to my room and pretend it’s all a bad dream. That would only make things worse.
Footsteps on the back stairs echo closer and then the door is swinging open.
Mother steps into the kitchen, looking like a queen. Her icy blond hair is swept into a crisp chignon, her deep purple business suit is still perfectly pressed after a full day of wear, with bold but tasteful jewels around her neck and wrist. No one would mistake her for anything less than she is: perfect.
“Why is the garage open?” she demands. “Are you trying to invite thieves into our home?”
“No, Mother,” I say automatically. I brace myself for the lie I have to tell. “There was a break-in. I was just—”
“What did they take?” She sets her satchel on the counter and strides into the house to inspect.
Dad steps into the kitchen, worry creasing his distinguished, graying brow. “Are you okay, Greer?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” I reply.
He steps close, lifts a hand, and rests it on my shoulder. For a second I think he wants to hug me. And in this moment I would let him.
But then Mother returns. “What was taken?”
“As far as I can tell,” I say, hiding the quiver in my voice, “nothing.”
Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean ‘nothing’?”
I resist the urge to shrug. “I did a cursory inventory when the police were here, for their report, and I couldn’t find anything specific missing.”
She studies me, trying to gauge whether I’m telling the truth, whether she needs to interrogate me about the situation, whether I’m guilty of some minor transgression that requires punishment.
I can’t take the pressure, not after tonight. For the first time in my life, I lift my gaze and look her directly in the eye—not slightly to the left, so it appears that I’m meeting her gaze while avoiding her usual lecture on the importance of eye contact. Staring straight into her suspicious eyes, I say, slowly and carefully, “Nothing was taken. The police think it was vandals.”
When Grace told me about our hypnotic powers, I thought she was being ridiculous. I also thought I would never have reason to use them, even if they were real. I have no trouble getting people to do what I want. Everyone but my mother. So I have to try.
When I see her eyes lose focus and she repeats, “Nothing taken. Vandals.” I feel a giddy bubble rise up inside me.
It worked. It really worked.
Dad, oblivious to what has just happened, walks up to her and rests a hand against her lower back. “It sounds as if Greer has everything under control, Helen.” He throws me a sympathetic smile. “We’ve all had long days. I’ll have Natasha call the housekeepers in the morning, and the house will be back to normal when we return home tomorrow night.”
“Of course.” I smile, trying to appear positive when I know I will have to be the one to talk to Natasha because Dad will be at the office before dawn. I will take care of it, as I always do.
Mother just looks at him, her face still oddly blank, and she lets Dad lead her to the stairs up to their second-floor bedroom. As he guides her into the stairway, he looks back at me and we share a knowing smile. If he notices Mother’s unusual malleability, her slightly odd behavior, he doesn’t comment.
I nod good night to Dad and wait until I hear their bedroom door shut before I release the tense energy coiled up inside me.
My bath is calling me, but I have to face the rest of the cleanup first. Yes, I will make sure the housekeepers come tomorrow, but the better things look when Mother comes down in the morning, the better things will be for everyone in the household.
As I move throughout the first floor, smoothing rugs and straightening portraits of ancestors who no longer belong to me, I can’t keep the tremor from my hands. Even if my hypno powers helped give me the confidence, I just told my mother and the police bald-faced lies. My boyfriend is proving to be too callous and selfish for my taste. And
Learning to Kill: Stories