Page 54 of The Woman I’ve Become

“I only told him that you were really stressed and getting all paranoid about the necklace,” she says, anger reddening her face. “Then I just did what he instructed me to do.”

“Are you having an affair with him?”

“Ew! Are you kidding?”

It’s possible the horrified face she makes is only for my benefit, but she sounds genuinely sickened by the concept.

“He’s rich,” I argue. “Handsome, in an older-man way. Plenty of others around your age have taken the chance.”

“First . . .” She sips her lemon water. “I am not into older men. Second, I would never do that. I have scruples.”

“But you would drug me for him. Plant things in my room,” I counter. “That sounds rather unscrupulous.”

Acacia heaves a big breath. “I’m sorry. He told me you’re losing it and that he’s worried about Olivia.” She rolls her eyes. “And, obviously, the campaign.”

I see red. “Those are straight-up lies.” I am so far beyond merely pissed off, my entire body vibrates with rage. “And you know it.”

She pokes at her food some more, not meeting my eyes. “I didn’t know what else to do. He’s the one who hired me, and like I said, I need this job.”

I am so sick of all the lies . . . the secrets . . . the betrayals. If my past has caught up to me—in whatever form—why not come on in. Get it done. There is certainly nothing standing in the way. For fuck’s sake, what’s the damned holdup?

“Phillip is wrong,” she says softly, contritely. “I’m sorry I listened to him.”

Excellent move. Almost believable. As if I could be persuaded now. But you see, I never go back for more once I’ve been bitten. I learned that lesson the hard way.

“Good for you,” I say. Let her think what she will.

Another of those endless moments passes with her trying to see inside my head. “You know, I’ve watched and listened to you for two months now—since you came home from the hospital. You don’t seem like the type who purposely hurts someone. Why do you torture yourself about what happened twenty fucking years ago? Who cares what people think or say about the article? You couldn’t have done anything so bad.”

Now she’s working a little reverse psychology. She has been watching me, and she wants to hear more about what happened. Maybe she doesn’t fully trust her real boss. Knowing what I know, I wouldn’t either. Then again, this could be some other angle—like the idea that there’s a bigger payout to be had. I can’t imagine any reason for her to have a particular allegiance to the other side. Perhaps this is her way of testing the waters regarding more money. Interesting possibility.

“I appreciate the psychoanalysis,” I say with a blatant serving of bitterness, “but I’m afraid it’s far too late for a mere apology to help anyone.” Forgiveness is overrated.

I will either finish this, or it will finish me.

A new frown tightens the youthful features of her face. “You’re shivering. I should get your sweater.”

She’s up and off before I can argue. I hadn’t realized I felt cold until she said as much, but I am freezing. On cue, the pain in my head invades my awareness. I close my eyes and fight against it. There are times when the head injury reminds me that the brain is a bewildering organ. It might heal, but it doesn’t forget and never really forgives.

I get up and walk to the window and stare out at the lake as I have done hundreds of times. All my life until Olivia, I felt alone. No matter who was around me; not even Phillip changed that deeply engrained knowing that no one truly understood me or cared about me. Not the way I needed them to. How unsettling even now that, other than my child, not a single living soul will truly miss me or care that I’m gone when I die. I suppose Helen might miss me for a bit. Phillip might even feel some sense of remorse, assuming Acacia’s accusations are nothing more than the lies I suspect they are. But no one will truly, deeply miss me except my daughter.

I breathe a soft laugh. Perhaps it’s having reached my late thirties and reflecting a little more than I would have even two years ago that has me feeling sorry for myself. How sad to possess so much and yet have no one.

Olivia is my only true tether to happiness . . . to anything, really.

Flashes of memory from the night of my accident spark in my damaged brain. The car spinning . . . the driver swearing . . . my heart in my throat, and then the jarring impact.

I blink away the images. The finale is coming, and they want to ensure I take my secrets to the grave with me. There was never any real doubt. It was only ever about the timing. How could it not happen? After all, what were all those stolen years worth?

I smile again, for I know the answer far too well.

There is no sufficient price for even one day of life. Most who are facing death would say that one more day—one more minute—of life is utterly priceless.

Even during the worst of my suffering, I would rather be breathing than not.

Yet there comes a time when fate must be confronted. This is my time, and I have no right to believe I deserve absolution. I am fully aware of all I’ve done.

But I will not go down without a fight. Who knows, I might just win.