The Beautiful Daughters (28 page)

They chatted as she loaded the dishwasher and rinsed a cloth to wipe the table. As she leaned past them to mop up the crumbs, Jackson turned to Caleb and asked the obvious question that no one had thought to mention: “Where are you going to stay tonight, Caleb? I mean, I assume you are staying?”

“For sure,” Caleb said, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was nearly ten o'clock. They had sat for hours. Nora was
yawning against the back of her delicate hand. “Is there a hotel nearby? Something swanky?” He elbowed Adri with a grin.

“Blackhawk is all kinds of swanky,” Will cut in. “But you're welcome to stay at my place. You can have my bed. I'll take the couch.”

Nora nodded. “We have a couch, too.”

“You're welcome to stay here,” Sam said. “The girls are in the spare rooms, but I'm always up early and I happen to love my couch.”

“So many couches! But I don't want to be a bother.” Caleb said.

Harper put her hand on his shoulder. She had frozen at Jackson's question, and a plan was beginning to take shape in misty corners of her mind. “Let's stay at the mansion,” she said quietly.

The laughter and conversation cooled and dimmed. Harper could feel every eye on her.

“For old times' sake.” She knew it would take a lot to sell her idea, and she tried to muster the appropriate charm. Straightening up, she put her hands on her hips, damp washcloth and all. “Come on,” she said, catching Will's eye. If she could get through to him, the rest would follow. “It'll be fun. We'll sit in the hot tub and play drinking games.”

“Drinking games?” Will laughed. “We have to work tomorrow, Harper. We're grown-ups now, remember?”

“And I'm pregnant,” Nora reminded them, though no one could forget.

“We'll be responsible,” Harper assured everyone, but the twinkle in her eye said that they would be no such thing. She knew she could promise the world with a tweak of her perfect lips, and as she held Will's gaze, she made all sorts of vows she knew she could never keep. Not that she didn't necessarily want to.

“No,” Adri said, but from her tone Harper could tell that she didn't quite mean it. Not fully. There might be ghosts in Piperhall, but they were their ghosts. Whether or not any of them would admit it, something felt distinctly right about going back.
About spending a night in the place that marked the advent of their nightmares. Harper knew it the second the thought entered her head.

“Please.” Harper sought out Adri, but she was looking resolutely out the window, searching the dark night beyond the glass. “Just once,” she cajoled, though Adri seemed to be ignoring her. “One night. I don't know why, but I feel like we should. If you're going to sell it or give it away or board it up . . .”

“Go ahead,” Nora said, nudging Jackson and surprising them all. “One last hurrah. Besides, that means I'll get the bed to myself.” She heaved herself to her feet and gave Jackson a kiss on the cheek, then held out her hand for the cloth that Harper had forgotten about. Harper handed it to Nora, and the visibly exhausted woman finished wiping the table.

“It might be good for us to spend one last night,” Jackson said, watching his wife. It was obvious that he adored her. And that she deserved his devotion. Harper felt her chest tighten a little, watching them. But then Jackson tore his gaze away from Nora and shrugged. “We can say goodbye.” He didn't say it, but they all heard it: And move on.

Harper loved him for it. And Nora, too. But not for the reasons that the others might have expected. She didn't want to stroll down memory lane or put anything at all to rest. She just wanted to get away from Maple Acres and the only known address that Sawyer had for her.

“I'm in, too.” Will stood up and draped an arm around Harper's shoulders. “I think it's a great idea. And the house is just sitting there, Adri. One last time. Come on.”

“Come on,” Caleb echoed, leaning his forearms on the table and trying to catch Adri's eye. “It'll be fun.” He looked around the table and mimed a shrug as if to say, Am I doing it right? Is this okay?

Adri put her face in her hands, but Harper could see her friend was fighting a smile beneath her twined fingers. “Fine,” she said. “Whatever. You all win.”

“We'll spend the night at Piperhall?” Harper shaded a bit of girlish delight into her voice and was rewarded when Will grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, aching.

