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“Can I ask you a question?” I say instead.
“Of course.”
“Did you love Dad when you got married?”
She lets out a short, surprised laugh. “What made you think of that?”
The way Leo looked today. His wedding was standing-room only, but he didn’t seem to notice anyone else. Once Haley took her first step down the aisle, it was all over. I can’t actually imagine my mother looking at my father that way. I can’t imagine him looking at her that way.
“Just all the wedding stuff. Were you in love, do you think?”
Her eyes go slightly distant. Traveling through memories, maybe. Thinking back to their own wedding. I’ve seen the photos. My mother was beautiful on their wedding day, and my father was handsome. She’s looking at him in a lot of the photos. He doesn’t look back at her nearly as much.
“I was infatuated with him,” she says finally. “Or maybe just the money and power he wielded. He’s always had so much of it, and I thought…” My mother shakes her head. Her perfect red waves shake with her. “Don’t make the same mistake.”
A shiver sweeps down my back. “Don’t marry rich?”
“Don’t get obsessed,” she says, her tone as light as mine. “Don’t let infatuation cloud your judgement. But you wouldn’t do that. Not my Daphne.” An indulgent smile lifts the corners of her lips. “You’ve always been so good.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Emerson
It’s been toolong since I’ve seen Daphne. Way too fucking long.
Going into that church and leaving her there was torture, and it hasn’t ended.
Her absence is turning my own house against me. It’s beginning to seem ominously large. It was never meant to be small, of course. I need room for the pieces I collect. But the outside world is seeping in through the windows. I try to force it back. My usual method is to surf more often. To let the size of the ocean overwhelm the size of the house.
It’s not working.
Black waves beat at the shore outside. The last of the sunset bled out an hour ago. I’ve been out twice today. I have no desire to go again, but then I never want to in the first place.
Emerson: Tell me what you’re thinking about, little painter.
If I focus, I can see my reflection in my bedroom window.
Some part of me knows that surfing won’t be enough. That texting won’t be enough. Maybe if Daphne were here—
No. I won’t admit to feeling like this. To feeling anything like this.
What the fuck would I even say?There’s something I need to crush this into a manageable size. This—what is this? She’d want to know. I’m not willing to use the wordpanicin conversation with her. With anyone. She’d never look at me the same way.
I need her to look at me the same way. Daphne was so scared when I spread her legs. I can still feel her hands shaking on my wrists. But she trusted me. She was afraid of me, and she trusted me. That trust would disappear from her eyes and never return.
Daphne: You
Emerson: What about me?
I pull up Sin’s number on the screen and allow myself, for a single moment, to consider telling him.
My house feels like the fucking Grand Canyon.
I type it out and delete it. Sin would show up here. He’d ask questions. He’d demand answers. I’m past that. My brothers and I are all past it.
The phone vibrates in my hand and my heart settles. Daphne. It’ll be Daphne.
Alert: Front gate approach
