The Beautiful Daughters (27 page)

“And what if I can't forgive myself?”

“I suppose you could spend the rest of your life running.”

“I'm a masochist.” She laughed dryly. “I intended to spend the rest of my life punishing myself.”

“Doesn't sound like much fun to me,” Sam said.

“You don't know what I've done.”

“I don't need to know.” Sam stepped back, but before he did, he kissed Harper on the head. It was such a gentle, fatherly gesture. She held her breath, tried to capture the moment and fold it away so she could keep it with her always. But it was a fleeting emotion, and even as she tried to hold it close, she felt it slip right through her fingers.

Sam said, “Doesn't matter what you did. Or what you try to do to fix it. The debt's already been paid, Harper.” And then he shut the truck door quietly.

Alone in the cab, Harper breathed. In and out. Nothing fancy. But even that felt like too much, almost more than she could handle. How many times had she tried to drive away from this farm? These people? Twice in this morning alone. And each time she was turned back, drawn in by a family that seemed determined not to let her go. A family? She didn't dare to call them that. She couldn't.

Because Harper couldn't bring herself to drive away, she did exactly what she'd told Sam she was going to do: go to the library.

The library in Blackhawk was a small, unremarkable building, but the parking lot was packed. Harper almost turned around, but she didn't know where else to go. Weaving through the aisles, she found an empty spot near the back and parked, then walked through the tall double doors amid a horde of small children and their mothers headed in the opposite direction. Some library program had just ended, and though Harper was grateful that they were all exiting instead of entering, something about the crush of people made her feel exposed.

The feeling was exacerbated when someone said her name. “Harper? Harper Penny?”

Harper turned hesitantly and found herself face-to-face with a sophisticated, elderly woman.

“I thought it was you.” She gave Harper a brief, earnest hug, then stood back a little to observe her. “First Adri and now you. I feel like my world is spinning backwards.”

“Mrs. Holt?” The name came to Harper's lips involuntarily. She was shocked that she still remembered a woman whom she had only seen a handful of times.

“I wondered if you'd remember me.” Katherine smiled demurely.

“Of course I do.” The lie came easily, even though she was casting around for some memory, some telling moment that she could latch on to. “Do you work here?”

“Oh, no.” Katherine shook her head as she touched the hair of a boy who walked past. “I'm retired, but I volunteer at story hour on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings.” She waved to a little girl in pigtails. “See you next week, Anna.”

Harper was trying to think of a polite way to extract herself from the awkward reunion, but Katherine seemed to pick up on her subtle cues before Harper was forced to be rude. “Is there something you're looking for?”

“A computer, actually.”

“We have several,” she said. “Though you need a library card and a computer pass. I suppose you don't have either one?”

Harper shook her head.

“You may use mine.”

“Thank you,” Harper said sincerely, grateful for the first time that she had bumped into an old acquaintance.

It was obvious that Katherine was too decorous to pepper Harper with questions, but that didn't erase the obvious tension in the air. After Katherine had her settled at a discreet terminal, she asked, “So what are you doing in Blackhawk, Harper? Visiting ATU?”

Of course, Harper hadn't stepped foot on campus since arriving in Blackhawk. Maple Acres and Piperhall were enough
of an emotional snare. No need to dredge up even more bittersweet memories. “I'm visiting Adri,” Harper said.

“Well, it's nice to have you back for any reason. Blackhawk has changed a lot since the last time you were here.”

“Blackhawk will always have a special place in my heart,” Harper mumbled, though it felt like a stupid thing to say. She was discovering that she wasn't very good at small talk.

“I'm glad to hear that,” Mrs. Holt said, patting her arm. “In spite of everything, I hope the Galloway estate has a special place in your heart, too.”

“I have many fond memories of it.” Harper felt mildly defensive, and Katherine stepped back as if reprimanded.

For a moment, Katherine looked as if she was about to leave. She leaned back on her heels, inclined her head to say goodbye. But then she seemed to think better of it and stalled. “Blackhawk has changed a lot,” she said again. “And I can't help wondering if things might have turned out differently if the change had come sooner.”

“What do you mean?” Harper asked, almost against her own will.

