Free To Dance with the Devil (The Blood Singer Novels) by Cat Adams Page B

believe Ivy’s really gone.”
    “Yes, Gran.” My vision blurred. I hadn’t expected to cry. I didn’t want to. But the tears were very close to the surface. It wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge.
    “What was holding her here?”
    I swallowed hard. Talking about this, even to Gran, wasn’t easy, but she deserved to know. I forced myself to form the words, my voice soft and rough. “It was me. I blamed myself for what happened, felt guilty because I didn’t protect her. She died trying to save me, when I was the one who was supposed to take care of her.”
    “Oh, honey, no. No. You can’t believe that! It wasn’t your fault at all!” Gran leaned forward, her expression earnest. “You mustn’t blame yourself. You were a child, a victim of those horrible men.” She was crying, tears sliding down her cheeks silvered by the light of the cameras. She pulled a cloth handkerchief from the bag next to her and wiped her eyes and nose.
    I felt my throat tightening, and I had to fight to make the words sound normal as I said, “I finally figured that out and forgave myself for surviving.”
    “That’s all that was holding her here—your guilt?”
    I nodded. My vision was so blurry I couldn’t see the screen. Gwen passed me a box of tissues. I used a couple to wipe my eyes, then blew my nose noisily.
    “I’m so proud of you, Celia.”
    I looked at the screen, startled.
    Gran continued, “And I’m so sorry. I was so blind.” She shook her head. She was still crying, wringing her hands around the old-fashioned handkerchief. “I did what you said. I went to a seer.” She stopped talking abruptly as her tiny body was racked with sobs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I should’ve known. I didn’t believe…”
    Oh, hell. During that last fight, I’d been angry enough to tell her to go to a clairvoyant and look at the past, to see for herself what had actually happened. It had been a cruel jab and I hadn’t actually expected her to do it. There were things she hadn’t known about that were beyond hurtful. “Gran, stop. You can’t beat yourself up over this. You were always there for us. You made sure we got by. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
    “I should’ve known. You tried to tell me. I should’ve listened to you.”
    I stopped, thinking hard. She was right—she should have known, and I had tried to tell her. But she hadn’t believed me, hadn’t been willing to believe that her daughter could sink so low. Still, saying that would only hurt her more. She didn’t need more hurt, didn’t deserve it. I didn’t want her to spend the rest of her life racked with guilt, thinking “what-if?” I wanted her happy and whole. In that moment, it was very important that I say just the right thing.
    If only I knew what it was.
    Then something occurred to me, something she had said to me not that long ago. “Gran, do you remember the night after you sold me your house? Do you remember what you said to me when we were sitting on the porch drinking margaritas?”
    She blotted tears from her eyes with the wadded-up handkerchief in her hands and, though she didn’t say anything, I thought I saw a small nod. So I continued, “You told me that ‘people aren’t perfect. You have to forgive them. And you need to forgive yourself.’ Well, I forgive you. And you need to forgive yourself. We can’t undo the past, and I don’t want what happened to ruin our future.”
    “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.
    “You have to try. Please, for me?”
    I waited for a long moment until finally I saw her nod.

 
    8
    Gwen had blocked out enough time for a double session, figuring that we would need time after the family therapy conference to go over anything I needed help dealing with. Even though family therapy had been a bust, we needed the time anyway.
    There was a lot to discuss. We talked about my mother a little, but not for long. I’d hashed out those issues again and again over the years.