When Sophie gets home that night, I’m in my bedroom doing some bookkeeping on my computer while Angus lolls on the bed. I hear her footsteps come into the room, then mattress springs shifting and Angus’s tail thumping on the duvet.
“Okay. I’m ready,” she says.
I spin around. “Ready for what?” She’s sprawled across the bed beside Angus, who rolls onto his back while she scratches his stomach.
“For you to give me the third degree.”
“Now, why I would do that?”
“Because I was with Jared and I didn’t tell you we’re hanging out.”
“Hanging out or dating?”
She shrugs, buries her face in Angus’s neck. He whines and paws at her to keep scratching his belly. “I don’t know what we’re doing. He says he likes me.”
“Do you like him?”
“Yeah, I guess. He’s not like I thought.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It just happened recently and I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. You know, because you work for them.” She has a blank expression on her face, but I know she wants my approval. I remember how much it meant to me that my parents liked Andrew.
I choose my words carefully. “He seems like a nice kid, but I don’t know him very well.” He’s always polite and friendly when I clean their house, but something about him has always struck me as a bit too … eager. I don’t know if he’s just lonely—I get the feeling his parents travel a lot—but most teen boys don’t want to spend a lot of time chatting with their housekeeper, and yet he often comes into the room and asks me things or talks to me about the weather or whatever.
“It must take you a long time to clean their house,” Sophie says.
“You’ve been there?” I feel another nervous flip in my stomach. Sophie has gone out with a few boys and we’ve had the sex talk, but I never worried about it because she never seemed really interested in anyone before. I knew it was something I’d have to deal with one day, but I hoped it would be when she was away at university.
“Delaney and I were there with some friends. Did you know he’s a photographer?”
I think back over the last couple of weeks, wonder when she was at his house. She was starting to have so many secrets. “Oh, yeah? What does he photograph?”
“Just scenery, oceans, mountains.” Her face is flushed and I know there’s more to this, but I can’t press, not without shutting her down completely. Jared doesn’t strike me as the kind of kid who’d be interested in taking photos of tranquil ocean scenes. His bedroom with its black curtains, chrome desk and night tables, has always reminded me of a single man’s apartment in the city. I don’t know any teen boys who collect abstract black-and-white canvas paintings.
Sophie looks at me seriously. “Why did you really go to the mall?”
“I had a feeling you were hiding something and I was worried about you.”
She turns to scratch Angus again, blocking her face from my view. “Well, now you know.” She doesn’t sound annoyed or defensive, or any of the things I expected, which is making me think she’s hiding something else.
“I didn’t want to tell you this at Christmas,” I say, “but the morning after my party, I found a wrapped box on my windshield. Your father left me a CD.”
She rolls over, sits up straight. “How do you know it was from him?”
“They’re all songs that he picked for our wedding reception. I dropped it off at the police station.” Corporal Parker hadn’t noticed anything when she walked around the house—no signs of attempted entry, no footprints in the snow—just “a big hairy beast trying to tear me apart through the window.” I explained about Angus and she said a dog was a great idea.
Sophie’s eyes are wide, her mouth parted. She presses her hand to her heart for a moment like it’s beating fast, then she meets my eyes and quickly pulls her hand away, but it’s too late.
“You’ve seen him again,” I say.
“No.” She turns to Angus and strokes his back. He wiggles closer, paws at her leg.
“Please don’t lie to me.”
“You said you would kick me out.”
“I said that because I was scared after he broke into our house. I was trying to protect you. I’m not going to kick you out, but I need to know if you’ve been speaking to him.”
“He didn’t break in. He was in Victoria packing his stuff.”
“He’s not going to admit it.”
“But he agreed to the peace bond. Why would he risk going to jail?”
“People like him don’t think of consequences. They act in the moment. I never called the police on him in all the years we were married, so he probably thinks I won’t follow through.”
I can see the truth settle into her mind, the disappointment that follows. Her shoulders slump. “I really thought he’d changed, Mom. He said he’d stay away from you.”
“He can’t help himself. He’ll keep trying to find a way to get at me one way or another.”
She looks so sad, her green eyes watery pools. “He made me a beautiful wooden box.” I flinch as I remember the wooden jewelry box he’d made me one Christmas. Now he’s playing the same games with my daughter. But I can’t tell her that, can’t hurt her more.
“It’s still a beautiful box.”
“I won’t see him again.” Her voice breaks, and I hate that she has to make this choice.
“We can talk about it when you’re older,” I say softly. “When he’s been out longer.”
“He lied to me,” she says as she stands up. “I’m done giving him a chance.”
“If he approaches you again, you need to be careful how you speak to him. He won’t—”
“Mom, I can handle it.”
Her phone chirps in her pocket and she glances at the screen. “It’s Jared.” She looks up at me. “I’m going to my room, okay?”
