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Epilogue
Charlotte
I run back to the dorm, cursing Astrid’s name with each step I take. We had an understanding—I told her many times that I was marrying Bryce Shelton. I can’t marry Bryce if he falls in love with her. I pick up speed as I cross the open field between the dorms and the admin buildings. The skinny heels on my boots puncture holes into the lawn, getting caught with each step. I should’ve worn platforms, but I reject that trend.
I may not be the prettiest girl at Stonehaven. I’m definitely not the wealthiest. And my family tree only goes back a few generations. But I was the girl who was going to marry Bryce Shelton, the richest boy at Stonehaven.
The door into the dorm looms ahead of me as my head spins like Alice on a bad trip. I’m about to pull the door open when I hear my name. Astrid is on track, but that’s impossible. She can’t be here. I look around until my gaze lands on Dr. Rawlins.
“Charlotte, I need you, dear.”
Oh fuck. It’s bad when Dr. Rawlins leaves her office to find you and calls you “dear.” I stand still, watching her move toward me, floating like a specter without the chains. My lip trembles, and I know she’s not here because Bryce Shelton cheated on me. Again.
“Charlotte, your father sent a car.”
My head spins as my feet leave the ground. I feel as if I’m floating on a burst of wind that has tossed my body up into the air. But Dr. Rawlins grips my arm before I fall, and she leads me toward a black limo outside the main gate. The denial starts, but I can’t think of another reason why it would be there.
“It’s Mom,” I whisper, and the tears hang on my lashes before they fall.
“Charlotte, go to her.” Rawlins hugs me for a second. “Don’t worry about Stonehaven. It will be here when you come back.”
Stonehaven will always be here. It sounds like a threat. She can’t see me from behind the dark window, but I watch her as the car slowly pulls away. Dr. Rawlins watches the car with a worried look on her face. She doesn’t turn away the minute I am hidden behind the dark glass. She stands there by the granite archway and watches as the limo drives me away.
I stare at my phone, waiting for a text, but the screen remains black. Maybe it isn’t so bad after all. If Mom were ill, they would have taken her to the hospital, wouldn’t they? And here I am at the house—our enormous house with white columns, huge bay windows, and one light lit inside.
I step out of the car and hurry up the slate walk. The red front door opens before I reach it. The housekeeper, Mrs. Donovan, stares at me as if she’d rather see anyone else.
“Charlotte, sweetheart, your mother is upstairs.”
My heart hammers until it aches, and I stare at the double staircase leading up to the second floor.
“Is she?” I whisper.
Mrs. Donovan presses her hand to her mouth, and the tears start before she can tell me.
For each step, I take a deep breath as I walk to Mom’s bedroom. I glance down the hallway toward Dad’s bedroom, but the door is shut. I don’t know if he’s home or not. But he must be here. I walk into her bedroom, and Mom is alone. I shut my eyes tight and swear I won’t forgive him for this.
She looks so frail on her bed, and her eyes are vacant as if she’s already gone. I sit beside her and reach out for her hand. She’s too weak to hold mine, but she knows I’m here. She knows she’s not alone. We sit together and wait.
Mom passes in the night. And Dad doesn’t come home until the following day.
The funeral arrangements have been made in advance. All we have to do is show up. I watch my father across the breakfast room table. He reads the paper as if it’s any other day and not his wife’s funeral.
“Are you going to the funeral?” I ask him.
“Yes. I’ll be there.” He looks at me strangely. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug my shoulders. Not wanting to say what I was thinking, like where were you last night when she needed you? Don’t you care about us? Your family.
“Should we call Astrid?” I ask.
Dad places his paper on the table. His expression answers my question before he can open his mouth. “Why would we invite her?”
“She’s family?”
Dad stands up from the table and checks his watch. “The car will be here soon.”
I have no appetite. My rye toast is cold, and my herbal tea tastes disgusting. The egg makes my stomach turn. I told Mrs. Donovan that I’m a vegan, but she stares at me blankly as if I made the whole concept up to make her grocery shopping difficult.
