I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting there when the room chilled. I sensed her presence before she said a word.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Teacher asked from the doorway. Every time I’d opened that door, every single time over the past six months, it had creaked like it was going to fall off its hinges, sending echoes throughout the entire house. Yet the one time I saw Teacher enter the room, the door was silent. How could you explain something like that? How could you spend any amount of time around her and remain unconvinced she was extraordinary?
I pulled my hands from my face and met her eye. “I have to tell you something.”
42
Natalie
JANUARY 10, 2020
KIT GLARES AT me. “I know, Nat.”
I frown. “Know what?”
“How Mom died. I’ve known for weeks.”
I freeze, mouth open. The e-mailer had told her, then.
My sister’s voice cracks. “I didn’t want to believe it. I told myself, no way you two were capable of such deceit. I’ve never wanted so badly to be wrong about something.” She works her jaw. “That’s why I wanted you to come here, so you could explain that I had it backward.”
“Wait, you sent the e-mail?” I say, dizzy.
“Figures this is the one time I’m right.”
“How did you find out?” She scowls as my brain struggles to compute the facts. Then I remember.
The second attachment.
Mom’s death certificate with DDMP2 written neatly in blue ink. Someone must have shown Kit the document.
My tongue feels fuzzy. “Why didn’t you pick up the phone? You could’ve asked me to come out.”
“What, and give you the chance to prepare some sob story? You hadn’t even thought about telling me the truth until I threatened it out of you.”
“You’re wrong.” I take a rickety breath. “I thought about it every day. I couldn’t figure out how to do it in a way that wouldn’t devastate you.”
“How about not lying to me in the first place?”
My chest tightens. “If you had just signed the e-mail . . .”
“Gordon monitors the account, so I couldn’t. He would’ve known I was having a setback and reported it.”
A pounding builds in my ears. My pulse jabs at my throat. “Is that what this is about? Impressing Rebecca? She matters more to you than getting closure on Mom?”
Kit narrows her eyes until her pupils are barely visible. “Are you fucking serious? Don’t put this on me. You were scared for a few days, and suddenly I’m the sociopath?” She jumps to her feet. “You let me panic for two years. How many times did I cry to you about how guilty I felt? Every single time you kept it going. You could’ve given me that closure.”
“I know.” I drop my head in my hands. “I know, I know, I know. I have no excuse other than it’s what Mom wanted. For once I actually listened to her.”
“What a time to grow a conscience.”
“I deserve every insult you’ve got.” I scoot forward on the bed. “I even deserved being left in that forest. Not because of the phone, but for what I did to you. I’ve been a shitty sister.” My chin quivers. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I swear.”
She shakes her head. “It’s always too little, too late with you.”
“Kit, I’m the only family you have. We need to stick together.”
She turns on her heel and heads for the door. “The people here are better family than you ever were.”
“You don’t mean that.” I suppress a mortifying urge to cry.
She sniffs and glances out the window. “Skies are clearing up. It’s time for you to go.”
43
Natalie
JANUARY 10, 2020
KIT SLAMS THE door behind her. I stand in the middle of the room with my arms wrapped around my waist, struggling to formulate a plan on no sleep. The big sister in me wants to run after her and patch things up, but my sense of self-preservation is screaming to take Kit at her word and leave now. I feel a little better knowing some anonymous e-mailer isn’t out to get me; still, the staff here has messed with my stuff (twice), stolen my property, and threatened me at knifepoint. I don’t want to stay any longer than I have to.
One step at a time. First, I’ll pack. Then I’ll get my phone back. I’ll demand a meeting with Rebecca. I chew on my knuckle.
Then I’ll make one last pitch to get Kit to leave with me.
Either way, Gordon’s driving me back to Rockland within the hour.
A few minutes later, I’ve thrown all my clothes and toiletries in the duffel. I lift the bag to my shoulder and check the cabin. I linger in the doorway, afraid to leave the room. I don’t want to go back out there, where Rebecca’s goons are waiting.
Tugging on my wool hat, I force myself over the threshold and hike through the powder toward Rebecca’s house, keeping an eye out for someone official-looking. I’m halfway there when I spot a stocky older man marching across the grass. He wears a thick raincoat and galoshes.
Gordon.
He’s animated in a way I haven’t seen before. An excited flush has replaced his staid expression.
I block his path. His glasses are rain-spattered, strange since it’s not snowing anymore. He wipes the glasses clean and frowns when he sees who’s standing in his way.
“I’m ready to leave,” I say. “How do I get my phone back?”
“I don’t have time right now, Ms. Collins,” he says, hand clenched.
When I see what he’s gripping, I stop breathing.
44
Kit
DECEMBER 28, 2019
CALMLY I CLOSED my file and put it back in the desk drawer, my gaze never leaving Teacher’s.
“You were right about Jeremiah.” I sat back in her chair. “He’s not who he says he is.”
The fury in her eyes changed to fear. She closed the office door. I rose from her desk, motioned for her to join me on the sofa. We each took a cushion, knees grazing. I squeezed one of her hands.
“I’m sorry for snooping. I was scanning his file to see what you already knew.” Out of habit I reached for Mom’s scarf, but it was wound around Teacher’s neck, not mine. “Gordon’s been keeping tabs on the wrong guy.”
Teacher smoothed her hair behind her ears, then folded her hands in her lap. With forced restraint she asked, “Whom should he have been examining?”
“The guy you know as Jeremiah? That’s not his real name.”
Spots of color bloomed across Teacher’s pale face. Her hands were clasped so tightly her knuckles had turned white. “Shall we sit here all day or are you going to disclose his identity?”
“Your old manager, Gabe Cooper? Jeremiah—whatever his name is—is his younger brother.”
Her jaw fell open.
“He’s here for revenge. He wants to topple Wisewood. And take you down with it.”
I had never seen her speechless. I counted backward from five—still she didn’t speak. Her neck muscles strained, nostrils flared.
She looked like she wanted to kill me.
“I told him the suggestion was absurd,” I hurried to add. “That he was being ridiculous.”