Stirring Up Trouble(43)
He knew she didn’t live anywhere. She was a nomad, a woman without a home, and she didn’t set down roots. His behavior, his voice, the gleam in his eyes, everything, told her he’d conveniently forgotten who she was, or had convinced himself she’d changed. Didn’t he realize that come next week she’d leave him behind for California and never look back?
Her chest tightened making it difficult to breathe. She worried about Braden. He trusted her not to hurt him, and even though she hadn’t lied, she felt as though she’d break that trust simply by doing what she said she’d do—leaving. At least he’d have his sister and Ryan for support.
She parked in the lot across from the restaurant and made her way over, keys in hand. The lights were off, so she knew she was the first to arrive. Good. She needed some peace and quiet to study. She walked in and turned on the lights.
She shrieked and her hand flew to her chest as if to keep her suddenly racing heart from escaping.
Legs crossed and eyes closed, Reina sat on the floor in the middle of the restaurant.
What was it with the surprise visits from family this morning?
“Mother, what are you doing? How’d you even get in here?” she asked, dropping her purse on the bar.
“Shh. You’re messing up my Chi. And I picked the locks, dear,” she said, not bothering to open her eyes.
Her mother was crazy. There was no denying it.
“Mom, you can’t just go around breaking and entering. You’ll get arrested.”
Eyes open, Reina stood and bent, placing her hands on the carpet in downward dog. Her mom was doing yoga in the middle of a Greek restaurant. “They wouldn’t arrest a middle-aged lady like me. Besides, George wouldn’t allow me to spend a single night in a jail cell.”
Oh, Lord, her mother was having an affair with the short attorney. Wonder what Reina inspired in him?
“Well, just promise me you’ll stop committing crimes, and if you do, don’t let me find out about it, all right?”
“Whatever you say, dear,” her mother said, her butt sticking out in Lola’s direction.
“Why are you here?” she asked again, hoping for an explanation other than ‘to do yoga.’
“I came to speak to you. I received a message from the earth that you needed me, and since you won’t come to the apartment, I came to you.”
She sighed. Why did the earth have to stick its nose in her business? She was fine. “I don’t need you. Everything is good, so you can continue your meditation and yoga somewhere else. I’ve got work to do.”
Reina stood straight and smiled knowingly. “How have the dreams been going? Have you accepted your responsibility yet?”
She realized she hadn’t dreamed of Euterpe and Demetrius since she’d begun sleeping in Braden’s bed. “I haven’t had any dreams, and the only responsibility I have is to take care of myself. It’s the same responsibility I’ve always had.”
Her mother pulled a water bottle from her large bag. “Don’t deflect. I know you don’t feel I took care of you, but believe me, you could have had it a lot worse. Plenty of kids are neglected and abused with a permanent roof over their head.” She took a sip and walked over to sit on a bar stool watching for Lola’s reaction.
The words echoed her earlier thoughts about how Braden and Rose were raised. With money, but no love from their mother and father. Reina had made sure she and Portia always knew they were loved and wanted. They might not have gotten many material items, but what they did get came from the heart.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it,” she said, bowing her head. Her mother sat as still as a statue as she waited for her to continue. “I assume you were referring to my responsibility as a Muse.”
Reina nodded. “It’s a gift to inspire creativity. In our previous lives, we’ve inspired great men such as Van Gogh and Picasso and Schumann.”
“Didn’t they all go insane?”
Her mother tsked. “They were misunderstood. Artists often are. Why, when William Shakespeare couldn’t have me because I was married, people thought he had gone crazy, and look at all the brilliant plays and sonnets he wrote in my honor.”
Lola rubbed her temples. “Are you telling me you had an affair with Shakespeare?”
“Not me, of course, but in my past life, yes. He was a dynamo in the sack. Not quite as inventive as George, mind you—”
“La La La,” she sang loudly. “Too much information. I don’t want to know about your sex life now or any from the past.” She looked at her mother and wondered, not for the first time, how she knew all the secrets to the universe. She was finally brave enough to hear the answer. “How do you know? Do you remember all your past lives?”