Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [7]
“Just take the money and get out of here,” her mother snapped. “Find a roommate or something. And let me know when you get a real job. Freelance design doesn’t count.”
“It’s a start—”
Sylvia shook her head disdainfully. “You can’t live on it. That art degree was a waste. As far as I’m concerned, you owe us for that.”
“Really, Mother? Why?”
“Oh, you can start with the care and feeding of all your deadbeat friends—you brought home every stray and loser in the dorm every chance you got.” She gave her daughter a contemptuous up-and-down look. “When was the last time you had a bath? You look like a stray yourself.”
“Shut up!”
“Why don’t you just leave home? Go ahead,” Sylvia taunted. “Just drive off in that cute little Porsche your father was nuts enough to give you—”
“Stop it!” Angela groped across the table for the five bills to throw them, too, but as her fingertips touched them, she suddenly became distracted. Her gaze was fixed on a bottle of bourbon that was resting too near the edge of a low shelf near Sylvia’s elbow. “Look out!” she shouted, reaching toward her mother.
Sylvia reflexively jumped back from Angela’s outstretched hand, bumping the shelf and sending the bottle crashing onto the bar directly below. The neck of the bottle splintered, spraying a shower of glass and amber liquid over the skirt of her designer suit.
“Oh no! It’s ruined!” she shrieked. Suspicion narrowed her eyes and stretched back her lips. “Did you—? Oh my God. You made that happen, didn’t you?”
Angela shook her head. “No . . . no, I just knew it was going to fall. I tried to push you away.”
Sylvia stared at her daughter, her expression wavering between belief and disbelief. Then she looked down and surveyed the damage. “You knew that bottle was going to fall over . . . you made it happen.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Mother. Either I knew it was going to fall or I made it fall. Which do you think?”
“You did it. You deliberately did it to keep me from being on time for my meeting.”
She waved her hand. “Now I have to change. Get out of my way.” She pushed past Angela, heading for the stairs to her bedroom.
“Are you going to listen to me or not?” Angela demanded, trailing her mother. When she reached the master bedroom she found that Sylvia had closed and locked the door. “Just hear me out. Is that too much to ask?” There was only silence from the other side of the door as she spoke again. “This actually isn’t about me. It’s about Timberwoods Mall. Something bad is going to happen there.”
Inside the walls of her luxurious green-andwhite bedroom, Sylvia was hastily changing into another of her designer suits. In spite of herself, she couldn’t shut out the sound of Angela’s voice. She was going on and on about her vision of some kind of disaster at the shopping mall. A series of shudders traveled the length of her spine. Her daughter’s urgent tone was unrelenting. Sylvia imagined her crouched outside the door, gloating, reveling in upsetting her mother for no reason. Only Angela called them visions. The psychiatrists had assured Sylvia they were nothing but bad dreams, some like scenes out of horror movies, but dreams nonetheless. It had long been decided that Angela obsessed over them in an unhealthy way.
Sylvia’s hands trembled and an expression of anguish spread across her features. Why couldn’t she have a nice, normal daughter? One who was interested in the good things life had to offer. Clothes, travel, boyfriends . . .
She massaged her temples with long manicured fingers. No matter what the shrinks said, she didn’t think it was normal for anyone to have dreams like those Angela called her visions. Somewhere, deep in her soul, she wondered if Angela didn’t actually cause things to happen. Like the bourbon bottle falling . . .
The heartrending sound of a sob filtered through to Sylvia, and long-suppressed instincts of motherhood stirred deep within her. There had been a time when the two of them were the model mother and daughter, going places and doing things together. Sylvia recalled taking Angela shopping for that