I didn’t waste the apple and banana I’d brought; I was expected to eat with Corinne, a traditional Thanksgiving dinner served by the nursing home staff. So instead I ignored the pangs in my stomach and tidied up in the bathroom just off the kitchen. A half-bath, it was big enough for my needs. I washed my face, reapplied my make-up, and swept my hair back in a sleek ponytail.

I inspected myself. No one would be able to tell I’d slept on a floor in a deserted, derelict old mansion.

By nine I was on my way to Oakview. My nerves didn’t really kick in until I pulled into the parking lot. Once the one-story brick building’s entrance caught my eye, I knew what lay just beyond it. To the left, down the first corridor.

I had to make myself breathe several deep, long steadying breaths before I got out of the car. Closing my eyes briefly, I gathered myself. My thoughts. My composure. Then I stepped out into the brisk November air and strode to the entrance.

The moment I opened the door, the inevitable scent of age, urine and bleach hit me square in the nose. I pasted my smile on, waved to the ladies at the front desk, and made my way down the corridor to Corinne’s room. Number thirty-eight. The door was ajar, and I swallowed, breathed, stepped inside.

“Hello, Grandmother Belle,” I said with a strong voice. Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of it, and they soon found me by the door. I noticed her pure white hair had been recently brushed and pulled up into a small knot on the top of her head. Deep lines cut into the skin of her powdery white face. Only the thin line of red lips marked any other color in her skin. I walked closer, and those cold blue orbs followed me the entire time. They were the only body parts she had control over, those eyes. They looked like ice as I sat in the chair beside her bed. “Happy Thanksgiving,” I said quietly. And then I didn’t say anything else at all.

Corinne Belle’s stare bore into me, and I knew she loathed my being there. Loathed her own condition; once a proud, strong, controlling woman, she now had to rely on attendants for her each and every need. I knew my being there irritated her; or perhaps my appearance didn’t suit her, because her breathing picked up. My eyes watched her chest rise and fall, faster and faster, until little grunts escaped her lips.

Immediately, as though she’d stricken me, I sat up. Folded my hands in my lap. And forced myself to look into those icy blue eyes. “Just so you know, I’m making all A’s this semester again,” I told her. “My GPA remains a 4.0. And our sorority just raised three thousand dollars at the Turkey Run for the homeless.”

Still, she puffed. Breathed. Grunted. Glared.

Panic began to rise in my throat. I had no idea what she wanted. I know what I wanted. To run. Escape. To never ever set foot inside Oakview ever again.

Or to have to look into those frigid eyes of the woman who hated me. Who locked me in the dark room. Who humiliated me.

Hated me, yet had given me every Belle heir dime.

It made no sense. Not three months ago, Corinne’s attorney had contacted me, telling me that just prior to her stroke, she’d made changes to her will, leaving everything to her only living relative. Me. I wanted so badly to tell Corinne Belle that I wasn’t going to ever take her money. That I’d pay back every dime she sent. Every nickel she’d sank into my education, I’d give back. Somehow. Someday. It was dark money. And it wasn’t mine.

Why was I still so terrified of her?

“There you are! Ms. Belle, you’re looking just as beautiful as ever!”

I leapt in my seat at the sound of Corinne’s nurse, Ms. Baker. A sweet woman in her fifties, she’d been caring for Corinne ever since her stroke. She had a cleft chin, which had somehow always fascinated me. And she always greeted me as though I was a slice of buttered bread. If she only knew.

Still, I smiled. “Happy Thanksgiving, Ms. Baker,” I said.

“You visit a while and I’ll bring your tray in once dinner is served,” she said, and her eyes glowed with a certain spark of joy that I found myself envying. “It’s exceptionally tasty this year!”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. She’d said the same thing last year. “Thank you.”

Ms. Baker hurried out but left the door slightly ajar; that left a slice of relief, a way of escape if needed. I slid my gaze to Corinne; those screaming eyes blazed at me, and I sat in silence, staring at my hands. Inside, my stomach knotted; part of me wanted to tell her things. Tell her about Kane. But I knew I dared not. It didn’t matter that she was stricken with silence and immobility. She had power over me and she knew it. She had people watching me. At the first sign of my disobedience, she’d send them for me. To be taken to the asylum. God, I didn’t want to go there.

I felt her gaze bear a hole in the side of my head, and I forced myself to turn and look at her. Tears gathered in my eyes, and I hated that I couldn’t stop them. I said nothing. I’d told her about school. About the sorority. My grades. What more did she need to know?

Blessedly, Ms. Baker returned soon with a plastic sectioned tray of turkey and gravy, stuffing, yellow squash, and cranberry sauce. On the side, a slice of pumpkin pie and a cup of sweet iced tea. “Thank you,” I offered, accepting the tray and setting in my lap.

“Oh, you’ll need these,” she grinned, handing me a plastic bag of silverware and a napkin. “Enjoy!” She checked Corinne’s feeding pump that made a click-click sound every so often as it dumped a thick tan liquid into her stomach. At the door, Ms. Baker stopped and threw me a warm smile. “You’re such a sweet granddaughter, you know? Coming here every holiday to sit with your grandmother.” She turned her cheerful gaze to Corinne. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Belle?”