“Mrs. Cavanaugh is trying to guilt Chelsea into going back to Georgia,” Aiden said.
Karman mouthed Mrs. Cavanaugh, as she put piece after piece in their right places. She lifted one finger from her coffee cup and jabbed it at the white-clad woman facing them. “You’re Anastasia?”
Aiden smirked, pleased with himself.
Chelsea took a step back, allowing Karman to move in front of her. Is this what it’s like? Chelsea swallowed and glanced over her shoulder, looking down the near-empty hallway in hopes of finding Daisy. She was nowhere in sight. Is this what it’s like to be protected? Karman shielded her from view. One hand reached back to touch Chelsea’s arm, a reassuring gesture, a way of saying it’ll be okay without saying it.
But nothing was okay.
“She’s in the lobby,” Aiden said softly, directing his statement at Chelsea. “She didn’t leave.”
“I’m having a conversation with my daughter,” Anastasia snapped haughtily.
“Chelsea, do you want to talk to her?” Karman asked.
“No, I’m leavin’. If she could be gone when I get back, that would be preferable,” Chelsea said.
“We’re not finished, Chelsea!” Anastasia craned to see over Karman’s head.
Karman whipped her coat open and flashed her badge. “You are, actually. If you continue, I’ll consider it harassment.”
“She’s my daughter.” Anastasia rolled her eyes.
“She’s an adult who works at this facility and wants you removed from the premises. You can leave, I can call security and have them remove you, or I can remove you. Choose.”
“Chelsea.” It was Aiden again, who jostled her out of her thoughts and drew her attention. He jutted his chin toward the end of the hallway where the elevators were. “Go.”
Too much was happening. There were too many voices and too many people watching. Her mother’s gaze crawled over her, picking at old scabs, unearthing scars she’d never wanted to show. Karman was a shield she’d never had. Aiden—unbelievable—was a voice of reason.
“Thank you,” Chelsea said to no one in particular, hoping Aiden and Karman understood.
She looked at Anastasia once more. Their similarities were striking: the shape of their eyes, the turn of their lips, and their widow’s peaks. But her father’s abuse had twisted Anastasia into something cruel and unrecognizable. Chelsea realized now that she hadn’t left Georgia to find her Rose Road. She’d left after seeing how radiant happiness looked on Shannon and wanting that same thing for herself.
Chelsea Cavanaugh was brave enough to admit to herself that she’d planned her escape from plane ticket purchase to lying to her parents I’ll be back in a week and to Shannon Mama and Daddy gave me a twelve-month leave.
Lies were the foundation she’d built her life on—she’d been trained in the art, the pronunciation, even the feel of lies when thought turned from passing to cemented and truth was twisted upside down and turned inside out.
There was no weeklong vacation to visit Shannon. She hadn’t gotten a deal on a hotel room; she’d sold her horse to a close friend and paid for the stay in advance. Her one-way plane ticket had been purchased on a credit card her parents knew nothing about. She’d packed her things, cried all the way from her house to the airport, and dropped off her Mercedes to be shipped exactly one month from the day she left.
Chelsea had been running. Daisy just happened to be what she ran into.
She turned and left, walking swiftly toward the elevators without looking back. The weight of walking away from her mother felt like every open-handed slap and tight-fisted punch relived. For years they’d kept secrets together, awful, despicable secrets, but Chelsea couldn’t hold on any longer. She couldn’t keep quiet, she wouldn’t.
Things had happened to her. Things had been done to her.
Chelsea was allowed to be affected. She was allowed to feel it, to say it hurt, to say it will never happen again. She was allowed to walk away.
Her hands shook. She wrung them together as the elevator dropped level by level.
29
Aiden Maar 11/4 4:01 p.m.
cut her some slack. shes been up here yelling at her mom about how great you are
Daisy Yuen 11/4 4:03 p.m.
Her mother is lucky I didn’t throw my hot tea at her.
Anger dissipated into an ache that radiated between her temples. Her heart thrummed the bass line under everything else. Hurt, confusion, impatience, reluctance, all manifested around her. She breathed it in only to exhale it a moment later.