“Sure.”

“You won't regret it.
We
won't regret it,” Harper said. But she didn't believe that for a second. When they woke in the morning and Caleb's car was gone—or Jackson's or Will's or Adri's, it didn't matter whose—they'd know that they had been tricked and they would have all sorts of regrets. But Harper couldn't worry about any of that. All she cared about was keeping Sawyer far away from the only family she had ever known.

Far away from the opportunity to make good on the threat that he held over her head like a guillotine. It wasn't just about the pictures, and it never had been. Shame she could deal with—Harper had endured more than her fair share of it. But there was no statute of limitations on murder. And if Sawyer couldn't have her, she knew that he would do nothing less than destroy her.

Harper heard Caleb say it as she mounted the steps to pack her Goodwill clothes into a grocery bag: “She's very convincing, you know.”

Harper could just imagine how Adri would roll her eyes. “I know. She could talk a fish into buying a piece of the ocean.”

And it was true. All those years ago, after she discovered that David didn't love her and never had, after she understood that the moment of her college graduation would mark the beginning of the end of what was her pathetic, lonely life, she had done a lot of convincing.

“A trip,” she said, making it sound like the most appealing, magical thing in all the world. “Just the five of us. Right after graduation. A grand finale, a climax, the zenith of our years together.”

“You're laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?” David
asked. His words were a little slurry, but his eyes were trained on her. Adri was curled in his lap, looking as small and pretty as a doll. They seemed to be doing better since the night at Piperhall when Victoria had discovered Harper in David's arms. He was more attentive, more present. He kissed her slowly, even when other people were in the room. Sometimes, it seemed like he did it particularly when other people were in the room. Especially Harper.

But, in spite of David's attention, every once in a while, Adri wasn't quite herself. A trio of small bruises on her upper arm, a swollen lip that she tried to cover with pink lip gloss. Harper wondered, but she didn't dare ask. Adri seemed happy, and Harper wanted to believe that if Adri had told her the truth once, she would again. Besides, David was a passionate man. A hard kiss, a consuming embrace. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. And Harper wanted to believe.

It wasn't quite enough. Harper longed for the chance to be alone. Ask questions. Learn the truth. She was downright obsessed with knowing. “If you're not convinced, I'm not laying it on thick enough,” Harper said. “What do I have to do to persuade you? A PowerPoint presentation? A speech? 'Cause I could deliver a three-point sermon if that's what you're waiting for.”

“Where would we go?” Will asked.

“I don't know.” Harper threw up her hands as if it didn't matter. And in a way, it didn't. She was after one thing: time together. Enough time to figure it all out. To convince herself, and David, to tell Adri the truth before they ruined themselves. “The Maldives.”

“I doubt you even know where that is.” David brushed his lips against the fine line of Adri's jaw, but his eyes were trained on Harper.

She tried not to glare at him. Not to infuse her look with all the hatred that she felt in that moment. You're a pig, she wanted to say. A lying, conniving pig. But it hurt to even think
those things, because as much as she wanted to hate him, she couldn't help but love him, too. He was still David. Broken, beautiful David. “The Canary Islands, Indonesia, Chicago? Does it matter?”

“British Columbia,” Jackson offered as if coming out of a trance. Jackson was always quiet and unassuming and temperate, and it surprised Harper that he was speaking up at all. But, of course, he was offering the perfect solution. “My dad took me bush camping all the time when I was a kid. We'll fly into Vancouver, borrow my grandma's car, and I'll take you all to my favorite spot in the interior. You don't mind logging roads, do you?”

They didn't even know what logging roads were, but the promise of isolation, of a place where they could be utterly and completely alone in the world was too good to pass up.

“Done,” Harper said, sealing a deal that would change their lives forever. “We're backpacking BC.”

“Well”—Jackson shrugged—“not really. We'll find the perfect spot and park. Of course, we can hike as much as we want from there.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment, but Harper marched up to Jackson and kissed him full on the mouth. “I love you,” she said. “We'll park in BC.”

