The final 3 parts of this gripping psychological thriller available in this box set!

No one can run forever

Sarah Taylor-Cox is at breaking point. Haunted by the threatening anonymous notes she’s been receiving, exhausted by caring for her new baby, her carefully constructed life is about to come crashing down around her. Luckily she has her younger sister Maisey to turn to for support—once estranged, the unknown danger Sarah is facing has created a fragile bond between them. A bond that will be tested to its limits when deadly secrets finally emerge…

This bundle comprises:

Take It to the Grave (Part 4 of 6) Take It to the Grave (Part 5 of 6) Take It to the Grave (Part 6 of 6)

by Zoe Carter

Take It to the Grave

Bundle 2

Zoe Carter

Table of Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Take It to the Grave (Part 4 of 6)

Introduction

Chapter One: Maisey

Chapter Two: Sarah

Chapter Three: Maisey

Chapter Four: Sarah

Take It to the Grave (Part 5 of 6)

Introduction

Chapter One: Maisey

Chapter Two: Sarah

Chapter Three: Maisey

Chapter Four: Sarah

Take It to the Grave (Part 6 of 6)

Introduction

Chapter One: Maisey

Chapter Two: Sarah

Chapter Three: Maisey

Chapter Four: Sarah

Copyright

Take It to the Grave (Part 4 of 6)

Zoe Carter

The cry of a frightened child

Maisey thought her nephew’s christening party would be the perfect chance to reconnect with her sister, Sarah Taylor-Cox. But Maisey has spent years running from the past, and seeing her estranged family is stirring up long-suppressed memories, memories that are slowly tormenting her and forcing her to question everything she thought she knew.

Not only that, Sarah seems a far cry from the calm, controlled sister who always used to protect her. What is really going on behind the closed doors of the Taylor-Coxes’ Hamptons mansion?

Part 4 of 6: A gripping new installment in this darkly compelling psychological thriller

Maisey

I ran faster, harder, the impact of my feet on the hard-packed sand jarring my knees, my hips, but I ignored it, slamming my feet into the surface. I’d stood there, in Sarah’s room, cradling the limp, unresponsive body of my baby half brother.

“I think I’ve killed the baby. You have to save the baby.”

My arms swung at my sides, my legs pumping—faster, faster—and my thighs, my calves, each muscle group burned. I remembered the frantic pleading in my voice. I remembered watching my sister take charge.

Sarah quickly checked Frankie’s pulse, in his wrist and then his neck. My sister knelt over the unconscious toddler as I stood anxiously just inside the doorway, and she pinched Frankie’s nose, breathing into his mouth. Sarah finally looked up. “I’ll sort it, Maisey. Don’t worry. It will look like an accident. You’re not in trouble, though, okay? Go back downstairs, and pretend to be asleep.”

Relief made my legs shake, and I nodded.

My cheeks are wet now, and my legs were mimicking the tremors of that afternoon so long ago as I pushed myself to the limit, sprinting along the beach.

I walked quietly out to the backyard, and lay down on the chaise longue, not too far away from Alice. I leaned back, closing my eyes, the sun beating down on my face, my chest, my legs, those cicadas still buzzing in the background. The normal sounds of a summer day, yet so grating. I heard the back door open, heard my sister walk, ever so quietly, down the path. I held my breath, my lips curling inward, my eyes itching, as I heard her step into the pool area. Then I listened as Sarah crept back up to the house, and then I jolted at the bloodcurdling scream. I sat up and whirled around as Sarah flew out of the house, the sounds from her voice so alien, so unfamiliar.

“Frankie, oh, my God, Frankie!”

My blood turned to ice in my veins as Sarah kept screaming.

And then I heard our next-door neighbors’ screen door slam open.

I lurched, bending over as my stomach heaved, and I vomited on the beach, the hot tears streaming down my face.

I told you not to look. Lucy’s voice was angry, harsh.

How could you keep this from me? I wailed in my mind, the sound echoing against the walls of my skull. I took a couple of steps, then fell to my knees, my stomach still twisting, although there was nothing left to bring up.

That’s my job, Maisey. To protect you.

I braced my hands on the sand, clenching my fingers and making little furrows, gasping for breath. Cold sweat broke out on my brow, and my chest rose and fell as I tried to catch my breath. I shook my head.

Not this. I killed my brother! The realization was like a knife to my gut, a bullet to my brain. Cold. Hot. Pain. Remorse. I was bombarded from all directions. How could I do that?

How could you not? Lucy queried.

I coughed, still feeling the burn of stomach acid in my throat, and I blinked. Darkness was edging my consciousness. Lucy was stepping in.

Oh, God. Not again.

“Maisey? Hey, are you all right?”

Lucy froze. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, and blinked, then hastily brushed the tears off my cheeks before turning to look up at Caleb. God, how humiliating. He glanced up and down the beach.

“I was out for a walk when I saw you here on the beach,” he informed me. His momentary distraction gave me enough time to take a deep breath and try and regain some of my composure. I hadn’t expected to see him here. Hadn’t expected to see anyone here, or anyone to see me feed the fish with a very inelegant puke session. God, I needed Lucy. S.T.A.T. Sitting here on my weak and shaky knees, next to a puddle of bile... What would Lucy do? I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment, and let Lucy step in.

I tilted my head back, and Lucy chuckled with just the right amount of regret and derision. “It looks like I may have eaten a bad prawn last night. Or oyster.” Sarah and Warwick had put on a seafood feast last night that would have fed that little Thai village. Lucy grimaced good-naturedly, and I rose to my feet, ignoring the tremors and locking my knees to prevent me from falling down again. I brushed my hair back from my sweaty forehead, pushing it behind my ears and bringing it back to a semblance of control.

Caleb smiled with sympathy and passed me a bottle of water. “Oh, thanks,” Lucy responded warmly, and took a swig. I rolled it around in my mouth, trying to swish out any remaining bile, and then I leaned over and spat it out.

“Oh, wow, that’s so classy. Sorry, I probably look like shit.” Lucy chuckled, low and throaty.

Caleb shook his head. “Nah, Maisey, you look great—as always.”

Unbidden, a secret, adolescent thrill coursed through me, and Lucy laughed, head back, eyes sparkling and flirty. Despite the horror of my memories, despite the sickness I felt inside, I was able to brush that aside, with Lucy’s help, and surrender to this interlude with Caleb, my life preserver, the salvation of my sanity.

We walked in silence for a moment, our shoes making that soft squeaky sound on the wet sand. Calm washed over me, a soothing balm to my terror of a moment ago, and I let the rise and breach of the waves, the gentle breeze curling around us, the soft colors of a stunning sunrise, soothe my heart, my soul, my mind, and I let the seed of contentment flourish in me. Lucy stepped back. Leaving me with Caleb.

Caleb shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “I miss you guys, you know?” His voice was low, husky. “Life just wasn’t the same after I left. The army—the army was so different,” he commented, and gave a chuckle, but his smile held a tinge of regret. “I really wish I hadn’t lost touch with you and Sarah.”

I nodded. “We missed you, too. When you were home...” I paused, then took a deep breath. “When you were home, those times were so good. I only have the fondest memories. It was special,” I admitted. “My favorite memories, really.” I smiled, although it felt a little wobbly, so I had to call on Lucy for help to keep me strong.

Don’t let me lose it.

Don’t worry. I’ve got you.

I still wanted to talk with Caleb, though, still wanted to be as real as I could allow myself to be, with anyone. Caleb knew me. Trust, unfamiliar, nearly forgotten, unfurled in me like a flower opening to the warm glow of the sun.

