by Sara Shepard
And then it hit her. She could leave. She could throw some things in a bag and leave with Esme, now. It was the only answer. She hated leaving her friends, and Raisin Beach, and her heart shattered at the idea of leaving Lane—but she would always choose Esme over him. She had to.
She jumped up from the couch, annoyed she hadn’t planned this sooner. “Baby. Let’s go.”
“Wha?” Esme blinked sleepily; she was in a TV coma.
“Come on, come on. We’re taking a little trip. Let’s pack your bag.” She hurried to the back bedroom and tried to think. Some clothes. Overnight pull-ups. Her favorite stuffed animals. Her ponies. She threw things randomly into a backpack, then fled into her room and started doing the same. In a drawer was some cash she’d saved from Topless Maids—it would hold them over for a while, anyway. She tossed it in. Zipped up the bag.
“Esme?” she called into the living room. “You ready?”
But when she walked down the hall, Esme’s eyes were wide. Vanessa had burst through the door and was standing over her.
“Well hello,” Vanessa said, her eyes flitting from Ronnie’s face to the two bags in her hands. “Going somewhere?”
“I . . .” Ronnie felt a swoop of danger through her gut. “Um, no.”
“Good thing I came early.”
Then she turned back to Esme. “My God,” she whispered. She pressed her hands to her heart. “Oh, my darling girl.”
Esme pulled back. “Who are you?”
“Didn’t Ronnie tell you?”
Esme turned to Ronnie curiously.
Ronnie cleared her throat. There was so much acid in her mouth. “I couldn’t find a mediator. No one could come.”
The truth was, Ronnie had been too afraid to call a mediator. How could she admit to a stranger that she’d bludgeoned a man and left her sister for dead and kidnapped their child? Who’d want to mediate that situation, especially with Vanessa here, twisting the story, making it sound like Ronnie had been gunning for Esme all along?
Vanessa was sitting next to Esme now, openly weeping. She reached to pet Esme’s My Little Pony, but Esme wrinkled her nose and arched away. “This is mine.”
“No, baby, it’s okay,” Vanessa said softly. “I’m your mama. I’m here.”
“Uh, that’s my mama,” Esme said, with attitude. “Her.”
“Actually, she’s your aunt, baby. I’m your mama. And I’ve come to take you back with me.”
Esme cast a nervous look over to Ronnie. “I thought we were going on a trip.”
Ronnie cringed. She looked at Vanessa. “This is too soon for her. Too much.” How could Vanessa think a four-year-old child could comprehend such a life-altering declaration? How could a mother think this was a good idea?
“You and me,” Vanessa was saying to the little girl. “We’re going to live on a farm! With doggies, and kitties, and some chickens! What do you think?”
“A farm?” Ronnie stared. “What farm?”
“Farms are stinky,” Esme declared.
“Well, this farm smells good. And one of the cats is having kittens! You could have your own kitten and name her whatever you want!”
Ronnie felt so dizzy she had to hold the wall. “What farm?” She had a vague recollection of someone in Jerrod’s family having something to do with farming.
“Are there horses on the farm?” Esme asked.
“Uh, there are some horses close by.” Vanessa touched her arm. “Baby, we have a long ride ahead of us.” Then she eyed the suitcase on the floor, her mouth in a twist. “Lucky for you, you’re already packed. Or is this mommy’s ?”
“Wait.” Ronnie had never felt so desperate. “Stay a few days. Esme can go with you to a hotel or something. You can get to know each other. But just stay in town—to smooth the transition.” Her gaze slid across the room to her purse. “I’ll pay. Please.”
Vanessa twisted her mouth. “I don’t really like it here.”
What about Esme? Ronnie wanted to scream. Have you asked her what she likes? “There’s a motel nearby. It’s clean, nice—I’ll call them now. It . . . it has a pool.” She looked at Esme and smiled. “You can go swimming!”
Esme squinted at Vanessa, then back at Ronnie. She held one of her ponies by its long, flossy tail. “You’ll come too, Mommy?”
“I . . . could.” Ronnie smiled hopefully at Vanessa. “I could get a separate room. So you two could be together. But I would still be close, just in case.”
