The Winters(63)

I texted Max. He would know what to do.

Hey you, Dani skipped school again, Adele’s worried. So am I. She’s up in the turret, door locked. Seems to be fighting with Claire. Not sure what to do.

I stared at my screen for a few minutes, waiting for the pulsing ellipsis to alert me to an incoming text. When none came, I went downstairs to check on the progress in the greenhouse, constantly glancing at my phone while saying goodbye to the workers for the day. Alone at the island eating dinner, I kept my phone perched in front of me, the way Dani always did. Finally, while I was heading upstairs to bed, a message dinged in my pocket, and I realized I had passed an entire day waiting for a text from Max.

Sorry love, back-to-back meetings. Can we deal with Dani tomorrow night? Will be home by dinner. Love M.

That’s it? I thought, conjuring all sorts of angry responses to his reply. Your daughter is distressed and I am not equipped to handle it, and I wait all day and THIS is your reply?

Out of fear and inexperience, and yes, out of selfishness, I simply replied: Ok. Safe flight, x. And then I went to bed.



* * *



? ? ?

Louisa invited herself to dinner the next night, since Jonah had come back with Max from Albany. By then Dani’s mood was noticeable to everyone at the table. She was present, but her mind miles away, her food mostly untouched. She was even immune to the charms of Maggie, boxing the tablecloth’s tassels by her ankles.

Finally, Max snapped his fingers in front of his daughter’s blank face. “Hey. Hello. Hi. Remember us? The people you live with? What is up with you, sweetheart?”

She shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, checking her phone again. Maggie jumped onto her lap. Dani’s eyes remained dead as she robotically pet her.

Max stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. She glared back at him.

“What? What is it, Daddy?”

“You tell me, doll. You’re sitting there like a barely animated corpse. I’m worried about you.”

“We’re worried about you,” I added.

“Oh my God, I’m fine,” she said, turning to me as though her head were on a swivel. “The dress should arrive any day now. I’ll keep it in my room. We don’t want Dad peeking.”

“That would be great,” I said.

She carefully sliced off a section of her meat. Her teeth clanged against her fork. She chewed slowly, swallowed with some effort. I stole a look at Louisa, whose eyes had widened with bafflement.

“Oh and thank you for the flowers, Dad. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did.”

“I think I’ll go upstairs now. I’m tired.”

“All right,” Max said. “Feel better soon.”

“I told you, Dad, I’m fine.”

She left without kissing him, uncharacteristically leaving Maggie behind as well. I scooped her up.

“See what I mean?” I whispered.

Max shrugged. “She’s allowed to be a little moody before the wedding.”

“But she never speaks to you like that,” I said. “Don’t you think something’s going on?”

“A lot of things are bound to be going through her mind. I wouldn’t worry.”

He continued to eat. I had barbecued steak that night, with some success.

“You’re looking at me like you have a theory,” he said.

The three of them blinked at me like owls.

“You think it’s the greenhouse?” Louisa said.

“No, it’s not that.” I gathered Maggie and rose to shut the dining room door.

“Now you’re worrying me,” said Louisa, her eyes following me back to my chair.

I hesitated, having never faced such a rapt audience in my life. “This is embarrassing, but . . . for a while now I’ve— Well, there’s no other way to put this. I’ve been snooping on Dani’s Instagram. I only do it now and again, not every day. And I only do it to keep an eye on her.” I winced, waiting for the response.

“I do that,” Louisa said matter-of-factly. “Not since Paris. But I do.”

“So do I,” said Max.

“You do?” I looked at one, then the other.

“She’s fifteen,” he said. “Of course I do. Or I should.”

Louisa smiled at me. “If I see something I don’t like, I rat her out to her Luddite father.”

“Yes, and then I tell her to take things down and she has a meltdown, switching to private mode so we can’t see anything, after which I take her phone away, then she gets another one with a new number she won’t give me, and on and on it goes. I need to do a better job of monitoring, for sure. Rebekah used to, but she was only twelve when she first got on there. It was all unicorns and best friends forever, but now . . .” He gave a shudder.

“You have to snoop,” Louisa said. “That’s what all the books say.”

I could have cried. Of course they would monitor her social media.

“Now I’m doubly embarrassed. I was supposed to be doing this.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Max said. “You’re not a parent. At least you weren’t until now. I, for one, am glad you’re doing it. Has it been bad?”

“Well, it’s not that her pictures are that bad, really. It’s that there are these very odd comments, from one account in particular, a private one, and then her reaction to them.”