She walks out, her shoulders slumped and her arms wrapped around her body. Angus leaps off the bed with a thud, gives me a reproachful look, and trots after her. She didn’t let me finish my warning. Fear slides in around my throat, thick and slimy. The one thing Andrew hates more than losing control is being confronted. When Sophie was a child she idolized him so much, he told me, “She makes me feel like I can do anything, like I’m a superhero.” I don’t know what he’ll do when he realizes he’s lost her forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SOPHIE
I’m sitting in my bed with my cell phone in my hand, my back against the headboard and the blankets pulled around me. I should get up and have a shower, make some breakfast, but the thought of food makes my stomach twitch and jump. I tuck my feet under Angus at the end of the bed and rub my cold toes on his belly. He grumbles and shifts his weight but doesn’t move away. I look at the text from Andrew again. How was Christmas? Want to visit this week?
He texted on Christmas Day, wishing me a Merry Christmas, and I answered him, but that was before I knew about the present he left for Mom. I’d hoped I’d have more time to think about what I should text him back, but then he sent this message yesterday. I still haven’t answered. I don’t know how I’m going to tell him I don’t want to see him anymore.
I scroll through my other texts, read the ones from Jared again. We’ve been texting nonstop since his party. When I met him at the mall on Boxing Day, he held my hand and gave me a kiss like we were boyfriend and girlfriend. At first I was embarrassed, but then I decided I liked it. Most boys leave you wondering and play stupid head games, but he’s not like that.
What are you doing? I text him.
Editing photos. You?
I have to text my dad. He’s going to be pissed.
Just call him.
What if he flips out? I’d spent most of the morning wishing I could ignore Andrew and pretend the last couple of months never happened. Then I could go back to the way life used to be—when I didn’t have a father, which wasn’t great, but it was okay. I had my mom. And back then I didn’t have to worry that
my dad was going to hurt her if I said one thing wrong.
Just talk to him, Jared texts. Maybe he has a good reason.
That thought scares me the most. What if he makes me believe in him again? No. He can’t explain this one away—he left her a present. On her window. Like they’re in high school! If I text him or try to ignore him, he’ll probably call me anyway, and then it will be even worse.
OK, I’m going for it.
Good luck!
Andrew’s phone rings a bunch of times and I’m about to end the call when he finally picks up. “Yeah?” His voice is a shout and I can hear noises in the background, like saws and machinery and hammers. He must be at the job site. I forgot it was Tuesday already.
“It’s Sophie.”
“Hey, kid, just let me hop into my truck.” I can hear muffled crunching like he’s walking on gravel, then the metal sound of a door closing. “That’s better,” he says. “What’s going on? You okay?” The concern in his voice throws me and I almost chicken out, but then I think that if I really mattered to him, he wouldn’t have screwed up everything.
“Why did you leave Mom that present?”
Silence, then a heavy sigh. “I was hoping it got buried in the snow.”
I wasn’t expecting him to admit anything and don’t know what to say for a moment. “I told you to stay away from her, but you didn’t listen. I don’t want to see you anymore.”
“Hey, slow down and hear me out for a minute.” His voice is firm, a tight grip that holds me in place. “You’d been over at my house and I started thinking about how things could have been if your mom and I had stayed together. Then I found that CD and it reminded me of how good things used to be. I guess I thought maybe if I gave it to her…”
He found it? Could that be true? Maybe he really did have it from years ago. That’s kind of less freaky than him making a new one. “You thought she’d want to get back together?”
“It was stupid, okay? I regretted it the next day, but it was too late.”
“If I told the cops you admitted it was from you, they’d arrest you.”
“You have to do what you feel is right. I just wanted to be honest with you.”
I hate this, hate this impossible choice. I don’t want him to go to jail. I don’t want to be the one who put him there. I need to think.
“How did you know where we live?” I say.
“I followed you home from school.” I’m silent, a looming feeling of terror coming up fast behind me. Mom was right all along and I ignored her. I led him right to her.
“I know how that sounds,” Andrew says, “but I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I wanted to see where you live and I knew you couldn’t show me.”
I don’t want him to say things like this, don’t want to him to say things a father would say except that it’s all twisted into knots. “We made a deal.”
“Shit,” he says. “My boss needs me. Come over this weekend, okay? We can talk.”
“No. Mom is right. You can’t help yourself.”
“Is that what she told you?” He doesn’t sound apologetic anymore. His voice is harsh and mean, like someone I’ve never heard before, except maybe I think I have.
“This is between you and me,” I say. “This is my decision.”
“I’m working the rest of the week,” he says, “but I’m home all day Saturday—New Year’s Eve. I’ll stick around. Come over anytime. I’ll explain.” His tone has switched again. Now he’s a friend sitting down at the table for coffee and conversation.
“You can’t explain this!”
“I’ve loved her so long, Sophie. You’re young and maybe you don’t understand, but real love, like the way I love your mom, it’s everything. It fills your head, your body, you can’t breathe without thinking about them. I don’t know how to move on yet, but I know I have to, okay? I know I have to let her go.” His voice sounds thick and scratchy, like he’s crying.