Katherine leaned in. Said quietly, as if it was a secret, “New stores, new people, new ideas. There's even a crisis center. It's called the Safe House.”

Harper didn't know what to say. Was it that obvious? Could Katherine Holt see abuse like a tattoo on her skin? Or was she just alluding to everything that had happened with Victoria?

Mrs. Holt melted away without saying goodbye, and Harper tried to pretend that they hadn't bumped into each other at all. She had forgotten the intimacy of a small town, the way everyone seemed to know everyone else, and she hadn't expected to see a single familiar face in her little quest for information. It had thrown her off her game. Shaking off the vestiges of her odd conversation, Harper tried to focus on the task at hand.

She didn't really care about her fake Facebook account, but she clicked through to her home page all the same. There were
updates, new photos, things that would have piqued her interest a couple of days ago. But Harper was dizzy with exhaustion. And though she had labored to distract herself with the events of the last several hours, Sawyer's morning wake-up call was a bass line that drummed through her veins.

The Facebook check took all of two minutes. It wasn't why Harper had come to the library. But it was a place to start. A way to ease herself into the main event. When she finally gave up the pretense and tapped in the username and password to her email account, she found exactly what she was looking for. A message.

Just one. An innocent-looking subject line: “Hi.” That was it.

So innocuous, but Harper was downright terrified to open it. She took her hands off the keypad and wrung them in her lap. Considered logging off and walking away. But the lure was set. She had to know.

A click. And then . . .

Photos.

Not even a single written line. Just a nauseating cache of pictures that made Harper lurch out of her seat. She didn't simply close out her email or log off the computer. She flicked off the system unit and the monitor, and yanked the cord from the floor. As if that would do anything. As if she could erase what Sawyer had done.

On her way out of the library, Harper grabbed the phone book and looked up Safe House. Committed the address to memory.

23

“
W
hat can i help you with, sweetie?” Jenna hudson, the executive director of the safe house tipped forward in her chair and crossed her arms on the top of her desk. Harper guessed she was in her late thirties, but she looked younger. Her hair was a chaotic cloud of dark corkscrew curls, and there were happy little laugh lines around her bright eyes. Though a gentle smile graced her lips, a certain gravity lent a serious aspect to her countenance. Harper had intended to play it cool, but something about jenna inspired trust.

“Actually,”—Harper tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tried to act nonchalant—“I just have a few questions.”

“I'm listening.” Jenna seemed to settle, to focus all of her earnest attention on Harper. It was a little unnerving, but Harper found herself wanting to talk all the same. After holding everything in for so long, she felt almost giddy at the thought of letting even a few details slip. Giddy, and scared.

“I'm in a bit of a difficult situation,” she said. “I guess I was just wondering what my options are.”

“May I ask what kind of a difficult situation?”

Harper's mouth went dry. She squeezed her eyes shut for just a second, but the small action betrayed her. Jenna took the reins.

“Let's back up a little bit,” she said kindly. “May I ask you a few questions?”

Harper nodded.

“Are you here for your own reasons, or on behalf of a friend or family member?”

It was a simple enough inquiry, but Harper found she couldn't form the words. She didn't even try to open her mouth, she just touched her fingertips to her chest.

Jenna went on. “Do you feel unsafe or threatened?”

Harper didn't have to answer. The look on her face was evidence enough.

“Do you believe that your life is in danger?”

She did. For the first time ever, she really did. Harper knew that Sawyer was unpredictable from the very first moment she met him, but she hadn't realized just how deeply the depraved vein of his selfishness carved into his wicked soul. The photos were meant to torture her. And the phone calls. What else would he do? It was clear he wasn't about to let her go without a fight.

“It's complicated,” Harper finally managed. “I don't think he'd hurt me, but . . .”

“He doesn't have to hit you to harm you.” Jenna put her hands palm down on her desk and searched Harper's eyes. She was grave now, deadly serious when she asked, “Is he controlling? Manipulative?”

Harper didn't answer.

“Does he isolate you from family and friends?”

She isolated herself from family and friends, but Sawyer cut her off from the rest of the world.

