Page 182
A photograph.
Curiosity drew her across the room.
Three girls smiled back at her, the solemn woman on the end holding the youngest.
She lifted the silver frame and ran a finger over the laughing faces.
It had stood on her mother’s bedside table. The last thing Mama would have seen before closing her eyes at night. The first thing she would have seen each morning. That had to mean something. Right?
Why hadn’t her mother left?
Saved her daughters from hell.
From death.
Maybe she never had the chance. The thought came out of nowhere.
Hugging the frame to her chest, she whispered, “I’m sorry you were taken too soon, Mama.” Her voice broke. “I love you.”
Still clutching the photograph, she left the room.
Andrei was waiting on the patio, Millie draped across his lap. He looked up as she stepped outside, pausing mid-throw with a tennis ball in hand. At his feet, Maggie’s tail wagged furiously.
She joined him, placing the lights on the table, the frame on her lap. Maisie rose from her sun-basking spot and waddled over to give her ankle a sniff. She scratched behind the pug’s ears. “I took a photo from Mama’s room.”
“Of course. And whatever else you want.” His gaze dropped to the fairy lights. A frown furrowed his brow.
“I need a fire.”
His eyes widened. “I also hate the place, cousin, but … arson? Bit extreme.”
She grinned and slapped his arm. “For the fucking lights, silly.”
The frown returned, but he didn’t question her. “The old firepit do?”
She’d forgotten about the firepit. “Perfect.”
A short while later, she and Andrei stood on the edge of the cliff, a fire roaring in the stone pit. Felicity looked out over the ocean, tracing the route Katerina and Inessa had taken the night they had rowed to freedom. That they had survived the crossing to Narragansett was nothing short of a miracle.
She approached the fire.
With a sharp flick of her wrist, she tossed the tangled fairy lights into the flames. The plastic crackled and hissed as the fire consumed them. She watched until the last bulb shattered and the final strand blackened to ash.
Only then did she turn away and look at her cousin.
“My name is Felicity.”
43
Homecoming
There were too many vehicles. Felicity parked at the end of the driveway and rested her forearms on the steering wheel, staring at the collection of trucks and SUVs crammed into the drive and lining the street.
Rae’s Odyssey, Beau’s truck, and an unfamiliar Chrysler with California plates occupied the driveway in front of her. The Armstrongs’ Escalade, the Fischers’ F-250, and JP and Beth’s old Chevy were parked along the curb.
And there, beyond the Chevy, was Ronan’s Ford.
Felicity inhaled slowly.