Daisy couldn’t possibly be cut out for this. She thought of holidays—Thanksgiving and Christmas and birthdays—what it would be like to have to spend them with a woman like Anastasia, what it would be like to introduce their families, to have Anastasia look her siblings up and down, look her mother up and down, and sneer at them.
“Daisy…” Chelsea’s warm voice was disquieting despite its softness. “Are you all right?”
She stood before Daisy with her hands clenched in front of her. The sleeves of her sweater were pulled into her palms where she twisted and squeezed them.
“Is she always like that?” Daisy asked. She stared at Chelsea’s feet, watching her brown boots flex and squirm against the linoleum.
“No,” Chelsea said. “She’s mad at me because I lied to her, and to you, and to everyone.”
Daisy dragged her gaze up until she found Chelsea’s wide stormy eyes blinking back.
“I told my parents I was leavin’ for a week.” Chelsea chewed on her bottom lip. “I bought a one-way ticket with no intention of going back, ever. I sold Cherry Blossom to one of my sorority sisters to pay for my hotel room in advance, and I had my car shipped here with money I’d saved in a secret account. I got the job at the hospital with my father’s recommendation. He couldn’t not give one; it would’ve made him look bad if he refused, and I put him on the spot in order to get the job. I didn’t even call him, I sent an e-mail and cc’d the director of the hospital.”
Daisy winced. That was low and sneaky and a very Chelsea thing to do.
“I know,” Chelsea whined. “I was horrible and I should’ve told you that I wasn’t plannin’ on going back to Georgia in the beginning. I should’ve told you that my mother begged me not to report my father when you asked about it in the tree house, that I didn’t know what to do as a teenager and I ran away as an adult instead of dealing with it. That I hadn’t been happy…” Her voice trembled. “… until I stepped off the plane in LAX. That Shannon talked to my Daddy before he left all those years ago and stopped it, but I never felt safe or free until I got here and found you.”
There’s a moment before someone begins to cry, a tender, gentle moment. It starts in a person’s mouth, the tremble, the redness, and then in their voice, thick and syrupy, and last in their eyes. Everyone thinks it’s the eyes first—the tears. But it’s not. Daisy thought people showed themselves more viscerally in this moment than they did in any other, and that was not a lie when it came to Chelsea. For the first time, Chelsea Cavanaugh let the wall around herself break apart brick by brick, and Daisy saw into the depths of her, the truth of her, and the inconsistent, messy insides hiding beneath a bravado she could no longer maintain.
“You’ve been planning to stay this whole time?” Daisy blinked, head perched to one side.
Chelsea nodded and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I convinced myself I was chasin’ Shannon for no good reason, but really he’s the only person who’s ever tried to protect me, so that’s who I ran to. Ended up runnin’ too fast and crashed into you.”
“You sold your horse?”
Chelsea broke a little more. She sucked in a sharp breath. “To a real nice family, yes. They’ve got stables on their property and little ones. She’ll be happy there. It wasn’t fair to leave her in my parent’s stables and make her think I was
coming back.”
“Why didn’t you…” Daisy didn’t know why the question came to her, because she knew the answer already. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know,” Chelsea blurted, sniffling. “I wish I could explain it to you, but I don’t know, Daisy. I thought I could avoid it until it went away.”
“That’s not how life works.”
“Oh, well, thank you for the advice.” Sarcasm dripped from Chelsea’s lips. “I hadn’t figured that out already.”
“You’re the smartest dumb person I’ve ever met,” Daisy said, attempting tenderness. Still, her raspy voice came out dark and scathing. “I’ve been worried you were going to leave, and this whole time—this whole fucking time you planned to stay? You’re… God, Chelsea.”
“I expect you to be angry with me.” Chelsea stopped wringing her hands and swung them, occasionally touching Daisy’s waist. “My mother is leaving. I doubt we’ll speak for months, and it’ll be even longer until I see her again. I won’t let her treat you like that; it’s not fair.”
“I’m not mad at you, I’m…” Daisy didn’t know what she was. She was swimming in a narrow, winding river that snaked around anger and crossed over hurt and forked at relieved. “I’m happy you’re staying and I’m sad for you and I’m mad for you and I’m so, so…”
In love with you.