“So, tell me, what are you doing now?” I gestured to his leg.

He grimaced. “I’m slowly getting there. I was commissioned out of the army with this injury, so now I work in IT.”

“Computers?” I asked, impressed. “Wow. Smart guy. What exactly do you do?”

Caleb smiled. “I design and manage a number of websites for clients. Systems integration, that sort of stuff.” He shrugged. “It pays well enough.”

I glanced at the sand. “You bought Mom a house.”

He grinned. “There’s plenty of room if you ever want to visit.”

God. Lucy and I were both warring over feeling excited by the invitation, or horrified.

“Seriously, think about it. Do you have to rush off after Elliot’s christening? Why don’t you come visit for a while?” He leaned forward. “I promise to run interference between you and your mom if you need it.”

I hesitated.

Don’t do it, Lucy warned.

But it’s Caleb.

And your mother.

But it’s Caleb, I repeated. He knows me. And he’s dangling this carrot of a homecoming in front of me. My memories of Caleb are all positive. The one guy I could be completely honest with.

“When Mom went to prison, and you finished school and moved back home...” I shook my head. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t completely ready to trust him with what was going on inside my head. It was hard to do that, to let someone in after all these years of closing everyone out.

How do you think he’d feel about me?

Shut up, Lucy.

Or about what you did to Frankie.

I shook my head, then saw Caleb was watching me curiously. I ignored Lucy’s muttering in the background, and focused on Caleb. “It meant so much, being able to talk to you, to know there was someone there who had my back. You have no idea how important that was,” I said quietly.

What am I, chopped liver? I shook my head, pushing Lucy to the back of my mind.

“You know, it was the simple things that made such a huge difference.”

Caleb grimaced in self-derision. “I didn’t think I did that much.”

I chuckled. “Hey, you have no idea. Do you remember when we used to go to the movies, or the beach?” Like normal kids. It had been such a beautiful little escape, going out on these little excursions that got us out of the house and surrounded by people, as though it was a natural, regular thing to do.

Lucy’s smile’s broadened. “Oh, my God, I had the biggest crush on you.” Lucy giggled, a sound that so successfully melded self-deprecation and coquettishness that even I was impressed. Only Lucy had the courage to admit to something so deeply personal without embarrassment.

“What?” Caleb wrinkled his face in amused disbelief. “You had a crush on me?”

How could he not know that? How could he not see what a fantastic guy he was, how special? How I had trotted around after him, stars in my eyes.

“Of course, but I thought I was too young for you,” Lucy joked. I didn’t think that, but I told myself that’s the reason Sarah caught his attention, and not me. It made his oblivious rejection just a tinge more bearable. “I always hoped you and Sarah would marry actually.” I looked up at him from beneath my eyelashes, to catch his reaction. Did he still love my sister? Did he still pine for her?

Lucy kept the smile on my face, but it was hard, admitting that, thinking about that. Alice had been in prison, Frankie was dead and Caleb and Sarah were the only people I could really connect with—and they’d only had eyes for each other. We would go out to watch the latest movie at the local cinema, and I’d talk about the movie, but then catch them staring at each other, as though a wealth of meaning was being exchanged right under my nose, and I was clueless to it. Excluded. More and more, I began to feel like the third wheel, the hanger-on, the one who had to be tolerated when they’d actually prefer to be alone with each other. The one who didn’t matter. Fortunately, Lucy was there to make me feel less lonely.

Damn straight.

Shut up. You hid Frankie from me.

For your own good, Maisey.

I still couldn’t believe it. How could I hide something like this from me?

I’d so wanted to talk to my sister about what had happened to Frankie—and the fact that Alice was put away for it. God, there was so much confusion, so much guilt, and nowhere and nobody to talk to about it, to unload...to just unpack it and sort it out and make some sense from it. Lucy tried to, admittedly, but it always felt disjointed, like building a jigsaw puzzle only to find you were missing some critical pieces that would help form the full picture. Every time I tried to snatch a moment with Sarah to talk about it, she’d shut me down. “Put it behind you.” “Put it in the past.” “For God’s sake, don’t worry about it, Maisey, and just have fun.”

I used to wonder what was wrong with me; if Sarah could do it so easily, why couldn’t I? It was easier when we were all together, and we had something to do, but when Sarah and Caleb went off together and I was alone, well, that was the hardest time. Being alone with my thoughts and nothing to distract me. My conscience was a bitch to me, and it was difficult to hide from the self-righteous whinger. I couldn’t even talk to Alice. Peter rarely organized a prison visit. I didn’t have my mom around. I certainly wasn’t the apple of Peter’s eye. I remember wishing that Alice could be like a normal mom. I used to fantasize about her holding her arms out to me, embracing me, hushing my tears and soothing my fears... Yet she was now unreachable. I remember wishing I could bring Frankie back, along with every torment that came with him, just so I could have my mom back, too.

“You wanted me and Sarah to get married? Oh, that would have been terrible.” Caleb laughed, and Lucy was grateful for the distraction he provided, and for the fact that he thought marrying my sister would have been terrible.

He waved his hand as he shook his head. “Oh, no, no, no. We were great together as kids, sure, but...” He pointed to the majestic residence that was now plainly visible against the lightening sky. “There is no way I could give her that.” Caleb shrugged. “That’s not my thing, you know? I want something...different. Something a little more genuine. A home, not a house. Friends, not guests.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” I said, feeling just the slightest bit naughty, as though it was a betrayal of my sister to talk like this behind her back—but it felt wonderful to find a sympathizer, a person with a similar view of the extreme, almost pretentious display of wealth we were now surrounded by. It was like peeking through a window with a friend and sharing a giggle at the ridiculous decor and lifestyle within. Conspirators sharing a secret, that’s what we were; and I didn’t realize how long I’d gone without that kind of connection.

No matter how brief or shallow it seemed, it was real enough for now.

Again, I’m right here.

Shut. Up.

“Oh, hey, do you remember that time Sarah and I snuck in to watch you in that school play?”

“Oh, God, do I ever,” I said, covering my face briefly to hide my embarrassment. Of course I remembered that play. Some well-meaning teacher had steamrolled me into it. It was my most awkward, painful stage. Alice was in prison, everyone knew what had happened to Frankie, that my mother was locked away for it. I became that freak, the one with a mom behind bars, the one whose brother had drowned in the backyard pool. At the time, I couldn’t really discuss it with anyone, and it was probably the one thing I wanted most to talk about, so wasn’t really interested in talking about anything else. Watching some TV program, or picking out the hottest jock on the field, all seemed kind of juvenile in comparison to the heavy crapstorm in my head. I became one of those loners in the cafeteria, head down, pushing around the apple wedge that was slowly turning brown... Thank God for Lucy. She kept me company.

It’s nice to be appreciated.

My teachers had begun to notice. They couldn’t really do anything, though. I mean, I spent most of my time studying, doing homework—my grades weren’t slipping, I wasn’t skipping homework. There was nothing to actually show that I had a problem. At least, that’s what Peter said at the teacher-parent interviews when the staff at the school raised it with him. As far as he was concerned, there was no problem.

“Mrs. Jeffries made me do it.” Lucy chuckled again.

“Uh-huh. Come on, I remember you used to be quite the little actress, always putting on these shows for Sarah and me...”

“That was just for you two. But Mrs. Jeffries twisted my arm.” At that point, it had sounded so tempting, especially when an adult was actually praising me and complimenting me about my acting. I found my own little escape in that play.

