“Let’s get this done before we lose internet,” Beau says, and we change the passwords on my social media accounts.
Notification emails ping my laptop.
“Now change your bank passwords,” Beau says, pushing his laptop aside and purposefully putting distance between us.
I’m in the middle of setting up new account passwords when my phone rings, and I nearly fall off the couch. Moira’s name flashes across the screen.
“Fuck.”She knows something’s up. What the hell will she do when she realizes she can’t get in? Have I made absolutely sure she can’t get in? The trilling phone crowds the air like a warning siren. “What if I missed something? What if she can still get in?”
“She can’t.”
I stare at the vibrating, bleating phone like it’s a viper.
“But what if she can?” I imagine that slowly sinking into a frozen lake would feel just like this. Panic halves my breath.
“I have an idea.” Beau grabs my phone and—breaking one of the commandments I’ve followed my whole life—declines the call. He taps the camera icon and then wraps an arm around me.
“Wh-What are you doing?” The freezing fear. Beau’s arm around me. Too much stimuli. I can’t compute.
“Helping you shape your narrative,” he says, tapping the screen to flip the camera to selfie mode. “Smile.”
I stare at the image of us on the screen. Soaking wet, Beau and I huddle together under a blanket. His smile is wide, magnetic, and straight-up beautiful. I smile too. Because this is the way forward. This is the first step to claiming my own life.
Beau snaps the picture. Then he taps the Instagram icon. To my relief, it prompts him to log in since I’ve updated the password. A small measure of tension eases. This is what Moira is seeing if she’s trying to log in.
Beau types in the new password. “Want me to caption it?” he offers.
I reach out my hand for the phone. “No. I’ve got it.”
He hands me the phone, and rebellion surges in my veins. “What’s your Insta handle?”
Beau snorts. “I don’t have one.”
I fight a smile. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” I mutter. I tap out the caption:
I wouldn’t want to face this storm with anyone else.
I add a few hurricane and Louisiana hashtags, including #truth and #luckygirl, but I could think of a hundred others I’m too chicken to put.
#bestillmyheart
#hesperfect
#isthislove
I post the pic and put down my phone before I do anything stupid. As soon as I set it down, it starts ringing again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
BEAU
Her mom’s calling again,and I can tell it’s eating her up.
“Wanna turn off your phone?” I suggest, but really, I think she should block that bitch.
Iris chews on her bottom lip. “I don’t know. Ghosting her seems wrong.”
I try to keep my face blank. Everything I’ve heard about Iris’s mother rings alarm bells. Controlling. Cruel. Narcissistic. Iris’s decisions today show me that she must know all that, but it’s clear she’s been vulnerable to Moira her whole life. That’s not going to change overnight.
