trip. My dad stopped at every rest area along the way, which equated to spring-break suicide for me. Mom begged me not to spoil the trip for all of us. She pleaded for me to put a smile on my face. As much as I loved my mother and wanted to make her happy, that was hard to do.

I optioned out and slept for most of the drive down to Florida. The oversized, dark sunglasses plastered over my eyes helped to hide my tears. They nearly covered my entire face. Did I mention the fact that I also get incredibly carsick? It happened four times on the drive down.

When we finally arrived to the bed and breakfast that my father booked for us called the
Powder House Inn
, I was relieved to get out of the car. My mother called the place quaint, but in my eyes the town reaped of boredom. I wished I had stayed home in lieu of staying in the musty looking shack.

Who takes their children to a bed and breakfast?

“You are going to love this place, Brielle.” My mother nearly sang the words while Dad and a young, cute male valet retrieved the suitcases from the car.

“Don’t count on it, Mom. It looks like granny’s attic to me...boring,” I hissed.

“Oh, c’mon...let’s go inside and take a look at our rooms.” She reached to take my hand and I jerked back, refusing to be treated like a child. She wistfully padded up the steps to the wrap around porch. “Isn’t this a lovely setting?”

“It’s okay, I guess. A view of the beach would have been much better,” I retorted.

“Brielle, please try to be happy,” my mother indiscreetly whispered to me. “It’s only seven days. Next year, we will go to the beach. I promise.” I tried to look amused for her sake. Besides, when my mother made a promise to me, I could count on her keeping it.

So far so good, white wicker furniture lined the porch. It looked like a few tables were set for afternoon tea. The fresh cut flowers in the center of each table added a nice touch.

“Mom, this is going to kill me. If you love me, you wouldn’t...” My voice trailed off when I noticed the biggest cat I had ever seen circling my legs.

“Dad said this place used to store all of the gunpowder that the soldiers used at a nearby fort. We’re going there tomorrow to check it out.” My mother asked with enthusiasm, “Don’t you think that will be cool, Brielle?”

“Yeah Mom, this is all really fascinating to me...” My tone was dripping with sarcasm. As I stroked down the plush fur on the cat’s back, I pretended to be interested in my mother’s plans,

I cannot stay here for a week…someone, find one of those old guns and shoot me!

Just then, a short chubby lady burst through the door. Her hair stacked high in a bun with perfect shaped tendrils hanging down her back. She dressed as if she stepped out of the past. When she approached us, I could detect a cloud of bacon, eggs and the sweet scent of waffles. It was obvious she liked to cook and eat. Her body looked like a little squatting cherub, but her face resembled a cute little elf: big blue eyes, pudgy wide cheeks and pointy chin.