I walked on that stage, and suddenly I was someone else. I wasn’t Maisey, that girl whose mom was in prison. I was whatever I needed to be to make people laugh, or cry, cheer, gasp. In that first play I was Lucy from Peanuts, and being gently bullied into participating in that performance had been a blessing in disguise. We loved the experience so much, we decided to keep the name.

I had an opportunity to get out of my skin, but more than that, I was doing something separate from the family that went completely under my stepfather’s radar. Extra credit. Please. It had been so damn satisfying, so triumphant, to step into the spotlight, and the man who ruled my life was completely oblivious to it. Just like Sarah’s friendship with Caleb...it was our way to hold on to some power, to have some independence that Peter couldn’t strip from us because he had no idea we’d been so daring. He underestimated us, there.

“I still can’t believe Dad didn’t find out.” Caleb chuckled. “Do you remember that one night when Sarah and I were sneaking out to go to a movie, and the drainpipe pulled away from the house when we tried to shimmy down it?”

Lucy laughed on cue, although inside I withered a little bit. Yeah. I remember Sarah and Caleb trying to sneak out and leave me behind. Was it supposed to have been a date? Whether it had or it hadn’t, I remembered the sharp pain piercing my lonely little heart that they had excluded me, once again.

Caleb’s laughter died, and the amusement left his eyes. It was so sudden it took me a moment to recognize its absence. He cleared his throat as he turned to face the direction we were walking in. “Well, that was a long time ago, I guess.”

My mouth quirked. I guess I wasn’t the only one to mourn those brief, treasured, carefree moments of our youth.

“You should come visit,” he said quietly. “Your mom—I think it would do her good.”

Lucy arched an eyebrow. “Do you think she’d notice I was there?”

Caleb frowned. “It could help her.” He sighed. “Look, I know she says some crazy shit sometimes, but...that’s not her. It’s the drink. Having you there, well, it could straighten her up a little.”

I doubt it, Lucy muttered.

I agreed with Lucy. Sometimes it was hard to remember what my mother was like, before the drinking. So much had happened.

“I don’t know,” I prevaricated.

“Don’t decide now. Give it some thought.”

I nodded, reluctant to give myself the responsibility of my mother’s salvation.

We’re not doing it, Lucy stated baldly. Nuh-uh.

Shush. There’s no harm in thinking about it.

I’m not letting you deal with that woman. She screwed up royally the first time.

Let’s just think about it. We won’t be alone. Caleb will be there.

For once, Lucy went quiet.

We walked in silence some more, and my legs were trembling with the effort of plowing over a sand hill. Caleb looked lost in thought, or maybe he was reminiscing. Those fun times together were far too rare, and I’d wished there were more of those memories, that we’d had more opportunities to create those light moments to counteract the dark.

I remembered when the final, all-consuming dark arrived. Sarah had woken me up in the middle of the night, sobbing as if someone had died. Not Frankie, though. She didn’t sob like that when Frankie had died. I remembered my alarm at her tears; it was so unusual, so weird to see Sarah display that kind of emotion. She was always the one to whisper to me that everything was okay when I wanted to blubber. She was always the strong one. It had startled me, and I must admit, a fear had been born in me that day, that my sister could react in a way that I’d only ever seen in Alice.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered, trying to channel a little of Sarah in my tone, a little comfort, a little calm, when quite frankly she was freaking the crap out of me. I sat up in my bed, and she sat beside me, sobbing ever so quietly.

“Caleb’s gone,” my sister wailed softly.

My eyes widened. “Gone? What do you mean, he’s gone?” Did she mean he’d tried to shimmy down the drainpipe without her this time? Is that why she was upset? Perhaps then she might have a clue to how I felt, the night they broke the guttering.

“He just left,” Sarah whispered, her cheeks shiny in the moonlight streaming in through my window. She leaned over to rest her head on my shoulder, and I hugged her, patting her hair in a clumsy effort to soothe her.

I frowned. “When is he coming back?” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. Caleb couldn’t leave. We were a family. He was part of our secret little clique, not only a co-conspirator, but a much needed support, and the buffer between his father and us. If he left—I swallowed, not wanting to think about what would happen, how things could go back to the way they were before Caleb had moved in with us, or how it could possibly be worse. Caleb was our safety zone. I didn’t want Caleb to leave.

“Where is he? I’ll go talk to him,” I said, and went to push the covers off.

Sarah shook her head, her shoulders shaking in grief. “No, he’s already gone.”

I blinked, stunned. “But...why?” I whispered. Why would he leave? Why would he abandon us? I thought we were good, solid. How could Caleb just...leave? Lucy woke up, listening intently.

“He doesn’t love me,” Sarah whispered, and the heartbreak, the loss, the anguish, in her voice gave me the chills.

“Of course he does,” I said automatically. Because the alternative, that Caleb didn’t love us, was unbearable. That fear started to grow inside me, pulling my insides out, and I let Lucy to take over. I don’t think there was anything I could have done to stop her. “We’ll sort this out. Don’t worry, Sarah, we’ll fix this.”

My sister sniffled, then wiped her nose with her sleeve. “There’s nothing left to fix. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love me.” Sarah kept repeating that phrase, over and over.

“It’s going to be okay,” Lucy whispered, but inside, I knew Lucy was full of shit. I had never seen my sister like this. Not when my mother was beaten unconscious. Not when Peter broke Alice’s arm that time. Not even when Frankie had died, and the police had handcuffed our mother and settled her into the backseat of the cop car. No, this was something new, something disturbing.

My sister’s spirit had been broken. She’d been shattered, fragmented into these sharp little pieces that would never quite go back together again. I could feel her shaking in my arms, feel her sorrow, her sadness. It smothered us like Peter’s hand over my mother’s mouth. Whatever had happened between her and Caleb, I knew. I had lost the sister I knew.

First Dad. Then Alice. Okay, let’s not forget Frankie...and now Sarah. Under any other circumstances, Sarah would be comforting me at the departure of Caleb, as she had so many times before when he’d had to return to his mother’s home as the school break had drawn to a close. But no. That loving, caring, generous and protective side of my sister had been broken. Everything had changed. All those people whom I looked to for love, protection and support were dead or damaged beyond repair. Lucy kept patting Sarah’s hair, and I stared up at the ceiling. I was on my own, and I had to learn to fend for myself. Well, if everyone died, so would I. I let Lucy take over.

A few hours later I slid out of bed, trying not to wake Sarah, her face still mottled from her tears. I was busting to use the toilet, and I tiptoed over to my bedroom door. I opened the door quietly, making sure I put my foot down close to the jamb to avoid the creak in the floorboard beneath the carpet, and that’s when I saw it.

A piece of paper, neatly folded, with my name handwritten in Caleb’s familiar sprawl. For a brief moment, Lucy stepped back, and excitement swept through me, bringing a slight, secretive curl to my lips as I bent down to pick it up. I scurried to the bathroom, locking the door, and then hastily unfolded the note.

I will miss you, Maisey.

Caleb

I must have blacked out for a bit. I don’t remember the rest of the night, so I must have fallen asleep. I was calmer when I woke in the morning. I clutched the note to my chest and closed my eyes. Keen sadness at his departure warred with gratitude and love at this little gesture. And frustration. Frustration that the guy I loved had left. I swear, if Caleb had been mine, this wouldn’t have happened. Just look at the note. He cared for me, really cared for me. If we were the close ones instead of Sarah and him, Caleb would never have left. I was sure of it. I wouldn’t have let him leave. I wouldn’t have dissolved into tears; I would have fought for him, I would have talked with him, listened to him, cherished him like he needed to be cherished. Instead I cherished that note, that little sign that showed me that for whatever reason he was leaving, whatever had caused him to walk out in the middle of the night, that I had been on his mind. I had carried that note around the world with me ever since.

