Never Let You Go(78)

“I know. I’m supposed to be so Zen, but trust me, that man had me thinking some murderous thoughts many nights. It felt like the only way out sometimes.”

“Sophie was telling me about the butterfly effect, how one small decision changes everything. She asked me if I have any regrets.”

“Do you?” She glances sideways at me.

I wonder if I could confide in Jenny about how I drugged Andrew so I could escape with Sophie. I know she would understand and if anything would probably give me a high-five, but I’ve been holding on to my secret, and my guilt, for too long.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “We can’t go back in time.”

“That’s true. We can only move forward. Maybe you should run away to the States. Andrew has a police record. They wouldn’t let him into the country.”

“What about Sophie? I can’t leave her here.”

“Do you think Andrew would hurt her?”

I think for a moment. “When she was younger, I worried about him disappearing with her, or driving when he was drunk, but I didn’t think he would ever deliberately hurt her. Now I don’t know. If he sees he can’t control her, I don’t know what he might do, you know?”

“I know. It’s terrifying. It’s like there’s a ticking bomb sitting right next to our children, but there’s nothing we can do about it.” She looks frustrated, her face red from wind and anger. She picks up a rock and throws it into the water as hard as she can. Then another.

I watch for a moment. I understand what she’s doing, trying to find some small way to alleviate the stress, the trapped feeling. I pick up a rock too and throw it into the water. Angus bounds in after it. Jenny and I both stand still now, our hands tucked into our pockets.

“When I go back to Dogwood tomorrow for the girls’ paychecks, I could ask Andrew to meet me and have Parker waiting outside. Then I’ll provoke him. If he attacks me, they’ll have to arrest him.” I’d forgotten about payday until Rachelle called a couple of hours ago asking for hers.

Jenny turns. “Are you insane? He could kill you.”

“Not if Parker gets him first.”

“That’s too big of a gamble, Lindsey—she’ll never go for it.”

“You’re right. It was a stupid idea. I’m just desperate.”

We keep walking, both lost in thought, our feet slipping and sliding on the uneven beach trail. Angus’s collar jingles as he runs ahead, then comes back to check on us.

Jenny stops again, this time so suddenly I think she’s going to fall. I reach out to grab her arm, but she’s perfectly still, looking me straight in the eyes.

“Don’t go back. I have a bad feeling.”

“The girls need their checks and everything is saved on my home computer. I’ll ask Marcus to meet me at my house, okay?”

“Okay, but I still don’t like it.”

I step closer and grab her for a hug. She squeezes hard, her cheek cold against mine. I can smell her lavender lotion. She makes it herself, adds sage and avocado. I tell her that she shouldn’t put food on her face. She always laughs.

“Please don’t get yourself killed,” she says as we pull apart. “I don’t want to raise another daughter. Mine are trouble enough.” Her mouth turns up in a smile, but her eyes are scared.

“I won’t.” I try to sound confident, but my head is filled with the memory of Andrew’s hands tight around my throat, his face twisted into a grimace that almost looked like a smile.



Sophie is in her bedroom, Skyping with Delaney, who’s helping her with an assignment. She hasn’t mentioned Jared, but her cell has been chirping with texts constantly and she raced back to her room to Skype after dinner last night.

“Come in,” she calls out when I knock softly on her door. She’s sitting on the window seat, staring out. I sit near her feet and follow her gaze. In the distance there’s a glimpse of ocean lit by moonlight. The sky is clear this evening and full of stars. I remember how Andrew used to point all their shapes out to Sophie and my breath hitches in my throat.

“What are you doing?” I say. She has a sketchpad in her lap, but the page is blank. On the bed her notebooks and binder are spread out. Her laptop is open, the screen dark.

“Just thinking.” She straightens her legs so they run alongside mine. When she was little we often sat on the couch like this, our heads at the pillows at either end, our legs tangled. We’d read our books or watch movies, just happy to be with each other. “I miss our house,” she says.

“I want to talk to you about something.”

She narrows her eyes. “I hate when you start a conversation like that.”

“It’s nothing bad. I just have to go home for a day. I need to pay the girls.”

Her whole face lifts. “You’re going to Dogwood? I want to come.”

“You should stay here.”

“No way. I want to see Jared and Delaney and get some clothes from the house.” She tugs at her purple sweater. “I’m sick of wearing the same things.”

“You can make me a list. I just don’t think it’s safe.”

She leans closer. “Mom, if you don’t take me, I’m going to get a city bus and go back myself.” She looks determined, and I’m shot with a memory of her as a little girl. How I caught her packing one day because she wanted to meet Emily Carr, the beloved Canadian artist. It was horrible to have to tell her that the artist had died many years ago. She insisted on visiting her grave on Vancouver Island and bringing her flowers, because, “Even dead people like pretty things.”