Like a Charm Read Free

back. Listen, you’re on a leave of absence. You don’t have to do any work until the docs give you the okay. So no worries, chica.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek.
    â€œJustin, just do what I said, okay?”
    He shrugged, and I let out an exasperated breath. “If you don’t, I’ll call someone else at the office to do it for me.”
    â€œWhatever.” He rolled his eyes. “You rest, I promise to take care of everything, including sending you back to your hometown looking like a true diva. Oh, yeah, I love being Kira’s personal stylist. Sweet isn’t going to know what hit it.”
    I’m going home. A week ago the thought of returning would have made me sick to my stomach, but now…now I wanted to be there. I might not fit in, but at least it was far away from what had happened here in Atlanta. Fresh air and a few days’ rest wasn’t such a bad deal. At the very least I could assuage some of the guilt I felt over not visiting my parents for the last two years.
    My eyelids grew heavy and I drifted off on a drug-induced cloud of whatever it was they’d given me. Just as I relaxed, an image of Melinda flitted into my brain. I knew no matter how far away I went, the nightmares would continue.

Chapter 2
    Think you’re escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.
    ULYSSES
    By Joyce, James, 1882–1941
    Call #: F-JOY
    Description: vi, 239 p.; 25cm
    I woke up two days later in a room where everything was white. The bedding, walls, and furniture were all in the same monochromatic tone. The curtains had been pulled back, and a huge expanse of glass-filtered sunlight warmed the room. At first I thought they had taken me to another hospital, and it took a few minutes to realize I was at my parents’ ashram in Sweet. I recognized the view. You don’t ever forget that wide-open expanse of the West Texas prairie. Even in November, it was a beautiful landscape of low shrubs and rocky hills.
    I took a deep breath and coughed on the clean air. I swear a body gets used to pollution.
    Bits of the fifteen-hour drive with my mom came to me as my brain clicked into gear. We had only made a few stops, and mom had driven straight through. I tried to stay awake and keep her company, but the drugs and the mono made that impossible. I’d managed to walk into the room on my own two feet, but at the time I’d been so out of it I hadn’t noticed my surroundings.
    My parents’ place is a huge, modern building they built on their land two years ago. For most of the time that I lived with them while growing up, we had a trailer on the 220 acres of ranch my dad had inherited.
    About ten years ago they went into the lavender business, and it had been so successful that they now own three ashrams, including this one. It’s a place where people come to hang out and get spiritual. There are yoga, meditation, and basic how-to-get-your-Zen-on classes. I hadn’t been home in a little over two years, and the place wasn’t finished when I left. I’d been keeping up with their progress over the Internet.
    Even though it felt like I’d been asleep for forever, I was still tired. I resisted the urge to climb back under the covers and instead went in search of a bathroom. I finally found it behind a sliding panel worthy of Star Trek. It was one of those things where you wave your hand in front of the sensor and it opens. It was small, with just a sink, toilet, and shower, and decorated as sparsely as the bedroom. The towels and tile were white, while the fixtures were brushed nickel.
    This is really rotten, but I never thought of my parents as having much taste when it comes to decorating. The three-room trailer we had lived in when I was growing up was a hodgepodge of garage sale and thrift-store finds. My dad sculpted metal parts into his version of art—which he then left strewn all over the yard. Mom called their