Peter was livid when he awoke the next morning to learn his son had left in the middle of the night. I was in the living room when he’d made this discovery, and my eyes darted to Sarah as our stepfather stormed into the living room. I wanted to hide, but Lucy said it would be all right, so I stayed. He grabbed Sarah by the shoulders and shook her so hard, her head had jerked with the movement. He pulled her close then, snarling in her face.

“If I find this is your fault, I will make you pay.”

Sarah gazed up at him so calmly, so serenely. I braced myself in the corner, cowering and hoping he wouldn’t come after me next, but I may as well have not existed, because his full focus was on my sister.

And she just stared at up him. She wasn’t trying to hide, like me. She wasn’t cowering; she was just cool, composed, like the placid surface of a lake. Seeing that unshaken equilibrium in the face of Peter’s rage, and despite my frustration and anger with my sister for letting Caleb go, I had to hand it to her, she reacted brilliantly. My respect for her grew—from my hiding spot in the corner. Her lack of reaction frustrated my stepfather. Peter stormed out of the house, swearing, and flung himself into his car and drove off.

I watched as Caleb’s stride matched mine, and we walked in unison up the path to the house. Unlike half an hour ago, my steps were moderate, and not the frenzied, frantic pace I’d been running. My heart rate had nearly slowed to normal, and I was no longer sick with anxiety, guilt or any other negative emotion. Caleb always had that effect on me. It was like he was an anchor in my storm, the eye in every cyclone...he was the beacon that led me back to those warm, safe, beautiful memories of my childhood that were so bright and joyous in a forest of darkness.

“So, tell me, Caleb, what was it like in the army? How long were you in for?” Lucy asked him, staring up in that wide-eyed, curious way that always had a man responding. I listened as he talked about boot camp, and then where he’d been deployed. I know Lucy was flirting with him, but I drank his conversation in, eager to hear about his experiences, his time away from me. I tried to tell myself that I was slipping into that familiar habit of hanging on to his every word, of inserting myself into his “now,” to try and make up for our lost time. The adoration and love was like an old, cozy pair of yoga pants—easy to slide into, conforming to your shape, comfortable to wear.

There was a tiny part, though, one that I wanted to ignore, because it wasn’t big of me, I’ll admit it. It was small, it was petty, but it was instinctive. Right here, right now, I had something that Sarah couldn’t. She was married, and had created a home for herself with Warwick. She couldn’t have Caleb, too.

For once, I felt successful, and yes, it shamed me that it was at my sister’s expense, but hell, with my life the way it was, it was probably the only success I could ever expect. For so long, I had drifted around Sarah’s orbit. She was always the one in control, the strong one, the one who could pull the strings and have people react and perform the way she wanted. It had always been Sarah and Caleb, and then maybe me off to the side.

Now, though, after seeing past the twenty-four-carat facade of her life, after hearing the whispered arguments, seeing the interaction between her and the rest of her acquired family, I thought that perhaps my sister wasn’t quite in control any longer. But here, right now, with Caleb at my side instead of Sarah’s, I felt like the one in control. This time, my sister could dance on the end of my strings.

“And what about you, Maisey? Alice mentioned you’re with Nurses Without Borders. Is it as exciting as it sounds?”

I laughed. “Not quite. I am a nurse, and lately I’ve been helping to set up clinics or orphanages...” I often got a little embarrassed explaining my job, although I wasn’t quite sure why. It was a noble profession, nursing, and I was proud of it, and of the work I did.

“Really? So when you’re not off saving the world, one remote medical clinic or orphanage at a time, and you’re not swanning it with the socially elite, where do you go? Where is home for you? I know it’s not with Alice.”

I shook my head, and tried not to shudder. No, my home was not with Alice. It hadn’t been since the day Frankie died and she was taken away in a squad car.

“I don’t really have a fixed address—apart from my email,” I joked. “I’ve been so busy I’ve just pretty much moved from project to project. This is the first time I’ve been back to the States in years. Nurses Without Borders usually has a job lined up for me at a site before the current one concludes, and I just move.”

“Well, I can relate to that. When I was in the army I moved five times in two years. Just packed up and headed out to wherever they needed me.”

We glanced at each other, and I think we were both surprised to see the similarity in our lives, but also to realize we shared an understanding that few could match.

After a moment, Caleb cleared his throat. “And you like the work?” he asked, looking down at me intently.

I nodded. “Yeah, I do.” I glanced down at the sand, shifting beneath our feet, and then the paved path appeared. Stability so close to volatility. A symbol of my life, really. “There is something about helping people,” I told him quietly, sincerely, and noticed that Lucy was also quiet now. “I love knowing that I’m doing something productive, but it’s more than that. I’m saving people’s lives. It’s humbling, and yet so uplifting, knowing that I can have such a profound impact on others’ lives. It’s addictive.” My lips twisted. And I would keep doing that work for as long as I could. For once, I was completely honest. This was more than a job for me. It was a vocation. My life’s mission, if you will. Help as many, save as many, as I could.

Caleb threw his arm around my shoulders, and dragged me to his side. “God, it’s so good to see you again, Maisey. I’ve missed this, so much.”

It took me a moment to process, so stunned was I at this admission, and then I relaxed against him, trying to lower my natural resistance.

It was a new kind of feeling, this closeness, and it took me a while to get past the surprise, the enjoyment.

Apart from that night Caleb had left, I couldn’t actually remember feeling this type of comfortable, loving touch of a family member since Alice went to prison.

I was surprised by how lovely it felt, so warm, so generous, so tender. I hoped I could get used to it.

Sarah

Bridget places the phone beside my plate the next morning, frowning slightly at my meager breakfast. Since I hadn’t been able to choke down a bite of dinner the night before, I’d decided I could have a slice of cantaloupe with my scrambled egg whites. Nothing sweet had touched my lips since that humiliating episode at the East Hamptons fair, so I’d been fantasizing about how wonderful the fruit will taste. As soon as I see the notification on my phone, however, my appetite vanishes. Bridget must have heard it buzzing and assumed it was important.

Pushing my plate away, I look around the table. No one is paying any attention to me. They’re all blissfully ensconced in their own little worlds. Warwick is eager to best his father on the links again. Eleanor is anxious about micromanaging her staff and greeting another group of out-of-town guests, and Alice is entertaining Caleb and Maisey with some crazy tale about her dream of being an aerialist in a traveling circus.

“Is everything all right? Your phone was beeping so I brought it out,” Bridget says, lowering her voice as she pours me more water. “I thought perhaps it was someone saying they can’t make the christening.”

“It’s nothing.” Of course I know it’s anything but, even though I haven’t had the courage to open the email yet. “Andrea sent her regrets.”

It’s a mistake to reference Eleanor’s party. My mother-in-law misses nothing when it comes to her soiree. “What did you say, Sarah? Who isn’t able to make it?”

Shit. It’s a fairly safe bet Eleanor would never have included down-to-earth Andrea on the guest list, but what if I’m wrong? I’d never intended my lie to be held up to close scrutiny. What if she asks to see the email?

“Andrea.”

Eleanor’s brow creases. “Who?”

“Andrea Waterton. She sits on the fair committee with you—she was the one with the booth across from mine this year.”