“Just in case what?” Vanessa took Esme’s forearm. “I don’t think Auntie Ronnie can come, honey. You’re with me now.”
Something about this seemed to penetrate Esme’s brain. She glanced at Ronnie with increased trepidation—it was the same look she’d given Ronnie last year at a local swimming pool when she’d stepped beyond a spot her feet could touch and was suddenly foundering. “No,” she said. She was doing that rabbit-nose-twitch thing when she was about to cry. “No, I don’t wanna go.”
“Baby,” was all Ronnie could say. How could she explain? “Baby, I did something bad. A long time ago.”
Esme’s eyes filled with tears. “No!” she shrieked. “I don’t wanna go! I wanna stay here!”
Ronnie’s eyes filled, too. She glanced at Vanessa; didn’t she see what she was doing? But Vanessa was standing tall, one of her hands on the crown of Esme’s head. “Ronnie did a bad thing,” she repeated. “And she doesn’t want to make it any worse by making a scene, does she?” Then she smiled down at Esme. “Let’s take more things. Let’s find all your favorite toys. How’s that?”
“I’m not going!” Esme shrieked. Now she was in full tantrum mode, throwing herself on the ground. Screams heaved from her body.
There had to be an answer. There had to be a better way. Ronnie didn’t know what it was except to plunge her hand in her purse and practically throw all the money in her wallet in her sister’s direction. “The motel. Just a night or two. Just to see how it goes. And I’ll be standing by, if you need anything. Please.” She licked her lips. “Kids are hard, Vanessa.”
Vanessa’s eyes flashed. “You don’t think I know?”
“No, I’m just saying—she’s four. It’s hard to reason with her, but at the same time, she understands a lot. And it’s hard to get her to sleep.”
“Not going!” Esme screamed again. “No!”
Vanessa’s features were scrunched in the middle of her face, which made her look like a prune. But after a moment, she blew air upward, sending her stringy bangs aloft. She grabbed the bills and stuffed them in her pocket. “Jesus, fine,” she said. “Two days. Make the arrangements. But we won’t need you. We’ll be okay on our own. You’ll see.”
“Okay,” Ronnie gushed. “Good.” It amazed her how grateful she felt for just this, how low the bar had become. “Okay, I’ll call them now.”
She dropped to her knees next to Esme. “Baby,” she said. “You’re going to spend time with . . . your auntie . . . mommy.” She didn’t know what to call Vanessa. “It’s only for a few days. And I’ll be close!”
“She smells!” Esme pointed at Vanessa. “That mean lady smells!”
Vanessa reached for Esme’s hand. “That’s not nice. Now c’mon. We’re getting the rest of your toys.”
She dragged Esme to her feet and walked her down the hall. Well, lugged her down the hall was more like it. It took every ounce of strength in Ronnie’s body not to tackle Vanessa. Esme bellowed for a little longer, but once she got into her room, she quieted down. In moments, Ronnie could hear her talking to Vanessa in a normal tone, probably pointing out her favorite things.
Esme’s sudden placidness hurt the most of all.
* * *
• • •
It was over fast: Esme’s things packed up, Esme loaded into the car, Esme breaking down again and crying for Ronnie, and Ronnie trying to muscle her way
into the back seat with the little girl but Vanessa saying, calmly, that if Ronnie did that, she’d regret it. People were already giving them curious glances on the street. If Ronnie called more attention to this situation, it would make things worse.
It’s okay, Ronnie told herself. She knew where Vanessa and Esme were going. She had tabs on them for the next few days. She pressed her hands to the window and told Esme she would see her soon. She had to pry Esme’s fingers from her own and give her a few extra hugs just to get her to calm down. “It’s okay, honey,” she said. “Spend time with Vanessa. It’s just a little trip. I’ll see you soon.”
Esme kept her gaze on Ronnie as Vanessa’s junky car drove off. It was almost too much to take. Ronnie was gripped with such sickness she felt like she couldn’t form a rational thought. Her whole life was gone. How on earth could Vanessa care for Esme? What was Ronnie supposed to do? What was she going to tell Lane?
