Quicksilver Dreams(50)
Chapter Six
My dreams were not restful.
I kept looking for Ryder to crop up, still sensing that he was in my dream. I refused to look at whether I was satisfied or disappointed that I didn’t see him again. By the time my alarm went off, playing “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” I was exhausted and tempted to call in sick. I’ve never called in sick. My attendance in school and at work was, and continues to be, flawless, which is what kept me from drowsing under the covers morosely.
“Act as if,” I muttered, thinking of a Dr. Phil-ism, a useful tool from my TV watching, which was likely the only positive thing I got from TV. If I acted on the outside as if everything was great, maybe I’d start feeling that way on the inside. And maybe Dr. Phil wasn’t referring to a situation where one was robbed, used and abused, but it helped me pull myself out of bed and find my slinky, sexy but perfectly professional office dress. The one that was guaranteed to make the men take notice, which I figured would give my ego a boost.
It was fitted, from the V-shaped neckline that hinted at my cleavage, and was long enough to reach just below my knees. It was a summery olive-green linen, with short sleeves and a hidden zipper up the side. I added a dark brown, wide leather belt and matching strappy platforms, eyeing the effect in the mirror with approval. I looked hot. It made me feel better.
I clipped my hair up, with tendrils loose about my face. My hair isn’t long enough to be in a real bun, and the style I adapted makes me look a bit wild and sexy. Expertly, I applied makeup and perfume. In no way did I want even remotely to feel trailer. I wanted to look sophisticated. Elegant. Satisfied that no one would know what a crazy, flipped-out weekend I’d had, I grabbed my bag and keys.
As an afterthought, I grabbed my mother’s charm bracelet from my nightstand, somehow needing the comfort of it—though why it comforted me, I don’t know. She herself had never been a source of comfort even once in my entire life. But just looking at the bracelet infused me with warmth. Go figure, right? Maybe I kept hoping. Pretty stupid, really.
It was seven in the morning, and like clockwork, Mrs. Myrtle, the elderly woman who lives with her daughter across the street, came out for her walk. She couldn’t see well and her hearing was off, but she insisted on crossing the busy boulevard two blocks down during rush-hour traffic to get to her granddaughter’s school early. She was a volunteer and thrived on tutoring the younger children, reading to them, whatever the teacher needed. Her hair was short and snow-white, shaped in a bob around her face, and she usually wore loafers with slacks and a button-down shirt, every inch the proper lady.
“Good morning, Mrs. Myrtle. How are you today?” I couldn’t let her cross alone. I always made sure to be out by seven because I knew that her daughter and granddaughter somehow didn’t have the time. Ever. Didn’t they know how lucky they were to have her? She was so fragile looking; a fall could do her in. Why didn’t they think of that?
“Taylor, I’m doing very well, thank you.” She had a genteel way of speaking that was at once kind and respectful, though she seemed a bit distracted as she gave me her usual warm smile. “And don’t you look wonderful, dear.”
“Thanks. I put some effort into it this morning.”
I hope Sara grows out of her tantrums. It’s how her mother started, and I wasn’t strict with her like I should have been. It’s really my fault Karen couldn’t get along in her marriage, and now Sara suffers for it.
I heard this quite clearly and looked up at Mrs. Myrtle questioningly, but it was obvious she hadn’t actually spoken. She was looking down at the uneven concrete driveway, trying to concentrate on maneuvering safely. It left me with a moment to ponder whether or not I was now capable of reading minds. Hearing my own thoughts made me want to laugh.