Free House of Dreams by Brenda Joyce

Barca in the south of France, without bringing Alyssa along.
    She was neither soothed nor reassured.
    There is a cloud hanging over that family.
    No good has ever come of the families being involved.
    Christ. Was Aunt Catherine right? Was this the result of some centuries-old curse or something?
    Cass was the writer of fiction for several good reasons. As Tracey had succinctly pointed out she didn’t have much of a real life. But more important, she adored the past, and she had an overactive imagination. Making up stories was the easiest thing in the world for Cass. Now her imagination was kicking into overdrive. On a certain level, Cass knew she was hysterical and overreacting. That she was inventing a scenario that might not be the truth. But she could not reduce the panic within her. She could not step back from her own worst fears.
    â€œThen why are you crying?”
    Alyssa’s small, sweet voice cut in to her thoughts. Cass stared. “It hurts me to see them argue,” she finally said. How she hated lying to her niece.
    â€œI hate it, too.” Alyssa sat down on the bed beside Cass. “But, Aunt Cass, Auntie Catherine is wrong. Mother only wants to take me for a holiday to Spain.” And her eyes sparkled.
    Cass blinked. And as she realized that Alyssa was excited about the prospect of taking a trip with her mother, something inside of her twisted painfully. Was she being selfish as well as hysterical? Tracey had never taken a trip with her daughter. It was only a summer vacation. Alyssa was smiling now. Cass managed a smile in return, and she stroked her niece’s hair. “It’s very complicated, honey. Aunt Catherine’s merely worried. After all, you’ve never traveled with your mom before. But you’re right. A holiday with your mom, why, this is long overdue.” The sick feeling inside did not abate. The panic did not go away.
    Alyssa nodded eagerly. “And you’ll come, too.”
    Cass started. It hadn’t been a question. And her instinct was to agree—why not? Hadn’t Antonio invited her to Spain to see the
portrait? But she said, slowly, “Honey, Tracey wants to take you, not me. Just the two of you. I wasn’t invited.”
    Alyssa had stopped smiling. “But it’s not the two of us. Her boyfriend will be there, and his son. And I’ll miss you. You have to come!”
    Wouldn’t that be the perfect solution? Cass thought. She would be present during the summer to make sure Tracey did not intend to keep Alyssa; she could see the portrait; and while she wasn’t thrilled at the idea of spending time with the two lovebirds, she could take care of Alyssa properly, since Tracey did not have a clue as to the wants and needs of a seven-year-old child. “Your mom hasn’t invited me,” Cass said finally.
    â€œBut you can tell her that you have to come.” Alyssa stared. “Aunt Cass, I can’t go without you.”
    Cass swallowed. It was the perfect solution. What did she have to lose?
    Everything, she thought grimly. “Okay. I’ll drive out to see Tracey today.”
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    Cass sat ramrod-straight inside her two-door BMW, pulled up at the curb. The quaint, tree-lined street was jammed: Hempstead Heath was an extremely popular neighborhood, especially with artists, musicians, and the nouveau riche. The outdoor cafés and tables on the block were filled with the young and the hip; equally chic pedestrians were window-shopping numerous boutiques. And on the opposite side of the street was a series of mansions and villas, behind stone walls and wrought-iron gates.
    Her heart was pounding and the air seemed constricted in her lungs and chest. Cass got out of her car, feeling as if she had aged a decade in the past twenty-four hours. And from what she had seen that morning just a few hours ago as she had showered and dressed, she had. She closed the sedan’s door and walked to the