As my mother-in-law makes a big show of looking perplexed—tapping her chin, staring at the ceiling, and finally shaking her head—I’m tempted to hurl my slice of melon at her. Why does she always have to butt in? Why can’t she mind her own business?

Then again, she thinks this is about the party, and as far as she’s concerned, the party is her business.

“I don’t think I invited the Watertons. In fact, I’m positive I didn’t.”

Whew. “I had her on my list. She was one of mine.”

Eleanor starts to speak, and my hands ball into fists under the table. Fuck. She’s going to contradict me. I was an idiot to believe I’d get away with this bit of subterfuge. She has both lists memorized—this party is an obsession with her.

“What’s the problem?” Warwick raises an eyebrow at me. I don’t miss the threat in his voice, and I’m sure no one else does, either. I’ve been avoiding him as much as possible, delaying coming to bed until I’m positive he’ll be asleep.

“There’s no problem. Andrea Waterton let me know she won’t be able to make the party tomorrow, that’s all.”

“Who’s Andrea Waterton?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“She’s a friend of mine. It’s not important, really. I’ll catch up with her later.”

“Speaking of the party, is there anything I can do to help, Eleanor? I’ve checked my busy schedule and it turns out I have a free morning.”

Caleb’s diversion does the trick. My mother-in-law is well accustomed to issuing orders, and my stepbrother soon has a litany of to-dos that should keep him busy until the afternoon, if not beyond.

That was close. I’ll have to be more careful, unless I want everyone to know about the emails. That would only lead to more questions I can’t answer.

As soon as I’m confident no one is looking, I slip my napkin onto my lap, careful to keep my phone concealed beneath it. From there, it’s easy to hide the device in my pocket.

“Sarah?”

Startled, I realize Maisey has been talking to me. Did she see me pocket my phone like I’ve got something to hide? Christ, why didn’t I just act normally?

“Sorry, I was off in la-la land again. What did you say?”

“I asked if you’d like to go for a walk along the beach with me after breakfast. I’ve been running every morning since I got here. I can’t get enough of the sand. I thought it would be nice to walk together.”

The idea of walking on the sand in the broiling sun is about as appealing as having my teeth pulled.

“Oh, that’s a lovely idea. The exercise would do you a world of good,” Eleanor jumps in.

“I’m sure it would, but I have a to-do list of my own to tackle.” I infuse my words with so much fake cheer it makes me want to puke. I’m starting to become a Stepford wife. “Rain check?”

My sister’s face is flushed, and I notice she avoids Eleanor’s eyes. “Sure,” she says quickly. “Not a problem. There’s always tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Yet another day of waltzing through minefields. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

The second I’m able to escape the breakfast table, I retreat to my dressing room. This time I’m careful to lock the bedroom door behind me. There will be no more unexpected guests, not today.

My hands shake as I pull out my phone. The best thing to do would be to ignore it. Move it to the trash folder with the others, unread.

Tempting, but impossible. I have to read it. It’s a compulsion.

No one can run forever.

Sinking to the floor of my walk-in closet, I read the short sentence over and over again. The timing is a terrible coincidence.

Did someone see Caleb follow me into the nursery yesterday? Did they hear our conversation?

But that would mean someone close to me—someone in this very house—is sending me these awful threats. I can’t seriously consider that possibility. My nerves are already shot. Though I’d done my best to be the perfect host during last night’s dinner, I was petrified Warwick would see the truth of what I was feeling on my face.

Bridget has seemed cooler toward me, more formal, and I’m worried about what that means, assuming it means anything. Is she preoccupied? Stressed about the party? Or does she know what’s going on between Caleb and me?

Not that there’s anything going on, not really.

My stepbrother had been polite but distant all evening, lavishing more attention than usual on my mother and sister. They’d both bought into it, flattered by his interest. Even after his revelation, I couldn’t help but be envious of their easy relationship with him. Why were things always more complicated with me? Not for the first time, I wondered if we’d wrecked everything when we’d turned a wonderful friendship into a love affair. But we’d been dumb kids—what did we know about consequences?

No one can run forever.

It didn’t make any sense. I hadn’t exactly taken out an ad in the paper when I’d left Manhattan, but it wasn’t like I’d gone to any great lengths to hide, either. I’d taken Warwick’s last name when I married him. It wouldn’t be difficult for a client like Dan or Harvey to locate me if they wanted to, as Di had pointed out. So why the reference to running?

I’m pretending the emails don’t bother me, but they’re always at the back of my mind. Lately I’ve been spending most of my time in the nursery with Elliot. It’s about the only place I feel safe. Someone wants me to be miserable, that much is clear—but who?

If Truth Seeker had hoped to deter me from taking off, his emails were having the opposite effect. Caleb’s wistful suggestion that we run away together seems more and more tempting, but I can’t possibly go with him. I’d never leave Elliot behind, and there’s no way Warwick would willingly let go of his son.

As lovely as it is to pretend we can go back in time and everything will be like it was when we were kids, too many years have passed. There’s too much pain, too much ugly history Caleb doesn’t know about. For all his flaws, Warwick knows about Chantilly Lace and accepts that part of my past without a problem. But how would Caleb react if he found out? He’d never understand.

There are a lot of things he wouldn’t understand.

Two days from now, Caleb and Maisey will leave the Hamptons. Alice will go with them. All I have to do is keep it together until then. I’ll have to avoid Caleb as much as possible, being careful never to end up alone with him again. I can’t jeopardize Elliot’s future—or my own.

Sooner or later, Truth Seeker will reveal himself. Whatever terrible thing he wants, I’ll deal with it then. It’s just a matter of biding my time.

And biding my time is something I’ve become very good at.

No one can run forever.

Elliot whimpers in the other room, and I go to him, smiling.

Watch me, I think. Just watch me.

* * *

Steam billows out of the bathroom as I emerge from the shower. I’d expected the scalding water would soothe me, or at least clear my head, but it hadn’t had the usual effect. The meaning of the emails gnaws at me, destroying any hope that I’d find a bit of peace.

Warwick’s absence is the perfect excuse to open a window and let some fresh air into the bedroom. Tightening the sash on my bathrobe, I move the curtains aside, startled to see Maisey walking along the beach. I didn’t expect her to have made her way back to the house so quickly.

What startles me more is the fact she isn’t alone. Caleb is with her, and they look quite chummy. What happened to the errands he’s supposed to be doing for Eleanor? He can’t possibly have finished them already. He may be amazing, but he’s not Superman.

My sister edges closer to Caleb, bumping his shoulder with hers. Are we ten years old? Come on, Maisey. But if he minds her immaturity, it doesn’t show. He nudges her back. They appear to be having an intense conversation about something, and the serious expression on his face makes me nervous. What is she telling him?

Recalling how eager she’d been to discuss Frankie’s death yesterday, I find it difficult not to jump to conclusions. She’s not stupid enough to get into that with Caleb, is she? But what else do they have to talk about? What else would make him look that intense?

Just when I’m worried enough to start pounding on the window to distract them, Caleb throws an arm around my sister’s shoulders, bringing her close enough to muss her hair. Her laughter soars on the summer air, easily reaching my hiding spot as I duck behind the drapes. It’s sickening. Sometimes when the two of them are together, Maisey becomes someone completely different. It’s like she turns into this giggly ditz who isn’t like her at all. Why does she feel the need to go into this act with him?

What is she doing with him, anyway? Caleb was always my person, not hers.

For the first time, I consider that Maisey might have feelings for him. She’d always had a crush on him when she was little, but I’d never taken it seriously—there were too many years between them. Now that we’re adults, the age difference is negligible. We’re not kids anymore. Maisey’s single, and Caleb is extremely attractive. Between her travels and his service overseas, they probably have plenty in common. They both share an adventurous spirit. Why wouldn’t she have feelings for him?