Taking her phone in her trembling fingers, she dashed off a text to him, saying that she and Esme were taking a little trip up the coast for a few days for a breather. There. He’d be baffled, but that would buy her time, at least.
But time for what? To storm into the motel Vanessa was staying in and steal Esme back to her safe, calm life? Could she kill Vanessa? Ronnie gasped, horrified that the thought entered her mind. What was happening to her?
As if reading her mind, her phone rang. It was the police—again. Ronnie let the call go to voicemail. She was in no mood to give answers. She had to figure this out on her own.
Her heart started to pound. Her chest tightened in a way she’d never experienced, and her vision narrowed. She tried to breathe but found it impossible. Something was happening to her.
“Help,” she said weakly. Through blurred vision, she could see a sand-colored monstrosity two blocks away: Ventura Memorial Hospital. It had always comforted her that the hospital was close, in case Esme ever took a fall or got a high fever. Could she make it there? Ronnie took one step, then another, picturing her heart straining against its scaffolding inside her chest, overtaxed or maybe just broken.
She made it across an intersection. The sun beat down on her center part. A sharp pain in her side made her gasp, and then she fell sideways into a fence. “Miss?” A man’s face swam in front of her, his brow crinkled with concern. “Are you all right?”
Wheezing, Ronnie pointed at the hospital’s ER entrance. “I just need to . . . there.”
“Do you have anyone we could call?” the man asked. Ronnie shook her head. She wanted to call Vanessa. Bring Esme back. But she said nothing.
The double doors to the ER opened, and the cool air conditioning was a relief. She tried to breathe. The man leaned toward her. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”
Ronnie shook her head. Whatever was going on with her was beginning to subside. The cool air, perhaps. The act of sitting and breathing. Her heart wasn’t pounding so rapidly in her ears anymore. “I just want to take a minute,” she said. “I’ll be okay.”
The man didn’t seem convinced. He offered to get her water, food, something. He was older, Ronnie noticed. She looked down at herself and realized that the shirt she was wearing was tight, revealing the outline of her bra. Once more, she said she was okay. “Thank you,” she told him again and again. “Really.” Finally, he left.
The ER waiting room was nearly empty save for a woman at the front desk, who barely looked up as Ronnie wrote down her name for triage. Since she was calmer now, she was told to wait. Ronnie took a seat in the plastic chair, trying to calm her heart and collect her thoughts. Eventually, shakily, she lifted her phone and dialed the motel she’d arranged for Vanessa. “I booked my sister and her daughter to check in,” she told the receptionist once he answered. Her tongue felt strange forming the words her daughter. “Under Johnson. Have they arrived?”
The man told her to hang on, setting the receiver down with a clunk. A few seconds later, he returned. “Yep, they’re settled in. Want me to get them?”
Ronnie was stunned. Vanessa had followed her advice! It gave her a rush of euphoria. She told the man no, she just wanted to check. When she hung up, her spirits were buoyed. Okay then. Ronnie had two days. She would figure this out—and get Esme back.
She moved toward the triage nurse and told her that she didn’t need to be seen after all. The double doors to the ER, emblazoned with the hospital logo, slid open as she walked past them to leave. She stopped. Ventura Memorial Hospital. This is where Piper was.
She didn’t move for a whole minute.
Through a directory, she learned that neurological intensive care, which was where they kept patients with potential brain injuries, was on the fourth floor. The elevator doors swung open on a quiet unit. To the right was a waiting room; a few people sat scattered in chairs, reading or sleeping or staring numbly at a television. Down the hall were a few open doors; Ronnie could see a line of beds and machines. A nurse bustled past without looking Ronnie’s way.
If she dared ask for Piper’s room number, she’d be prohibited from visiting—surely it was family only. Instead, Ronnie walked the perimeter of the floor like she belonged here, avoiding nurses and peeking into each room as she passed. Most of the doors were ajar; only half the rooms were full. There was a sleeping man in the first room, and then an old lady with bandages on her head, and then a youngish man who was speaking angrily into a cell phone. She passed a hallway filled with tanks and machines and then squashed against the wall to let two nurses wheel an unconscious patient on a gurney.