“Have you ever been forced to participate in sexual acts that you are uncomfortable with?”

It was too much. Harper regretted coming at all. Wished she had never parked in front of the inconspicuous home on a residential street in the heart of Blackhawk. When she pulled up to the address, she had wondered if she was even in the right
place, because there was no sign, no indication at all that the humble blue house before her was anything other than some family's home. But then she had seen the heavy locks on the door, the windows hung with glass so opaque that she'd wondered if it was bulletproof. Harper had knocked on the door and Jenna had answered. She had been swept inside before she had a chance to think about what she was doing. What it would mean.

She had thought, for just a moment, that maybe she could do something. Fight back. But she had no option.

“You have options,” Jenna was saying. She sat up pin straight in her chair and grabbed a folder off a nearby table. “One of our case managers can help assess the situation and decide on the most prudent course of action to keep you safe. If you have a paper trail, we can file for a restraining order against your abuser. Is anything documented?”

Harper shook her head.

“That's okay. I'll start a file now, and we can begin collecting the evidence that we'll need.”

Evidence. Harper didn't want to share any evidence with anyone. And how could Sawyer be held responsible for something that she willingly and repeatedly allowed to happen? Okay, not willingly. Never willingly. But she had also never fought him. And he had never hit her, never held a gun to her head. Sure, he was manipulative and controlling and mean; sure, he had chased her through the parking lot of La Belle Vie, but did any of that make him an abuser?

“Do you have a place to stay?” Jenna continued.

Harper's thoughts were spinning out of control. “Yes,” she stammered. “I do. I'm fine, actually. I'll be just fine. I need to go.” She all but jumped out of her seat and turned toward the door, then felt a compulsion to say thank you or something and quickly spun back around to offer Jenna her hand.

The administrator of the Safe House stood, too, and took Harper's hand in both of her own. Held it tight. “I can't make
you stay,” she said, “but I wish that you would. I believe you, and I'd like to help you if you let me.”

“Thank you,” Harper said. “That's very kind. But I'm . . . overreacting. It's nothing.”

“Please, come back anytime. Day or night. Someone is always here. We won't turn you away.”

But the house was small and Harper had seen several women making lunch in the kitchen when she came in. “Looks like you've got your hands full,” she said, pulling out of Jenna's grip.

“We always do.” Jenna's eyes crinkled at the corners, a sad starburst of tiny wrinkles. “But we'll make room. We can always make more room.”

Harper didn't want anyone to make room for her. She hurried out as quickly as she dared, carefully avoiding even the briefest glance into the kitchen at the women who were chatting away as they assembled sandwiches.

She didn't want to look at them. To see their faces and in them, see herself.

The kitchen of Maple Acres was full of people when Harper finally returned. After leaving the Safe House, she had idled around Blackhawk for hours, stopping at every lookout and half-forgotten haunt, puttering through campus as she tried to gather the courage to drive away. She knew that Sam wouldn't chase her. He wouldn't call the cops or report his car stolen or do anything at all. She believed he would let her go. Still, she found that she couldn't bring herself to hit the open road. Not like this. Not quite yet.

But when she stepped into the kitchen amid the hustle and bustle of laughter and conversation, music and food, she felt like an outsider. Will and Jackson were shoulder to shoulder at the counter, their backs turned to Harper as they worked on something she couldn't quite see. Nora—it had to be her—was leaning against the buffet with one hand, absently stroking her
enormous belly as she supervised the boys' handiwork. Adri and Caleb were across the table from each other, peeling and slicing green apples for a piecrust that had been draped over the edges of a deep-dish plate. The unbaked crust hadn't been trimmed or crimped, and Harper felt a sudden longing to take a pinch of it in her mouth. It looked so soft and sweet, so homey, dusted with pale flour and pleated in thick ridges.

She didn't reach out. The old Harper, the girl she had been, would have seized a fistful of the raw crust, stuffed it with fresh slices of the cinnamon-sprinkled apples, and dipped her mini pie into the open canister of sugar on the table. She would have grinned at the way Adri wrinkled her nose at Caleb, innocent and coy at once, her signature flirty move. And there was no doubt that she would have rubbed Nora's ripe belly, then squeezed between the men at the counter, one arm around them both. Maybe even dropped a kiss on each of their cheeks just so she could inhale all the warm, exotic layers of Will, so different and yet so familiar.