And what do I care if she does? If I want Caleb, I can have him. He’d made that clear in the nursery, and I’d rejected his offer...hadn’t I? Was I seriously having second thoughts?

Where is this animosity coming from? It’s crazy. Before Alice brought him into my life again, I hadn’t spoken to Caleb in years. Maybe we’d once been close, but those days were long over. If anything, I feel awkward around him now, nothing like the easy friendship we used to have—the relationship he apparently has with my sister.

My jaw tightens as I lean against the wall, watching the two of them together. Although they’re both staying at my home, I’ve never felt more unnecessary. It’s obvious I’m the odd one out. They look so comfortable with each other, teasing and joking around.

I’ve missed him.

Caleb’s visits had been the highlight of my adolescence: swimming in the ocean, campfires on the beach, climbing down the drainpipe to go to the movies, sneaking out and playing hide-and-seek in the moonlight. He’d accepted me the way I was, warts and all. When he was around, I felt like I could be a normal teenager. During Caleb’s visits, Peter mostly behaved himself. He wasn’t nearly as nasty to us.

Maybe if we’d stayed together, life could have been good again.

I had to quit thinking like this. We’d been kids, and it had been a summer fling, nothing more.

Whatever we had between us, obviously we weren’t soul mates. If we had been, he never would have left.

Below me, Maisey and Caleb are saying goodbye. She wraps her hand around his neck and urges him forward, kissing his cheek. That doesn’t look sisterly. Caleb’s eyes widen, but he gives her a little hug before heading in the opposite direction. I exhale as he leaves her behind. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath.

He slows as he nears the house, staring up at my window. Though I’m hidden behind the curtain, I’m afraid he can see me, anyway, that he’s well aware I’m watching. He always did have a talent for reading my mind.

Scrutinizing my window as if he’s searching for something, he gives his head a little shake before moving on down the beach. Did he see the curtain twitch when he was with Maisey? Can he feel me watching him? Did he want me to see him with my sister?

What are you playing at, Caleb?

* * *

I find Maisey in the rose garden. Good, we definitely need to talk. This time I’m ready to listen to whatever she has to say.

I’m about to greet her when I realize she isn’t alone.

“It’s not a big deal,” my sister says to an unseen companion, the color rising in her cheeks. I turn to go. She’s with Caleb, again? I stop when a feminine voice responds.

“Of course it’s a big deal. It’s a huge deal. I’m so proud of you, my Little Monster. I always knew you were meant for great things. You wanted to make the world a better place, and now you’re doing it. Even Peter would have been proud.”

Ugh. Not Caleb. Even worse—it’s Alice. I should have known.

Mother had asked me to give her a more in-depth tour of the gardens this morning, but I’d begged off, using my son as an excuse. I was finding it more and more difficult to be around her. She’s as loud and inappropriate as always, but now she is scatterbrained as well. I can’t fathom how she has the nerve to talk about Peter in front of us. That horrible man had hurt her too, but didn’t she understand what we’d gone through? Didn’t she get what he’d done to us? What he’d done to me? Whatever was left of our childhood when Dad died had been ruined by that nightmare.

When I take another step toward them, Alice comes into view. She’s clutching a pair of lethal-looking pruning shears, waving them in my sister’s direction in a way that makes me nervous. Where on earth did she find those? I make a mental note to warn Joel, our gardener, to be more careful while Mother’s staying with us. Alice is not to be trusted with sharp objects.

Lurching toward my sister, Mother throws her arms around her. “You have no idea how much nurses helped me when your daddy was sick. Sometimes I felt like they were the only ones who cared.” She wipes tears from her eyes as she beams at Maisey. “And to think you’re one of them now.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Mother shrieks with laughter, stumbling a little. She grabs my sister’s shoulder with her free hand, and Maisey holds on to her arms, steadying her. “My baby doll,” Alice says. “You always were my baby.”

Yeah, right. Until Frankie came along. Then it was like neither one of us existed.

How can Maisey stand it? I’d had enough of our mother’s drunken antics by the end of the first day of this “reunion,” but my sister continues to humor her, repeatedly trying to connect with her. Why does she bother? Maybe Mom was right all along—maybe I was adopted. Maisey and I don’t share the same connection with Alice, that’s for sure.

Perhaps my sister has forgotten the many days our mother passed out on the sofa, leaving us at Peter’s mercy. Alice watched as he forced my sister to eat those rotten eggs, that moldy cheese, and never did a thing to stop him. She obviously didn’t care that her husband was making Maisey sick.

How can my sister forgive her for that? Screw Peter—Alice is the reason we didn’t have a childhood after we lost Dad. It would have been sad without him, but we would have made it through together. We would have been fine. We were fine...until she brought Peter into our lives.

Is my sister a better person, or just more gullible? Maybe she’s able to be more forgiving because she’s not a mother herself. Since I’ve had Elliot, my rage toward Alice has grown. How could she have done that to us? How could she have allowed us to be treated that way? And how could she have let Peter take custody of us while she was in prison? She should have told the judge how abusive he was. She should have told someone.

“Sarah?” Maisey has a funny expression on her face, and no wonder, since I’ve been lurking there, not saying anything. “Were you looking for me?”

“Come join us.” Mother lets go of my sister to wave me over. Maisey steadies her once again, holding her around the waist. “I was just telling your sister again how proud I am. A Nurse Without Borders—isn’t it great?”

I swallow hard. “Yes. Yes, it is.” Meeting my sister’s eyes, I say it as sincerely as I can. Even though I feel odd about her cozying up to Caleb, that doesn’t minimize how proud I am of her. Mother’s right—Maisey’s already done more to better the world than the whole sorry lot of us combined.

“And you. You’re a great mother, Sarah.” Mom flashes her teeth at me in a drunken grin. “I’m very proud of you, too. My girls, my beautiful girls.”

She moves to include me in the embrace but I step away, wary of the pruning shears, which she has apparently forgotten. Then I notice Mom’s hands. They’re smeared with dirt, and there is blood trickling down her arms. Her pink sundress has two bright smudges of green on the skirt, as if she’s been kneeling on the grass. There are a few strands tangled in her hair, along with something that appears to be twigs.

“Mom, what on earth have you been doing?”

Jumping around like an overgrown toddler, she thrusts the shears in the air. “I’ve been taking care of your rosebushes.”

“Oh, no...” I push past them to inspect the garden, cursing Alice under my breath. Why does she have to destroy everything?

Eleanor insists on growing some of her prize tea roses here, claiming the light is better on our side. While some of the plant’s leaves are a bit mangled, none of the delicate yellow blooms have been touched—yet. How fortunate I’d decided to look for Maisey. If I hadn’t, it might have been too late to save the garden.

Pressing my hand against my chest, I will my racing heart to calm down, silently counting to ten. But Alice is determined to continue her reign of terror. When she sees I’m not going to stop her, she heads directly toward the rose Eleanor plans to enter in an upcoming garden competition.

That’s it. She’s been coddled long enough.

Intercepting her, I jerk the shears away from Alice with a little more force than necessary. As Mother loses her balance, Maisey rushes to grasp her by the elbow. She scowls at me.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting, Sarah? What’s the big deal? She’s trying to help, and besides, they’re just flowers.”

Yeah, like Ferraris are just cars. As my sister continues to look at me like I’m crazy, I feel my face getting hot. While I have every right to prevent our drunken mother from destroying my garden, the Sarah she remembers never would have put flowers before family.

