The Watcher Girl(49)

“You said he was a monster,” she counters, voice trembling. “‘Monster’ doesn’t scratch the surface of what that man has become.”

I bury my face against the tops of my knees. Inhale. Exhale. Still as a statue. Basking in dread. Knowing I can’t not do something—I’d never forgive myself if something happened to either of them.

“I’m flying out Sunday,” I say. An hour or two in the car will give me ample time to ask about our supposed sisterhood and my alleged father. “But I can drive you to the cabin tomorrow night.”

“Thank you, Grace. Keep your phone on you tomorrow night . . . I’ll text when we’re ready.” Her voice is broken, grateful. “Again, I’m so sorry for everything.”





CHAPTER 29

“I hate that you’re leaving so soon,” Bliss says over dinner Saturday evening. She pouts as she reaches for her wine. “Feels like you just got here.”

My father dabs his mouth on a cloth napkin before laying it in his lap. “Sure you don’t want to stay a little longer?”

My watch reads 7:08 PM. Campbell said she was going to slip Sutton some sleeping pills at dinner and call me once he was knocked out, but I have no clue when they eat and I’ve yet to hear from her today.

“I wish I could,” I say to appease them both.

I cross my legs to keep my knee from bouncing and try to chew a bite of Bliss’s dry chicken marsala, but I can’t focus long enough to eat and my stomach is rock hard, too full of nerves to have room for sustenance.

When we’re finished, I clear the table and wash the dishes, checking the time after I dry the silverware and return it to the tray in the drawer. By eight fifteen, Campbell still hasn’t reached out.

“Thank you, Grace,” Bliss says when she shuffles into the kitchen to refill her drink. “For cleaning. I appreciate it.”

I nod. “Thanks for dinner.”

With an elbow propped against the marble island, she studies me. “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these last several weeks.”

She hasn’t gotten to know me, not in the slightest.

I wish Rose were here to cushion some of tonight’s awkwardness, but she and Evan had a double date with an old friend of hers in town from college. Tomorrow morning we’re meeting for brunch—just us sisters—at a little café called Meadowlark in the trendy Westridge section of Monarch Falls.

Dare I say, I’m looking forward to it?

“Maybe your father and I can take a trip out to Portland sometime? See your side of the world?” Bliss’s eyes light. “Of course it’s up to you. We don’t want to intrude.”

I dry a plate, my back toward her. “We can figure something out.”

She lingers, just a moment longer, before padding outside, securing the sliding glass door behind her and settling into a pool lounger. Party lights hang from the pergola, giving off a glow like a silent invitation to join her, to relax.

My father’s heavy footsteps coming from the next room remind me there’s still one thing I need to do before I go. I’d been waiting for a moment alone with him today, but every time I found one, he’d be on the phone or on his way somewhere, key fob dangling in his hand. Or Bliss was beside him, talking his ear off about this new mantra she’s testing.

“Hey, Gracie,” he says.

I place the last dish away and face him, anchoring him with my gaze. “Dad.”

He grabs a drink from the fridge. Green glass bottle. Fancy label with cursive writing. Upshore Pale Ale. Sounds exactly like something he’d drink. I don’t doubt the name alone was enough to sell him on it.

“I need to talk to you about something,” I say.

He slides a barstool out from beneath the island and takes a seat, his thumb running along the wet label of his beer. “What’s on your mind?”

I check my watch, then the screen of my phone. Procrastination, I suppose. And then I gather a breath.

“Remember that book that came out a while back? Domestic Illusions?” I ask.

His brows meet, and then his forehead creases. “Yeah. I do. Why?”

“I read it,” I say.

His lips flatten, and his hand rests statue-still on the bottle. “Ah.”

Ah?

“That’s all you have to say?”

His dark eyes rest on mine. “So let’s talk about it.”

“Rose told me you were the one behind it. She said you helped that Dianna Hilliard, fed her all that information, all our personal family business.”

“A lot of it was public record. I had to clarify a few things. Clear up some rumors and such.”

And such . . .

“Would’ve been nice if you could’ve left me out of it.” I slide my hands into my back pockets and glance away. I can’t look at him. And if he’s not going to own up to the magnitude of what he did, this conversation is going to be a waste of both of our time. “Reading about Mom’s difficulty bonding with me, how I was hard to love . . . do you have any idea what that did to me?”

Deep lines crease along his forehead, as if he’s genuinely confused.

“It was never about you. I was trying to portray your mother in a certain light.” His voice lowers. “To be honest, I didn’t think you’d read it.”