Harper didn't do any of those things. Instead, she battled the urge to flee. It was obvious that she didn't belong here.

Before she could slip out of the kitchen and into the orange dusk, the door opened behind her. Harper didn't even have a chance to turn around. She was less than a step away from the screen, and when Sam slipped through, the first thing he did was tuck an arm around her shoulder. Give her a quick hug.

“I'm glad you're here,” he said, only for her ears. And then, louder, “You're destroying my kitchen!”

“We're doing no such thing,” Will laughed, glancing over his shoulder. He caught sight of Harper and his face brightened. Or did she just imagine it? “Harper! I didn't even hear you come in.”

“I'm sneaky that way,” she said, mustering a faint smile.

“I'll say. How long have you been standing there?”

Every eye in the kitchen was on her, but she wasn't surprised that her quiet entrance had gone unnoticed. The music was
loud. Everyone was consumed with the task at hand. Except for Adri and Caleb, who were obviously consumed with each other. Though Adri was trying to pretend not to be.

Harper felt sorrow swell inside her, regret at the realization that this would never be hers—could never be hers. But she forced herself to stand a little straighter. To smile, even if it was lopsided. “I've been here long enough to realize that you all need some help,” she said.

Adri caught her eye and something passed between them. An understanding. A moment of almost girlish ebullience.

“Caleb is worthless at this,” Adri said. “I wouldn't say
we
need help, but he certainly does.”

Although it made her ache to do so, Harper joined in, and together they made free-form individual pizzas and apple pie. At one point, Nora gave her a mildly awkward one-armed hug and whispered what sounded like a heartfelt “Welcome home,” and Harper nearly burst into tears. Who was this woman to welcome her? If Harper remembered correctly, and she was sure that she did, she had barely given Nora the time of day in college. She certainly didn't deserve her kindness now.

Instead of succumbing to her emotions, Harper gulped them down and teased everyone about the odd choice in dinner fare. Jackson informed her it was “anything goes” night. Caleb had confessed to a longing for pie, and Adri remembered the nights at ATU when Jackson hauled out his grandmother's recipe for homemade bread dough and made thick, bubbling pizzas for The Five.

“Anything for our guests,” Will told her with a wink. “Is there something you'd like to add to the menu?”

Of course not. Though Harper had made fun of the hodgepodge meal, it sounded like pure perfection. They layered thin slices of tomato, peppers, and red onions from Sam's garden on the pizza, and finished it with crisp bacon and crumbled Italian sausage. Then, after they'd eaten every last bite and proclaimed
themselves too full for another, Sam served the apple pie hot from the oven with vanilla ice cream and a drizzle of caramel sauce. They all somehow found room for more.

The table was a train wreck of plates stacked high and glasses half full of water and warm beer. Someone had tipped over the plastic container of shredded Parmesan cheese, and there was a little white hill of the dry, pungent slivers. Harper's heart caught at the comfort contained in the benign chaos, the way that each licked-clean fork told a story of plenty. Of laughter around the table. She cleared her throat and rose to clear it all away.

“Hey—” Will caught her wrist and ringed it lightly with his fingers. “You don't have to do that.”

“I absolutely do,” she managed, flashing him a crooked smile. “You cooked.”

“You helped,” Jackson reminded her.

“That's being generous. You all stay put, I've got this.”

And because she sounded convincing, or because they were all full and sleepy and didn't feel like arguing, they let her. Jackson regaled Caleb with stories of Will's mishaps on the job (he rolled an excavator his very first week—butterflies filled Harper's chest at the thought). Caleb offered snippets of his experiences with Adri in Africa (she stepped on a sea urchin rescuing a nonswimmer from the riptide and Caleb had to painstakingly remove each spine with a tweezer). And Nora smiled faintly, glowing with life as if everything that had come before was irrelevant. Sam presided over it all with a look of pure euphoria on his face. It was lovely. It made Harper want to lay her cheek against the top of his head.