What she must think of me.

We spend more on these roses in a week than her entire village in Thailand will see in a lifetime. Recalling how chummy she’d been with Caleb on the beach, I wonder if they’d been talking about Warwick and me, making fun of how elitist we are. Well, screw Maisey and her high-minded ideals, and screw Caleb, too. Not everyone is meant to be a nurse or a soldier. Maybe Eleanor’s prize-winning roses aren’t important to them, but they’re important to her, and they’re important to Warwick.

“I’m sorry.” My mother’s lower lip trembles. It’s all I can do to keep from wincing when I see how bloodshot her eyes are. Around her nose, burst capillaries mar her otherwise lovely complexion. “I didn’t mean to hurt your roses. I was only trying to help.”

Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to be patient. “I appreciate that, Mom, but Joel takes care of the gardening for us. That’s his job. You’re our guest. We want you to relax and have a good time.”

Eleanor isn’t even comfortable with Joel touching her roses, so we leave them to her. With the preparations for the party and the christening consuming her time these days, she let her precious plants get the tiniest bit overgrown. How my mother noticed this is beyond me.

“I was tryin’ to help,” Mom says again, as if I’ve argued with her. Maisey wedges herself between us, as if to protect Alice. The sight of my baby sister looking so fierce makes me want to laugh.

What does she think I’m going to do, attack our mother? Not that I haven’t been tempted. I glance at the gold wristwatch Warwick gave me for my birthday. How am I going to survive this day?

“Look at the time. I guess I should go check on Elliot. He’ll be waking up from his nap any minute, if he hasn’t already. See you later.”

The forced cheer in my voice makes me want to cringe. Where and when did I acquire this singsong way of speaking? Genny’s and Tessie’s influence must have rubbed off.

Maisey is still glaring at me, and Alice stares at her shoes, a chastened little girl, unable to meet my eyes.

“Okay,” my sister says, squinting at me like I’m someone she doesn’t recognize.

That uncomfortable sensation of being a Stepford wife returns. Sometimes I don’t recognize myself.

But what does Maisey know about the pressures I’m under? She probably sees all this luxury and assumes my life is easy. She doesn’t get how difficult it is to keep Warwick and his mother happy.

As I leave, my sister puts her arm around our mother, but Alice pushes her away, staggering deeper into the garden. Maisey’s face falls, and she gives her fingers a vicious twist. Once again, I wonder what’s wrong with her.

Why does she keep trying? Can’t she see Alice is a lost cause?

I leave them be. It’s nothing I’ll ever be able to resolve.

The house is quiet and blissfully cool when I return. After checking to ensure no one is around, I let myself into Warwick’s office. It’s an exaggerated expression of his masculinity, all dark wood and oversize chairs. His desk is bigger than most people’s beds, even though I’ve yet to see him do any work here. For all his talk, work has never been Warwick’s thing.

My husband’s bar is concealed in an oversize globe. Despite the hour, I fix myself a vodka tonic. How Mother would love access to this room. In preparation for Alice’s visit, any alcohol in the house had been put under lock and key. Bridget had thought I was overreacting until she met my mother. We give Alice just enough to keep her from going into withdrawal, but there’s more to it than that. My mother would cause a scene if we didn’t let her have a cocktail with everyone else, or wine with dinner. I imagine Eleanor’s reaction if she ever witnessed one of Alice’s full-blown temper tantrums. I’d rather die.

The ice-cold bite of the tonic water is refreshing. It’s not long before the smooth warmth of the vodka makes me feel better, stronger. I pour myself another before locking Warwick’s office and checking on Elliot. He’s fast asleep, his fingers curled into a teeny fist.

Lucky baby. I wish I could sleep through this day. Wake me when it’s over.

With my son napping, I’m at loose ends. It’s tempting to accidentally wake him, but that would be cruel. Might as well make good use of the time by putting some effort into finding the perfect outfit. I want Warwick to be proud of me again, to appreciate what a gorgeous wife he has.

Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

Caleb invades my mind. I remember the way he looked at me yesterday, his eyes glowing with admiration. “I wish you would come with me, Sarah...”

No, not Caleb. Don’t think about Caleb. Caleb is dangerous. Think about Warwick. You’re married to Warwick. Caleb rejected you, remember? He had his chance and he blew it. It’s too late to go back now.

It’s impossible to please both, in any case. Warwick prefers it when I’m fully made up, with heavy shadow and red lips. Caleb was always into natural beauty, fresh-faced Nivea girls (like Maisey?) with clean, shining hair pulled into ponytails. He’s the reason I didn’t wear a stitch of makeup as a teenager. After that I’d piled it on in a pathetic attempt to get back at him, even though he wasn’t around to notice or care.

Compromising, I apply another layer of mascara and some eyeliner and leave it at that. Slipping one of the 1950s-style dresses my husband loves over my head, I’m pleased to discover it’s no longer a battle. The fabric slides over my hips without a whimper of protest. It hasn’t fit this well since I learned I was pregnant with Elliot.

Turning to the side, I smooth the dress as I check my figure. My stomach howls, sounding mournful, but I ignore it. I may be starving most of the time, but it’s worth it. I’m finally starting to resemble myself again, no toilet paper or popcorn required.

As I drain the second vodka tonic, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The booze, the gaunt, strained expression, the haunted eyes surrounded by thick makeup. The resemblance is terrifyingly clear.

My God, I’m turning into Alice.

The thought makes me shiver.

Maisey

Caleb and I were walking along the beach, arm in arm again. We’d made a habit of this, going for a walk along the sand every chance we got. This special time, with just the two of us, no Sarah, no Alice, no in-laws and no Lucy, who could be quite exhausting. I hadn’t enjoyed myself so much in another’s company in years, and I could already feel us growing closer. I curled my toes in the sand. This time I was going barefoot. It was freeing.

And yet, that memory of Frankie, of me racing to pull him out of the pool, haunted me. My mother had gone to prison for Frankie’s death. I’d tried to make an effort with her, and after spending a little more time with her, the guilt was eating at me like acid on grime. Even though Peter was gone, she still drank. Because of Frankie? Because of...me?

I kept trying to avoid it, but Lucy was being a bitch. Now that I’d uncovered it, she wanted me to face what I’d done. Constantly, that memory woke me, intruded on my daydreams. I could barely look at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t go near my nephew. How could I go anywhere near another child? After the horrific crime I’d committed? I was disgusted with myself. I hated myself. Lucy was the one who was holding me together, but even she was struggling. If it weren’t for these little reprieves with Caleb, where I could fool myself into thinking everything was fine, everything was normal, that I wasn’t the most evil of human beings, I think I’d go crazy.

I turned my attention to the distraction that was Caleb.

“I still think pasta is better,” he said, and I grinned.

“Nope, noodles, baby. Especially in a spicy peanut sau—” I stopped talking, focused on the single white arm waving feebly just beyond the surf. A young man was out there—a teen, from the looks of it. He was clinging to a surfboard, but his wave was half hearted, as though he was exhausted.

I eyed the water. He was caught in a riptide, I could tell, the waves converging in a triangle closer to the beach, but the whitewash showed the undertow.

I took a step, then froze. I looked back at the house, then out at the surfer who was clinging weakly to his board. I had started this walk as an escape, but we were still within sight of the house, where my sister was, the person who had helped me cover up my part in Frankie’s death. Where Alice was, the woman who had gone to prison for the negligence that had resulted in the drowning death of a child in her care. My baby half brother. Floating facedown in the pool. My family was so near, as was the weight of the past. The sand I stood in was like concrete clinging to my ankles. I swallowed noisily, and cold sweat broke out on my brow.

