Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 105231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Fuck.
How many times had she heard that she was an experiment that had failed?
So many it had almost become meaningless drivel to her ears.
Almost.
“Dear God,” Brenna whispered. “This is terrible. Was this what she was like to you growing up? Why did no one ever report the abuse?”
Caren patted her arm in sympathy, giving her a wry smile. “The leading child psychologist in the state of New York, possibly the whole country, accused of child abuse? It wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t physically abusive.”
Not exactly true.
“She was always aware of leaving . . . evidence.”
“There’s all sorts of abuse,” Brenna said fiercely. “Not just physical.”
“I know. Believe me. But don’t worry, my grandmother got me away from them.”
“When? How old were you?” Brenna cleared her throat. “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me any of this. Kind of unprofessional of me to ask.”
“Actually, I think it shows that you care. I was just about to turn sixteen when I went to live with Grammy.”
Brenna closed her eyes and nodded. “Right. I was worried you’d say that. Go wash your arms and I’ll get some ointment for them.”
“Oh, Eliza, you really are wasting your time on her. And stop acting so appalled that I gave her gift away. Gifts will make her weak. She needs to learn to fend for herself and not rely on others.”
Well, she had learned that. But it was definitely the hard way.
“Did you ever get any Christmas presents?” Brenna whispered.
“Not even one. My father told me that Santa wasn’t real when I was three.”
“Oh my God.”
“Oh no, it was really a blessing. The thing is, if I’d thought Santa was real then she likely would have figured out some way to turn it all into an experiment. Also, I likely would have wondered what I’d done wrong when I woke up Christmas morning to no gifts. This way I didn’t have to. Of course, there were a number of irate parents at school when I informed their children that Santa didn’t exist. One of the few times that I can remember my mother going down to my school. She eviscerated the poor teacher who ended up in tears.”
“I can imagine,” Brenna said. “Don’t speak to her until I come back.”
She nodded and watched as the other woman left.
“Where is Eliza going? I need a cup of coffee. Honestly, that woman is useless. Always asking after Caren. As if anyone truly cares how Caren is doing. Useless fool.”
Wow. She’d never realized that Eliza had cared about her. Although she had snuck her sweets the few times she’d seen her. She’d lasted longer than her mother’s other assistants.
“That’s not Eliza,” she told her. “That’s Brenna. The woman taking care of you. And you should be nice to her.”
“Nice to her? Why would I want to do that? Niceness breeds complacency.”
Oh yeah. She’d heard that lots too.
After washing her arms in the small bathroom, she walked back into the room where her mother sat, carefully avoiding looking at the piano.
“How are you, Mother?” she asked, sitting in a chair across from her.
Her mother leaned forward and something cleared in her eyes. Caren’s breath caught in her chest. Was she actually seeing her? And not someone from the past?
“You look like my mother when she was young.”
She’d never met her maternal grandmother. Grammy had been her Dad’s mom. Grammy had hated her daughter-in-law with a passion.
“She was a hateful woman. Cruel and self-centred. You would never have survived with her, you know.”
“No? I’ve actually shocked myself with what I can survive,” she murmured.
“Are you talking about your childhood? Stupid girl. You weren’t abused like your grandmother said you were. Blackmailing us into not calling the authorities when she took you. Threatening to unravel everything we’d worked for. It was a relief to get rid of you.”
She bet it was.
“So you know who I am?”
“I am not an idiot, Caren. Why have you returned? Is it for the money? Well, you’re not getting any. It’s all going to various research facilities.”
“I don’t need or want your money.”
“No, that old bat left all her money to you, didn’t she? Money that your father desperately needed for his research. Selfish. Always selfish, you were. Taking up our time. Always wanting more and more.”
“What? Like attention? Care? Food? Strangely enough you do have to continuously feed a young child or they might grow up with various medical issues.”
Both physical and mental.
Her mother scoffed. “You should thank me for everything I did for you. Not complain. Now, get my stuff. We’re leaving this place. I don’t know why I’m even here. Did you have me put here against my will?”
“You’re in a dementia unit, Mother.”
Her mother froze.
“And you can’t leave.”
Maybe it was cruel. She probably should have asked Brenna if she should tell her the truth. But her mother had always valued the truth.