“And camp,” Jackson offered, seemingly unruffled by Harper's sudden, dizzying affection. “And fish if we want to or swim or free-climb. Whatever.”

“I don't even know what free-climbing is,” Harper said, but it didn't matter anyway.

It was done. They graduated, and the day after The Five flung their mortarboards into the air and celebrated their entrance into the “real world,” they boarded a plane for Vancouver.

In some ways, Harper regretted stepping foot on that airplane almost more than everything that came after. If only, she had thought a hundred times. A thousand.

If only.

24

T
hey were teenagers at a coed sleepover. At least, that was the vibe that harper was going for. When they arrived at piperhall carrying duffel bags (the guys) and plastic grocery bags (the girls) filled with toiletries and a change of clothes, harper danced up the stone stairs and across the wide veranda as if there was a live band playing just out of sight. She shimmied a little and laughed while adri struggled with her keys in the dark.

“We could break a window,” Harper suggested, though the instant the words were out of her mouth she felt like an idiot. It was a stupid thing to say, the sort of inane filler that used to fall from her lips all the time. And though she knew she had once been brilliant, that she could understand people and motivations and situations that others couldn't begin to process, she hated herself for letting her mind atrophy. For playing a part that she was loath to play, simply because it was easier. She wondered if anyone could see that she wasn't who she wanted to be.

“I've got it,” Adri said, unhooking the padlock and palming it. “No need to shatter any windows.”

The mansion was dense with shadows when they stepped inside. Darkness seemed to shroud the quiet rooms, the air thick and heavy as a mausoleum. It was a cloudy, moonless night, and
Harper should have expected the stranglehold of blackness, but it took her by surprise. She must have made an unconscious noise because suddenly Will was at her side, his hand cupping her elbow as if he intended to help her stand.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she said brightly, trying to dispel the dark with the tone of her voice. She used to be able to do that. To shift the mood in a room simply by pressing into it, willing it to bend a certain way as if she was leaning on a whip of willow. “I just forgot how dark it is out here. No streetlamps, no moon . . .”

“Let there be light,” Adri said from somewhere to the right, and without warning the chandelier in the grand entryway burst to life.

Caleb whistled low. “Magic,” he said, looking around. “You know, this place is almost as nice as your bungalow.”

That elicited a laugh from Adri, and the two of them exchanged a knowing glance over their private joke. “My entire bungalow would fit into the entryway.”

No one talked about sleeping arrangements. Now that they were standing in the sparkling light of the cut-glass chandelier, the topic seemed almost off-limits. The mansion might be Adri's now, but it was still the Galloway estate. Harper could feel Victoria above her, drifting through the hallways of the place she had called home for the most significant years of her life. And there was David, echoed in the parody of the five of them standing in the entryway as if they had just arrived from ATU. Even Liam lingered, though Harper had never known him and was glad that she hadn't.

Maybe coming here had been a bad idea.

But all she needed to do was endure a couple of hours. Just long enough to lull everyone into a sense of companionship and peace, and then send them off to sleep. Harper knew she had to disappear, and fast. She could feel the clock ticking beneath her skin. She just hadn't decided yet if she was running to Sawyer or away from him.

“Drinks?” Harper pulled away from Will and all but skipped deeper into the house as she tried to recapture the cheerful nonchalance she was trying so hard to portray. “I can't imagine that Victoria burned through all of that Scotch.” She was halfway to the back of the house when she remembered that it wasn't Victoria's Scotch anymore. It was Adri's. But the rest of their small party was following her, and Adri didn't seem put out by Harper's presumption.

“I think the Scotch is all still in the basement,” Adri said. “Liam kept it on display in the billiards room.”

“The liquor cabinet is above the refrigerator,” Will offered. “And I noticed earlier that the wine rack has a few bottles left.”

“I don't like Scotch anyway,” Caleb said, slinging his duffel bag onto the counter and settling himself on one of the bar stools. “In fact, I'll take a glass of water, please.”