“Tired and hungry,” Daisy concluded. “Can we just—”
“Yes, absolutely. Please. I’m exhausted. I’m starving. Let’s just go back upstairs and see Shannon before we eat. I told his parents I’d have dinner with them; maybe they’ll convince Aiden to actually leave this building with us.” Chelsea’s shoulders drooped. She exhaled a shaky breath and rested her hand on Daisy’s hip, over high-waisted jeans and a black belt. “I am sorry, Daisy—for what she said to you, for not telling you the truth, all of it.”
“I’m not mad.” Daisy didn’t want to repeat it, to delve into how sad this situation was, how it felt surreal and out of proportion, as if Chelsea was so used to it that she didn’t grasp the fine details.
Daisy wanted to call her own mom just to say I love you. She wanted to hug her dad and play dress-up with her little sisters and wrestle with her brothers, because she had a family, a real one, and Chelsea didn’t.
She tugged on Chelsea’s arm until their bodies were smashed together. Chelsea’s hands ran up Daisy’s back to clutch her shoulder blades; Daisy’s arms were around Chelsea’s neck and her was face buried on Chelsea’s throat where she sprayed her perfume. They stood outside the café in the lobby of the hospital, holding on and holding on.
Everything was livened in white-hot vulnerability. Even when Daisy caught a glimpse of Anastasia over the slope of Chelsea’s shoulder, even when Anastasia, mystified and curious, stopped to watch them, even when Chelsea pressed her lips chastely to Daisy’s temple, Daisy kept holding on and holding on.
“Your mom…” Daisy said softly, because she couldn’t let Anastasia leave without saying something, not when they were engaged in a battle of glares and sensibilities.
Chelsea’s hands dropped to Daisy’s waist. She followed Daisy’s gaze and inhaled a long breath. Daisy’s hips were pressed against Chelsea’s; their fingers were entangled.
“Let’s go,” Chelsea said. It was all the assurance Daisy needed, but she let Chelsea tug on her anyway, because something nasty and petty inside of her wanted Anastasia to see.
Daisy held Anastasia’s glare for as long as she could without making it obvious to Chelsea what she was doing.
She’s mine.
Daisy lifted her chin and pulled Chelsea’s hand to her mouth, kissing along the ridge of her knuckles.
They got to the elevator before Chelsea smirked and asked, “Did that make you feel better?”
Daisy shrugged. “A little.”
Chelsea had been right about Loraine and Lloyd. They did manage to drag Aiden with them to eat at a restaurant two blocks from the hospital, and, despite how uncomfortable he appeared, they were actually having a nice time.
“So,” Loraine purred, one eye closing in a wink, “Shannon told me you two timed out a little while ago. How’s that been goin’?”
Lloyd whacked her ankle with his cane. “Don’t pry at ‘em like that, Loraine!”
Loraine huffed. “Oh, it’s just Chelsea!”
“We’ve been doin’ fine,” Chelsea said. Daisy loved the fluidity of Chelsea’s accent, the way it thickened when she heard it in another’s mouth. “How’re you guys? How’s home?”
“Home is home.” Loraine patted Aiden’s hand as he fiddled with his phone. “He’s fine, darlin’. That phone won’t ring any faster the more you play with it.”
Aiden tried a weak smile. “Yeah, I know.”
“And you,” Loraine turned her attention to Daisy. Her dark blue eyes sparked, so much like Shannon’s, and she grinned, so much like Shannon. “You are a stunner,” she whispered. “Chelsea is like a daughter to me, you must know that by now, and you, Miss Daisy are quite the catch.” Daisy couldn’t help it; she laughed quietly. Loraine flicked her index finger between Daisy and Aiden. “I’ve been meaning to ask, did you two date or anything? Because that would be the cherry on top.”
“No,” Daisy blurted, almost too loudly.
“God, ew, no,” Aiden added. “She’s like my sister.”
“Yeah, he’s like a mangy cat. He wandered in a decade ago and never left,” Daisy added.
