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I decide to take a shower before leaving. As for breakfast, I’ll grab it before I start driving home.
I open my suitcase so I can find something to change into only to frown when I realize my clothes are a mess. Of course they are. I just threw my stuff into the bag, after all, once I’d made up my mind to leave. I wanted to be done packing before Jackson returned to the room.
I fold the clothes now and arrange them into piles. I stop, though, when I see an orange sweater I’ve never seen before.
I hold it up.
This one’s too big to be mine, which means it’s Jackson’s. Maybe he brought it to my room once and it got mixed up with my clothes.
I sniff it. Yup, definitely smells like him.
Oh well. I guess I’ll keep it as a souvenir.
I start to fold it but stop again as my head throbs.
An orange sweater.
Suddenly, my memories of the night Trisha died start tumbling back. The red lantern perched on a branch. Trisha in her turtleneck and tank top. Trisha standing on the shore talking to a boy in an orange sweater with a C on it, exactly like this one. A boy with eyeglasses and a cleft chin.
Eyeglasses. Cleft chin.
Now where have I seen someone like that before?
My eyes grow wide as I remember.
Simon. Jackson’s friend Simon. No wonder he knew Trisha. No wonder he looked like he’d seen me before.
But if Simon was there, what happened to him? How come he never told Jackson that he was there the night Trisha died? How come he didn’t try to save me or Trisha?
I have a bad feeling about him. I also feel like I should tell someone. Who? My mom? Jackson?
I decide to call Jackson first since he’s the one who knows Simon. I know he probably doesn’t want to hear from me again, but I still have to tell him. I’m about to press the button to make the call when I hear a knock on the door.
Thinking that it’s the manager bringing me the receipt he wasn’t able to issue last night because of a problem with the printer, I open the door. It’s not the manager standing outside, though, or anyone I know.
It’s two men in their late twenties to mid-thirties, both wearing caps and sunglasses. One of them has a fancy looking watch, the kind that isn’t just a watch.
For some reason, that sends an alarm off inside my head. I’m about to close the door again but one of the men steps in and pulls out a gun. He presses the barrel against my side and I gasp.
“Cathy Jeffries, you’re coming with us.”
Chapter 24
Jackson
“Are you coming with me to the farm or not?” Ken asks.
“No,” I answer without glancing away from the view of the garden outside my bedroom window.
Since yesterday, I haven’t had the energy or motivation to do anything else, so I’ve been staying at home, in my bedroom mostly, because it reminds me of Cathy the least. I thought I’d be okay with her leaving since she didn’t love me. I thought I’d be setting both of us free. Instead, I feel even more of a prisoner, tied to the past, caged within myself.
Strange. I don’t remember feeling this way after Evelyn died.
I’m about to bring my mug of coffee to my lips when Ken grabs it from my hands. To my surprise, she takes a sip.
“Coffee,” she says. “I’m surprised there’s no whiskey in here. A bit might do you some good.”
I say nothing. I have thought of drinking, but I don’t want to risk having anyone come over to find me drunk. That’s the last thing I need with Maisie’s custody hearing under way.
If there’s anything I should do, it’s spending time with her instead of sending her to daycare. Our days together may very well be numbered, so I should make the most of them. Yet I can barely stand to look at her gloomy face. It’s the face she’s worn ever since she read Cathy’s letter.
Ken sets the mug down. “How long are you going to stay here sulking, hmm?”
I shrug.
She sighs. “You know, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to kick your ass this time. I was going to wait for you to come to your senses. But forget it. Every minute you sit here feeling sorry for yourself is another minute Cathy is slipping away from you, and I can’t stand it.”
I give her a puzzled look. “What do you mean slipping away? She’s gone, remember? She left me.”
“Which is why you have to go after her.”
I snort. “Why should I? She wanted to go.”
Ken slaps her forehead. “Are we going to have the same conversation about Cathy leaving and you giving up on her again?”