“Water?” Harper sounded offended. “It's not that kind of party, Caleb.”

He shrugged.

But Harper didn't have to cajole anyone else. Jackson had already opened the liquor cabinet and was lifting down a couple of bottles. Hennessy cognac and Bombay Sapphire and Chambord raspberry liqueur. He poured a shot for everyone, and Harper almost sighed. It wasn't them. This almost aggressive posturing wasn't any of them anymore, and yet, she didn't know any other way to blunt the edges, to dull senses enough to render everyone anesthetized. She had to be the party planner who would keep everyone happy and distracted. Drinking.

“To reunions,” Harper exclaimed, raising her shot glass.

Adri's mouth was a narrow line, but she lifted her tiny glass in a toast, and everyone else followed suit.

The raspberry Chambord was warm and heavy on Harper's tongue, and she allowed herself to enjoy it slipping down. But that was it. One drink, she had decided. Just one, and when
Jackson poured again, she tipped hers down the sink when no one was looking.

It was cold outside, and though Harper tried to rally the group around the hot tub, Adri wouldn't hear of it. She took a small glass of a drink that Jackson had mixed for her and settled herself in front of the fireplace. It was wide, white marble with veins of charcoal and pale gray, a piece of art that had once been the real deal but now could be turned on with a switch. Adri tapped a couple of buttons on a remote control and the flames leaped beneath the stately hearth, a blue-hearted inferno that spread six feet across the living room. They could have roasted marshmallows in it, and had on many occasions. S'mores with sliced strawberries and dark chocolate, or peanut butter cups because they were David's favorite.

When the rest of the group joined her—Will and Jackson on the floor, Caleb in the middle of the couch where Adri sat snug against one end—Harper felt a flutter of panic in her chest. They were supposed to laugh and drink and be merry, not cozy up in the living room so they could stare contemplatively at the fire. Adri nursed a wrinkle between her eyes while she ignored her drink, and Harper knew without asking that she was thinking about David.

Harper felt like a net was closing around her. It wasn't just Sawyer and the things he knew about her, it was David, too. And Adri and everyone. It was herself. A part of her wanted to walk into the middle of the half-circle her friends had created and say, I did it. I had an affair with David and then I killed him. And because I couldn't forgive myself, I allowed my life to become the worst kind of evil. Then what? Anger, heartbreak, hatred. Lawyers and a trial. She had no defense.

Run. Run fast.

It was all she could think to do.

But she curled up in a chair across from Adri because she couldn't run away just yet.

They had covered all sorts of ground over supper, the little
things, small talk and surfacey introductions and the stories that elicited polite laughter. It was no surprise, really, when Caleb asked, “So, what's the deal here? How did you inherit this place, Adri?”

It was stop and start, the thinnest details only, but Adri told him about college. The Five. David. She barely grazed the man she had loved, painting him watercolor pale with words like
smart
and
handsome
and
rich
. Harper knew these were throwaway words, adjectives that meant nothing at all.

“And . . .” Caleb paused. “He died?”

When Adri didn't answer, Jackson did. “It was an accident. The week after we graduated from ATU.”

An accident. Harper swallowed hard, chanced a glance at Adri. Was surprised to see that she looked as troubled as Harper felt. Maybe she did know. At least, something.

Caleb looked for a moment like he wanted to ask more, but he took a sip of his drink and held his tongue.

The night wasn't what Harper had in mind, and when the clock chimed midnight and Jackson announced it the witching hour, she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill.

“Bed, I think,” Jackson said, standing and stretching. “I want to stop home and see Nora before work, and the crew will be waiting at the shop by six.” At this tidbit of information, he tipped his head at Will and gave him a look laced with meaning. It could have been merely a reminder that they had obligations, responsibilities, but Harper felt like it was more than that. She watched as Will nodded.