That made Aiden laugh for the first time in days. Under the table, Chelsea played with her chunky rings, twisting them, stroking Daisy’s knuckles, tickling the palm of her hand.
“Well, I’m glad we got to see y’all, even though it was under these circumstances. Chelsea, are you…?” Loraine stopped and sighed. Her expression softened. “I assume you aren’t comin’ home for Christmas this year?”
Chelsea stopped stroking Daisy’s hand. “No,” she said, managing to push a smile to her face. “I left Milford for good. I’ll be lookin’ for a place to rent here.”
Daisy caught Aiden grasp the significance of their conversation by a lift of his brow and a turn of his head. She knew that look; he was pondering something.
“Well, you’re always welcome to stay with us if you want to visit, Chels,” Lloyd said, chewing on a mouthful of steak. Daisy heard Lloyd say Chels and thought of every time Shannon had said it. History was a strange, elastic thing. “I’ll be missin’ those goodies you bring every New Year, that’s for damn sure.”
“Chelsea can make them, and we’ll bring some with us next month,” Aiden said.
Loraine patted his hand. “You and Shannon are comin’ for New Years, honey?”
Aiden nodded, poking at his fries.
Daisy wondered what it was like to be Aiden or Chelsea, to be without in a world full of with. Aiden had always confused and beguiled her with his detachment, even when depression and dissociation stole his own identity from him. And now here was Chelsea, who had strung her life together by pretending and withholding, by acting and locking things away, Chelsea, who had somehow squirmed between Daisy’s ribs and taken shelter behind them, a woman discovering her purpose for the first time.
She was looking into a version of the world she didn’t understand and never would.
“Karman’s leaving in an hour,” Aiden said as he typed on his phone.
“We’ll be there, Aiden,” Loraine assured. “Please.” She waited for him to look at her. “Go home, sleep in your bed, take a shower. We’ll call you if we need you.”
Aiden physically chewed on what Loraine had said until he shoved a fry in his mouth to keep silent. He didn’t argue, but nodded again and kept staring at his phone.
Daisy wanted to interrupt. She wanted to say he can’t be alone right now or you don’t get it or he’s not okay, but Aiden kicked her under the table as soon as she opened her
mouth.
“You good on the couch?” He asked, still not looking at anyone.
Chelsea squeezed her hand.
“Course,” Daisy said. “Yeah, of course I am.” She turned to Chelsea and heaved a sigh. “You staying over?”
Chelsea shook her head. “No, I need to go back to the inn and do laundry, but I’ll meet you at the hospital in the morning.”
“Okay.” Daisy grabbed one of Aiden’s fries and chomped on it, looking at Loraine and Lloyd. “It’s been really nice spending time with you,” she said, unsure of what to say or how to say it. “I can see where Shannon gets his charm.”
“It’s from me,” Lloyd said, and gave a throaty, deep laugh when Loraine swatted him.
“Like hell it is,” Loraine said.
Daisy toed at Aiden’s calf under the table until he did the same to her.
Chelsea gripped Daisy’s hand tight.
It was 3:06 a.m. when Aiden wandered into the living room with Mercy in his arms.
Daisy woke to the sound of his bare feet in the hallway, making noise so he didn’t have to wake her.
“Do you know what a code blue is?” Aiden whispered. Darkness crowded around him, but she could still see the outline of his zip-up sweatshirt and gym shorts.
Daisy knew, but she shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, Aiden.”
“Will you come in here?”
She followed him into the bedroom. Laid out carefully across his rumpled comforter was photo after photo after photo: pictures in black and white, vibrant color, and coffee-stained sepia; different sizes and shapes, some perfect circles, others square. In them she saw herself staring back at her, and not just staring—smiling, laughing, drawing, eating—and around her Chelsea and Shannon did the same.
“That one,” Daisy said, laughing too loud. She pointed to a photo of Chelsea kissing Shannon’s cheek. Her lipstick was smeared on his face, and he wrinkled his nose at her. “I remember that, that was Fourth of July wasn’t it, when we met you guys at the bonfire after Downtown Disney?”
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