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“That’s a pretty serious thing to say.”
“You don’t believe me.” She surmises, moving her hair off her shoulder and reaching across the table for her glass.
“It’s just a big claim to make.” I shrug. “Most people don’t actually think in terms of the real context when someone says I’d die for you.”
“No.” Claire shrugs, taking a sip of her bourbon. Her cheeks are flushed, and I know she’s got to be starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. “If you’d asked me that first night we met if I’d die for her, I may not have understood how seriously you meant it and I would have said yes. But I still think that’s too easy. I don’t want someone to die for me.”
“No?” I muse, intrigued and grateful for the distraction she’s giving me right now so that I can offer my sister the chance to simmer down before I seek her out again.
Claire shakes her head, pressing her lips together while considering her next words. “This may come across a little harsh, so give me some grace?” She leans forward just a little, and the smell of my bourbon mixes with the scent of her perfume, creating an intoxicating aroma. It takes me a moment to realize she’s waiting for an answer, so once I do, I just nod. “I told you I tried to kill myself. I understand the desperation it takes to get to that point… the hopelessness. So don’t misunderstand me when I say that once you get past the decision and the action of it, death is easy. It’s living that fucking hurts.” She laughs. “So maybe it’s just the orphan in me speaking, but I don’t want love from anyone whose sole claim is that they’d die for me. I want love from people who will live for me.”
I’m trying to think of a worthy response when she stands and offers me a small smile. “And yes, Remy, I would live for her, too.”
Chapter twenty-two
Claire
It took every ounce of restraint I have to walk past Rhea’s room without at least trying to check on her. But I was right when I told Remy that she needs time, so I went to my room and changed out of the ridiculous dress I wore to try and cover the hurt. I lay on my bed, staring at the fan turning slow circles on the ceiling until eventually sleep took hold.
I find the courage to knock on Rhea’s door the next morning, knowing I’m risking her wrath, but get no answer so I take my time getting ready. I’ll be skipping breakfast—I don’t want to risk Elaine slipping poison in my pancakes—but I know I can’t hide in my room. I wouldn’t even if I could. It’s my turn to be strong. I remind myself of that as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I’ve kept my light blonde hair shoulder length since I moved to Darrington, but it’s been months since I had a trim, and my locks are getting out of control. But that’s not the reason I don’t recognize myself—I’ve already prepared my mask for later, dressed in invisible armor.
I missed the funeral, and as much as I don’t want to attend a service for a man who caused so much misery in the lives of those who loved him, I won’t abandon Rhea tonight. It would take a force of nature or an act of God to keep me from being by her side.
By the time I’m ready to go downstairs and face everyone, I’ve covered my scars—both the physical and the mental. My shirt is loose enough to skim over the fresh bandage I threw on this morning, and when I sweep my hair over my shoulder just right, you can’t even see the little scar on the top of my right breast.
When I make it to the kitchen, Elaine is sitting at the counter alone, looking at something in her hand. Remy and Rhea are nowhere to be found, and the thought of being alone with the woman I am pretty sure wants me dead or at least gone is nauseating in itself. I turn, preparing to slink away before she ever even realizes I’m there. But her voice saying my name freezes me in place, and I pause.
No slipping away now.
“Good morning.” I turn back to face her with a magnanimous smile that probably looks every bit as fake as it feels.
“How are you feeling?” Her eyes flit over me, the mock concern making my stomach twist.
“Great.” Eager to change the topic, I look around the kitchen pointedly. “Where’s Rhea? And Remy?”
“We needed olives for the charcuterie board.” Elaine gestures to a tray covered in crackers. “For tonight.”
I glance at the makings of the board, unsure why she’s prepping it so early and equally unsure why Remy and Rhea had to go themselves. It’s weird. I guess I just hadn’t pictured Remy as the type to do his own shopping—why would he when Elaine has to prep his meals anyway? It’s even stranger when I consider the way we all left each other last night. It’s a pretty big leap from having your world shattered by the weight of your family’s secrets to making a run for something as insignificant as olives.
“Hmm.” I attempt a smile, but it fails. Elaine eyes me intently and I get the sense that she’s not actually interested in our conversation, which makes two of us.
“Well,” I say, tipping my head toward the porch. “I was going to get some fresh air, so when they get back, if anybody asks about me, I’m going on a walk.”
I cross the patio as quickly as my legs will allow, but before my hand ever touches the doorknob, I hear the scrape of a barstool. “Claire,” Elaine says, “wait.”
I dance out of her reach, offering her a smile that’s just short of cordial. “It’s just a walk.” I assure her with a wave. “I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you will,” she agrees too easily, letting me know she isn’t actually listening to me. “I just… I wanted to talk to you.”
I fix her with a quick glance, hoping she doesn’t notice the way my eyes flit over her in an attempt to assess what sort of threat she poses. She doesn’t have a knife or frying pan in sight, but Jovich got me with a needle in the neck. Technically, that was Mack, but the sentiment is the same. I can’t trust anyone.
“Well, maybe when I get back...” I throw the door open and practically fall out of it. My cheeks heat with embarrassment at my flightiness—I’m treating the housekeeper like she is actively plotting my murder. It’s probably irrational. No, it’s definitely irrational, when you consider that I sat across from Wes last night, unflinching.
“Claire—” She tries again.
I don’t let her finish whatever she wants to say, wrapping my arms around myself as I walk quickly away from her. This time, she lets me go without further incident.