Jackson got up and walked to the kitchen to rinse out his glass. Harper thought about calling after him, trying to convince him to stick around—at least long enough for everyone to reach the same tired state that he conveyed with a jaw-cracking yawn. Adri was wide-eyed, searching the heart of the fire as if answers were contained in the iridescent flames. And Caleb was still watching Adri, his mouth soft as he admired the glow in her eyes. When Harper caught Will's gaze, she was startled to find
that he was looking at her, and she knew that if Jackson left, he'd ask for a moment alone with her again. She couldn't let that happen.

“I'm exhausted,” Harper said, standing suddenly. “Done. Can't keep my eyes open another second.”

“You might have to keep them open another second or two.” A strange, small smile tugged at Will's lips. “You have a lot of stairs to climb.”

“This is your party,” Adri reminded her. “Are you allowed to leave early?”

“It's not early,” Harper insisted. “Jackson said it's the witching hour. Sounds like a good time to call it quits, wouldn't you say?”

“I think I'll watch the fire a little longer,” Caleb said, stealing a glance at Adri. She wouldn't look at him, but she nodded all the same. “Me, too.”

“In that case”—Will slapped his hands on his knees and rose—“I'll walk you to your room, Harper. You know, in case you find you can't keep your eyes open for another second and lose your way.”

She opened her mouth to demur, but Will was already taking her empty glass from her, looking into it as if he could tell that she hadn't really had anything to drink at all.

Will wandered off to get rid of their glasses, and Jackson came up to Harper and pulled her into a hug. It was exactly the sort of odd, unexpected thing he was known for, but she was nearly undone when he murmured into her ear, “We love you, Harper. No matter what. You know that, right?”

It was a sweet sentiment, but Harper was well aware that it wasn't true. They wouldn't love her no matter what. They couldn't.

“Thanks, Jackson,” she said. And though she could tell that he didn't believe her, he squeezed her arm and let her go. Headed toward the entryway and the stairs that would lead him to the garden basement and all the memories that waited there.

“Got your bag,” Will said, holding up her plastic sack. “Do I
need to carry you or do you think you'll be able to keep your eyes open?”

Harper gave him a little shove. “I employ hyperbole. So sue me.” Turning to Adri and Caleb on the couch, she waved. “Good night, sleep tight.”

“Don't let the bedbugs bite,” Adri finished.

But Harper wasn't worried about bedbugs.

They mounted the back staircase, the narrow one behind the kitchen. It was dark and close, and though Harper wished at one point that she had talked Will into taking the long way around through the entry and past Victoria's rooms, she warmed to his hand on the small of her back as she climbed. She didn't want to feel this way. Didn't want the proximity of this kind, gentle man to muddy the waters that simply had to be crystal clear. She didn't want to love Will as anything other than an old friend, a fond memory, but everything about him called out to the longings she didn't even dare to admit. He was the anti-Sawyer. The anti-David. A man who asked for nothing more than her company, no strings attached. Though she could see the ache in his own eyes.

At the top of the stairs Harper fumbled for the switch and turned on the lights that illuminated the upstairs hall. Her bedroom—she still thought of it as hers—was open, and when she stepped inside and flicked on a lamp there was a dent in the comforter as if someone had lain there recently. She wanted to curl up in the spot. But Will was still behind her, holding the ridiculous grocery bag that contained all that she had in the world. It was too much. More than she could handle.

Before she could sob, Harper spun and flung herself at Will, arms twining up around his neck, fingers tangled in the ginger shock of his hair. She kissed him hungrily, her mouth and her body and every ounce of her being caught up in the simple perfection of the boy she had overlooked. What had she been thinking all those years ago? David—with all his jagged edges, with his daddy hurt and a mother who ignored him because
she couldn't even care for herself—what in the world had made Harper think that they were perfect for one another? She and David had been deadweight, anchors that pulled each other down. But Will, sweet Will. He made her feel like she could float away. He tasted of raspberries and burnt sugar, vodka and pie. She wasn't the kind of girl who deserved a man like this. A man who had softly and privately loved her from a distance for years. Harper knew he had. She could feel it in the way that he kissed her.