Chapter 8: Perfect Retreat

Alice was just putting the finishing scrub on the bathroom when she heard the front door open. The sound of tapping heels and the ring of her aunt's voice made Alice wince. While she was happy Evan was being forced to endure some of the work, Alice had been looking forward to a quiet day in the house where she already felt at home. Knowing Aunt Christine was here ruined everything. And yet, her newfound confidence refused to back down. Alice surprised herself by trotting down the stairs to join her mother in the entry. Christine's skinny jeans and tight t-shirt were a perfect match for Claire's, as though the waiting pair dressed in tandem.

"If you insist on keeping this wretched old wreck," Christine said while she tossed her blonde ponytail, "I suppose the least we can do is offer you a hand."

Betty smiled while Alice choked on a laugh. Dressed like that? Careful they didn't break a nail. And heaven forbid either of them actually got dirty.

What a waste of time. Alice turned her back on them and returned to the stairs. She had one more room she wanted to tackle before lunch.

Her room. Alice felt a thrill as she walked the long hall, back toward the bathroom, turning left instead of right this time. Paused at the doorway. There was a reason she wanted the bathroom clean. It sat directly opposite the space she'd chosen for herself.

She'd found her room two nights ago, after exploring each of the many bedrooms on the second floor. They all had lovely windows, tall ceilings with scrolling crown molding, large square footage. But this room called to her, and the moment she opened the door, her heart sighed and fell in love.

An ancient looking cast-iron bed sat against the far wall, a bank of tall windows, old glass lined with what looked like lead overlooking the back yard. A deep window seat beckoned her to refresh the cushions, a perfect place to spend rainy afternoons reading.

But it was the tall, deep brown, wooden wardrobe that called to Alice the most. Still full of clothing, the musty scent of a fading life mixed with the rich warmth of the wood felt so right she became lost in feeling the textures of the faded dresses hanging there.

Old lace softened by time and yellowed by the same edged thin cotton, in blues and flowered patterns that seemed familiar, though Alice had no idea why. But the best part, the part she loved the most was the way the wide doors of the wardrobe seemed to open like arms and welcome her inside.

The spell had only broken when Betty called her down to dinner. Alice, heart pounding with nerves, quietly ate her plate of rice and egg rolls before mustering the courage to make her request. Why she was nervous, she wasn't sure. But it felt important to have that room, so important her trembling fingers dropped her fork, rattling against the edge of her plate so loudly Betty jumped."Alice," she said, clutching her chest with a little laugh. "Mom," Alice said. "I found the room I want."

Betty didn't blink an eye. "That's nice, honey," she said.

A thrill of joy raced through Alice as she went back to her dinner, no longer tasting it.

She'd wanted to clean and move in right away, but Betty insisted they focus on the downstairs and, reluctant, Alice agreed. Two nights of toil over Betty's office, the formal parlor, the lower bath, the study, and a massive library full of books Alice couldn't wait to get her hands on kept her from her room.

No longer. She brushed her fingers over the white painted door before sliding her hand around the knob and turning. The dull glass threw sparkles of light as she pushed inward, sunbeams streaming through the windows to catch the jewel cut edges of the knob.

Alice carefully closed the door behind her, considered locking it. She didn't want to be interrupted, feeling oddly protective of this space. Her space. Evan's recent attack triggered Alice's fingers to move, to turn the key in the lock and seal her inside.

Perfect. Alice drew a deep breath, a smile warming her face before she set to work. There wasn't much cleaning to do, not really. It felt as though someone lived in this room up until recently. Alice's folding of the old clothes quickly turned into a large pile on the end of the bed. As much as she liked the worn feeling of the dresses, the way the

fabric hung and swayed as she lifted each of them out, some with tiny buttons rubbed dull with time, others sashed at the waist with frayed lengths of satin, she had her own clothes to fit in the wardrobe. Alice felt a connection with the clothes, and didn't want her mother to throw them out or send them to Goodwill. She decided instead to leave her room with some reluctance, key in her pocket, and return to the attic for some boxes.

The door to the third floor was already open, just a crack. Alice eased it wider, listening to the sounds of footsteps above her. She shivered a little, a tingle of fear giving her goose bumps. Everyone was downstairs.

So who was walking around in the attic?

The muffled sound of an impact and the low curse of a girl's voice twisted Alice's anxiety about ghostly visitors to instant anger. She pulled the door open, embracing fullythe newness of her own confidence, a deep and powerful need to protect the house driving her up the stairs on stomping feet to confront the intruder.

Claire turned with a gasp as Alice stormed into the attic, cheeks flushing. "What are you doing?" Her southern accent sounded harsh, common. "You scared the life out of me."

Alice fought to control her trembling. "I could ask you the same question."

Claire rolled her eyes, tossing her hair just like her mother. "This house belongs to the family," she said. "I have every right to look around, too, you know."

"No," Alice said, a tiny part deep inside begging her to shut up and not antagonize Claire. A part she ignored. "Our grandmother left this house to us. Not you."

Claire's flat stare held a warning. "Mind your manners, girl," she said. Like Alice was some kind of nothing.

Anger bubbled hotter, temperature rising as Alice's eyes settled on the necklace dangling from Claire's hand. Diamonds sparkled from a gold chain, thick and antique looking. Before Alice could protest, reach for it, do anything, the necklace disappeared into Claire's front jean pocket.

Choking rage cut off Alice's air as Claire slammed shut the jewelry box she'd been rifling through, other pieces dangling haphazardly from the lip of the lid while Alice's cousin stalked on her high heels across the wood planks. She stopped in Alice's face, her perfect makeup a soft dusting over the fine hairs of skin, lip gloss scented with cherries, so close Alice smelled it.

The scent turned her stomach.

"This is just between us, now, you hear?" Claire's smile was as fake as the blonde of her hair. "Our little secret." She patted her pocket.

Alice didn't answer her. Couldn't. Barely resisted the urge to shove her cousin's bony ass down the stairs.

Claire must have taken Alice's silence for what it was, because her expression flattened again before she offered a sly smile. "I'll tell you what," she said. "I'll make a trade. The first formal of the year is next week. Bet you'd love to come." Alice shuddered. "I'll get you an invitation," Claire went on, fingers touching Alice's limp, darkhair. "Even lend you one of my dresses." As if anything of tall, skinny Claire's would fit Alice. "That'll make us square, won't it, sugar?"

Alice didn't get to tell Claire she didn't care even a little bit about some stupid dance or her stupid dresses or being on her good side. The sound of footsteps climbing the stairs drew Claire's gaze a moment before she leaned close and whispered in Alice's ear.

"You tell," she said, cherry scent coiling around Alice in a noose of sweetness, "and I'll make your life a living hell."

Claire had just enough time to drape one arm over Alice's shoulder before Betty and Aunt Christine stopped at the top of the landing.

"Mummy," Claire said, lips pursing in a duck face. "What do you think of Alice attending Fall Formal?"

Aunt Christine's eyes narrowed before she smiled. "What a wonderful idea," she said, despite the face Alice had the distinct impression Aunt Christine thought there was nothing wonderful about it.

Betty met Alice's eyes. "What do you think, honey?" She hesitated before going on. "We can't really afford a dress right now."

"Already taken care of." Claire squeezed Alice's shoulders with her still-draped arm before sweeping past Betty and her mother, heading for the stairs. "I'll call you to come try some on, Alice." Claire turned and caught Alice's eyes with that same flat expression in her eyes, though her lips smiled. "All right then?"

Alice glared at her cousin, eyes locked on her back, as Claire left the attic with something which didn't belong to her.

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