Whispering Hearts by Cassandra Chandler Page B

You’re going to get through this.”
    He lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her, but stopped himself and let his arm drop back to his side. He stepped out of the room again, pausing in the doorway.
    â€œI’ll be right outside.”
    A lump formed in her throat and she could only nod. After he pulled the door mostly shut, she stood still for a few moments while she composed herself. If she could pull herself together, maybe she could keep Garrett from being hurt again. More than he was already hurting.
    She grabbed another towel to blot her hair. She dried herself, then threw the towels in the hamper.
    She’d do the laundry while she was staying with him. And the dishes. And cook. Cooking would give her inconspicuous access to the spice cabinet, which she would need to make a new poppet for the window in her room.
    Her bag was already open on the floor. She pulled out a pair of pale jeans, a deep blue button-up shirt, and her brush. Within minutes she was dressed and presentable. She put on her best smile as she opened the door and stepped into the guest room.
    â€œThanks so much. I feel worlds better after that.”
    Garrett was sitting in the reading chair, glowering so intently Rachel could almost imagine storm clouds over his head. His hands gripped the arms of the chair and his lips were pulled into a deep frown. Creases at the edges of his eyes cut grooves where she was used to only seeing laughter.
    The quips she was hoping would lighten the mood dropped from her mind. She wanted to tell him not to worry about her, that she didn’t need it or deserve it. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him until they both forgot all their troubles.
    Instead, she walked to the bed and sat near him. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at the floor.
    â€œYou are not okay,” he said. “You are not taking your medicine. And there is more going on here than you’re telling me. More than you’re telling anyone.”
    Even her psychiatrists were convinced that Rachel was on the mend and doing well. Garrett could see right through her. He always knew when she put on her fake smiles and hollow laughter.
    He knew because she had been weak and let him in—let him see through the masks she wore for her parents and friends. She’d felt safe with him and let him get too close. He’d been paying for her mistake ever since.
    â€œI am not okay,” she said. “I am not taking my medicine. I’m grinding it up with a mortar and pestle and mixing it with coffee grounds and throwing it away. I didn’t want it to get into the water supply.”
    He snorted, then leaned his elbow on his chair, rubbing his eyes with one hand.
    â€œWell, at least you considered that.” He let out a deep sigh before looking at her again. “Did you consider how not taking your medicines would affect you?”
    His question wasn’t patronizing or condescending. He didn’t even sound angry or concerned. He asked it as one doctor might ask another during a differential, trying to get to the root of the problem—her.
    â€œI did.”
    No one had all of the facts except Rachel. Her doctors gave her drugs to stop her hallucinations, but she knew that what she heard was real. She had never met a doctor she thought might believe ghosts existed, let alone that people could perceive them. Even if she opened up to someone, the more she shared, the crazier she sounded.
    Garrett leaned forward, hands steepled between his knees as his long arms rested on his thighs.
    â€œI know you wouldn’t make this choice without a reason. A damn good reason. I would really like to know what that is.”
    She wanted to tell him. It would explain everything. Why she was often distracted in public, why she wanted everyone to think she was a flake, why she carried those stupid spray bottles with her. Even the perfume bottle in her purse was just saltwater, for moments