The boy waved again, but he lost his grip on the surfboard and slid beneath the waves.

You should do something, Lucy prodded. You were a lifeguard. You know what to do.

I can’t. I can’t go in the water. Ever since the day of the picnic, water frightened me. I kept seeing Frankie, pale and lifeless, floating.

This is a chance to redeem yourself.

Do I deserve that? God, Lucy, I’m so scared.

Shh. It’s okay. I’m here for you.

The boy surfaced. Waved. Subsided below the water. Caleb looked at me briefly, then reacted. He whipped his shirt up over his head and kicked his loafers off as he raced across the sand, his uneven stride more noticeable in a run. He was in prime condition, well-muscled and fit, despite his injury. He ran into the sea, lifting his knees high above the waves, his arms arcing out for balance but looking more like angel’s wings as he tried to wade through the crashing foam, before diving under the crest of an oncoming wave.

I watched, my hand to my mouth, as Caleb struggled against the swell. I wanted to go in there, I wanted to dive, to swim—I knew how to do that, but I couldn’t move. Frankie. My mind went through various scenarios, picturing actions I could take, consequences, at lightning speed. Caleb had entered the surf at the wrong spot, I could tell, and was now struggling against the current to reach the surfboard. I bit my lip, feeling absolutely useless. How long had it been?

My heart pounded in my chest, and I shifted my weight from leg to leg, the rocking a surrogate action for the rescue. I looked past the crashing waves, only to see Frankie, so thin, so pale, so eerily still, floating in the water. I blinked a couple of times. No, there was Caleb, his strokes a little sluggish, and then he stopped, treaded water for the briefest of moments as he took a breath, and dived.

Frankie was in the water, facedown, like a zombie in aquatic slumber. I shook my head, tears streaming down my face, and I took a shaky step forward. No. I sobbed, my hands covering my mouth as I tried to relegate memory to the past, and vision to the present. Where was Caleb? Why couldn’t I see his head above water? Please, don’t be like Frankie.

There was a body, facedown. Small and lifeless. I threaded my hands in my hair, gritting my teeth as I tried to stop slipping back in time.

Lucy, please, help me.

I can’t. You’re doing this, not me.

I heard this sound, like a feral cat caught in a drainpipe, and pulled at my hair. The sharp sting of follicles ripping from my scalp brought my focus back, and I realized that feral cat, those raw, keening whimpers, was me.

Waves. Pool. Waves. Caleb. No, Frankie. Panic, cold, chaotic, set me shivering. Trembling. Please, where was Caleb? Again, Frankie’s lifeless body, floating in the water, clouded my vision. Lucy stepped in with the force of a hurricane, pulling me away into a sea of black. I stayed in the darkness, for how long I don’t know. It was quiet here. Peaceful. Why did I feel so panicked? I let the darkness envelope me, cradle me. The darkness was my friend. Just like Lucy. It kept me safe.

Maisey! You can come back now! Lucy’s voice called me, whipping away the dark curtain.

I blinked. Caleb and the kid were standing in the surf. Well, Caleb was standing. The kid had collapsed to his knees once he was out of the foam, coughing as he cleared an enormous amount of water from his lungs, returning the fluid to the sea. Caleb thudded him on the back, then straightened, hands on hips, grimacing as he tried to catch his breath. His chest was heaving, his features drawn, but his relief was evident. Caleb was safe. Just like that. My heart started to slow in its frantic beating. I trotted over to them. The kid wiped his hair off his face, and I saw he was about fifteen, maybe sixteen. Much older than Frankie.

“Dude, you saved my life,” the surfer rasped. “Thanks.”

He looked like he was about to cry. I rubbed his arms and looked him in the eye. “You’re okay, buddy. You’re going to be fine.” The wild look in his eyes calmed, and he swallowed, as though consciously trying to calm himself. His eyes glimmered, and he blinked back the tears.

“Thanks,” he repeated. “I didn’t think I’d make it.”

“Do you need a ride home?” I asked. “Do you want me to call someone? Your mom?”

The kid cringed. “God, no. She’ll kill me when she hears about this.”

“She’ll be happy you’re alive,” I corrected. He nodded.

“Then she’ll kill me. Nah, I’m good. I don’t live far from here.” He turned to Caleb. “Thanks again, mister.”

Caleb waved a hand, then shrugged. “All good.”

The kid dragged at the surfboard that was still dancing in the shallows, then used it to help him to his feet. He smiled, a mixture of uncertainty, embarrassment and gratitude, before he gave Caleb the thumbs-up. “Thanks.” We watched as the kid walked along the beach with knees apart, as though trying to make sure they didn’t give way on him. He angled gradually toward another path between the dunes. He kept looking over his shoulder, at the surf, at Caleb—at the lifeguard who had stood by and done nothing, too petrified to move.

How long had I blacked out for this time?

My lips pressed together, curling in as I realized Caleb was fine, the kid was fine and the kid most definitely wasn’t Frankie. I took a deep, shuddering breath, and I could hear the catch, feel the wobble in my chin. I rubbed my hand over my face, trying to steady myself.

I can’t believe I’d frozen. I’d never done that before. I used to be a lifeguard, for fuck’s sake. What the hell was wrong with me? How could I do that? Or rather, how could I do nothing? My cheeks cooled, as though all the blood rushed down to where my feet were rooted in the sand. I had never not saved a life. Not after Frankie. Frankie. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, didn’t know how I could stand by while someone drowned. My stomach clenched.

I was all about saving lives. It’s what I’d lived and breathed for the last few years. How could I balk? What was wrong with me? I looked back at the house. What was this christening, this time with my damaged family, doing to me? It was ruining me.

“Maisey, are you okay?” Caleb asked, eyeing me as he reached down to pick up his shirt. He used it as an improvised towel, dabbing at his chest.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, nodding. I stared at him for a moment, then looked away. I wasn’t focused on the half-naked man in front of me. He was no longer the trim teenager who used to throw me into the pool. No, the Caleb I’d known had grown into a man I found it difficult to recognize, outside of the civilized veneer of clothing. He was so different, and yet all I’d been able to think about, all I’d seen, was Frankie.

Caleb held out his arm toward the house, and I slowly fell into step alongside him, the serenity of our walk long gone. I stared down at my bare feet.

That boy had looked like he’d been in the water for a little while—long enough to try and swim back and exhaust himself in the process. I kept picturing the day Frankie had died, so many times now. I was haunted by it. Plagued by visions of Frankie, of that whole afternoon, of that vulnerable little body, so still.

Doesn’t add up, does it? Lucy’s voice was quiet in my head, which was strange for her.

What do you mean?

God, think about it, Maisey. For once, instead of hiding from it, think about it!

It had been so fast. I replayed that drink at the sink. I was so stunned at the time, so shocked that all it took to snuff out a life was just a few moments of looking the other way. My brow furrowed. Maybe because Frankie was so colicky, so fractious, so frail and sickly, the water had taken him quickly.

Seriously? You’re a nurse, for fuck’s sake. It was rare for Lucy to swear.

He’d been too weak to struggle, to fight, too young to save himself, I argued. Time must have flown, the seconds whizzing by as I’d filled my glass and raised it to my lips, forcing the liquid down my throat. It had obviously been long enough.

But that boy... Lucy commented. He’d been weak, exhausted. He’d disappeared under the waves for maybe a little longer than Frankie had been alone in the pool.

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