She hesitated in front of the next room, 410, and couldn’t believe her luck. P. Jovan had been written in marker beside the door. A nurse turned the corner and headed in her direction. Taking a breath, Ronnie twisted the knob and slipped inside before anyone spied her.
Piper’s bed was against the wall and next to a bank of windows. The only sounds were the rhythmic beeping of monitors and a funny little grrrr of a blood pressure cuff tightening on an arm. Piper lay beneath white sheets, flat on her back. Her black hair was fanned around her, and her eyes were closed. She had a lot of tubes in her arms and one in her nose, but she looked peaceful.
Someone had attacked her, put her here. That hit Ronnie sideways: It hadn’t been Jerrod. Vanessa might be a liar, but there was no way Jerrod was in Raisin Beach—he’d have already found Ronnie and finished her off. The notion made her shaky with relief, and she fell softly against the side of Piper’s bed, bumping her ankle against the metal bedpost.
“Ow!” Ronnie said, moving away. To her surprise, when she turned back to Piper, the woman’s eyes were open. Piper stared at the ceiling, then peered slowly around the room and finally settled on Ronnie. Ronnie froze. Should she alert someone about this?
The tiny wrinkles around Piper’s eyes deepened as she squinted at Ronnie. Ronnie raised her hand in an embarrassed little wave. “Um, hi. I’m . . . from the school. A mom? We met at the Welcome Breakfast? I . . . just wanted to see how you were doing.”
Piper blinked at her, long and slow. And then she rose up, pointed at Ronnie. What she said next would haunt Ronnie for a long, long time.
Twenty-Seven
Clarissa seemed surprised when Lauren announced she was going out. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” She looked her up and down. “You look a little . . .”
“I’m fine.” Lauren knew how she looked: red-eyed, wild-haired, frantic. But she had to do this. She felt a lump in her throat as she gazed at Matthew; she felt like she’d barely spent any time with him lately. But also, she feared for his future. Who would care for him? Lauren was unstable—but so, potentially, was his father.
Before heading to LA, she swung by Andrea’s house. Andrea hurried out, looking pale and worried; Lauren had only told her glossed-over details about what she’d found out about Graham. She’d asked Andrea to come along as backup, so Lauren wouldn’t get too scared of confronting Graham.
&
nbsp; “I’ve barely heard from Ronnie,” Andrea murmured worriedly as they pulled onto the highway.
“Maybe she’s just lying low until this all blows over?” Lauren suggested.
“It’s something else. But she won’t tell me what.”
Lauren was so hyped-up during the two-hour drive she couldn’t listen to music. Graham clouded Lauren’s mind. His lies. His deception. Piper. Andrea asked Lauren to expand on what she’d found out, exactly, but it wasn’t like there was much to tell. Just a photograph. Just a hunch that Graham had been lying for a long time.
“They were together,” Lauren said. “But I think it ended badly—remember how Piper mentioned that, in her talk at the breakfast?”
Was that why Graham had hidden the relationship? Because it was toxic? Because he didn’t want Piper and Lauren talking? And was this why Piper placed that note in Lauren’s backpack—to push her away from Silver Swans because she wanted nothing to do with Graham?
What bothered Lauren more, she said, was that Graham potentially had a son he never spoke about, never saw.
“I saw a picture of North once,” Andrea said. “Piper showed me at the meeting. Out of the blue, Want to see my son? He had dark hair, dark eyes.”
“So does Graham,” Lauren said miserably.
Every time she thought about North, her chest sizzled. All this time, she’d feared Graham was keeping secrets, maybe sleeping with Gracie. She would have never guessed this.
She’d only been to the Ketchup set a few times and had to drive around the streets of Culver City searching for the studio gates. As they pulled into visitor parking, Andrea put a hand on her arm. “You sure you want to do this?”
“I have to,” Lauren said through gritted teeth. “I’m going to make him tell me the truth.”
She had to wait for the snaking line of a tour group to pass on the walk to the Ketchup offices. One of the tourists, a plump, friendly-looking woman with a black vinyl backpack, smiled at Lauren eagerly, her smile telegraphing, Isn’t it so wonderful we’re all here?