“Dad—”
“Just come see me,” he says. “I’ll make it right.” He ends the call. I set my phone down on the bed, sink under my blankets, and press the heels of my palms into my eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LINDSEY
I glance through Marcus’s front window as I walk up his porch steps. His outdoor Christmas lights are already down and I can’t see his tree through the window. I wonder if he’s the type who always takes down his decorations before New Year’s Eve, or if it has more to do with painful memories. He spent Christmas Eve with his parents on the island, then volunteered at a crisis center Christmas Day. “I have to keep busy,” he said.
I ring the bell, glance up and down the street. The road is quiet, no trucks idling in the distance, but I’m still scared Andrew has been following me.
“Hi,” Marcus says when he opens the door. “I pigged out over the holidays, so I’m going to be hitting the weights hard today. You up for it?” He gives me a cheeky smile.
“Hmm. Doesn’t sound like much fun. Never mind.” I pretend to spin around and he grabs my arm with a laugh.
“Get your butt in here.”
When we walk through the living room and head downstairs to the gym, I notice there’s no sign it was even Christmas a few days ago, not one tissue, ribbon, or shred of wrapping paper anywhere in sight. We exercise hard, the only noise the clanging of the weight machine that Marcus is using and the hum of the treadmill that I’m on. I turn up the incline and run until my calf muscles quiver and my lungs burn. Then he spots me as I lift weights, his face focused.
We sit after and have a coffee. He bought a new one for us to try—dark and rich with a caramel sweetness. I like thinking of him picking it out in the store.
“It’s nice to take a break,” he says. “I’ve been writing all day.”
“How’s it going?”
“Ask me tomorrow after I’ve deleted everything.”
I laugh. “Did you have a good Christmas?” I say, then feel foolish for the question. I can’t imagine that it would ever be possible to have a good Christmas after you’ve lost a child.
“It was productive,” he says as he busies himself with pouring another cup of coffee. I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it. “How was yours?”
“Interesting. Turns out Sophie has a boyfriend. He’s the son of one my clients.”
“Does that bother you?”
“I’m not sure how I feel about him. He makes me a little uneasy.”
“Mother’s instincts?”
“Or maybe paranoia.” I smile. “I’m sure he’s fine. I’m just not used to Sophie dating, and they’re texting constantly. It feels so fast.”
“Young love,” he says. “It’s usually very obsessive.” He glances at my face. “Don’t worry. It’s normal teen behavior. Just give her space. I tried too hard to warn Katie and ended up pushing her away.”
“She asked if she could go to a New Year’s Eve party at his house. I checked with his parents and they’re chaperoning, so I agreed, but I think she’s getting in over her head.” Normally Sophie comes with me to my support group’s New Year’s Eve party. I can understand her wanting to be with her boyfriend, but it feels like one more step in her moving away from me.
“How so?”
“Jared comes from a wealthy family. Their lifestyle is very different than ours.”
“You’re worried she won’t fit into his world?”
“More that she might like that world and it will change her. And I’m worried that he has more life experiences than her. He’s very grown-up.” I know it isn’t fair to compare him to Andrew, but I can’t help thinking how I’d been dazzled—and then blinded.
“Sophie seems to have a good head on her shoulders.”
“I know, but she leads with her heart.” I fiddle with my mug. “She saw her father again—and he left a present on my windshield, a CD with love songs. She said she won’t see him anymore, but I don’t know what’s going to happen when she shuts him out.”
He loo
ks alarmed. “Did you tell the police?”
“Yes, right away, but I can’t prove it was from Andrew, so they can’t arrest him. It’s so stupid. Who else could it be from?” Parker had sounded frustrated when she told me there were no prints on the CD case, but sympathy doesn’t change the facts.
“My offer still stands—you and Sophie are welcome to stay at my lake house, or if you don’t want to leave town, I have a couple of spare rooms.”
“I really appreciate the offer, but Greg is coming back Sunday.”
“Right. Are you looking forward to seeing him?”
“Of course.” I’m puzzled by the question. Truth is, I haven’t thought about Greg much at all the last couple of days, but I don’t want to admit that.
“You don’t sound enthusiastic.”
I shrug, stir my coffee. “I’m just distracted.”
“Okay.” But he doesn’t sound like he believes me.
“What?”
“It’s nothing. I just get the feeling he’s pretty serious about you, but you already have one foot out the door.”
“Not at all. I like Greg a lot.” I’m flustered, my face hot. I hadn’t realized Marcus was studying my relationship, or how it might look from the outside. Maybe it is true and Greg’s feelings have grown faster and stronger than mine, but that’s not a bad thing. I’ll catch up. What we have is relaxing. “I don’t have to worry about him,” I say. “It’s easy.”
“Okay.” He reaches for his coffee.
“There’s that word again.”
“I’m sorry,” he says with a laugh. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s a little late now. You might as well go all the way.” I’m joking like this is all in fun, just two good friends having a heart-to-heart. “You don’t like Greg?”
“It’s not that I don’t like him.”
“But you didn’t say that you do.”
“I just didn’t think he was your type.”
“So what’s my type?”
Our eyes meet, and hold. My chest muscles tighten, squeezing the air out of my lungs.
He glances down at his mug. “Hey, what do I know? It’s been years since I dated anyone,” he says. “I should have kept my mouth shut. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”