He released her.
She turned her head and looked out at the gaping party guests. “Sorry,” she said, projecting her voice as she’d been trained to do. “I get migraines. Like my mom.” She allowed herself to look at Juniper, and her lower lip trembled just like her little sister’s. Not a trick. Not entirely.
“I didn’t get good rest last night,” she said. “Not that that’s any excuse, but...” She shrugged sheepishly, and Juniper gave her a wobbly smile.
She made herself face her father, penitent and abashed. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I don’t know what’s wr-wrong with me.” Her breath hitched, and she winced against her nonexistent migraine.
Beside her, one step lower, her father’s energy changed, and Willow felt his tension begin to seep away.Crisis averted,he was probably thinking.Reputation intact.He gave her the tightest smile the universe had ever known and paired it with a curt nod.
“Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said gruffly.
Two down. One to go. She scanned the guests clustered at the far end of the dining room, stopping when her gaze landed on Ash.
Ash.She’d be the hardest. Juniper was easy; she’d just wanted her big sister to be okay. Her father? Whatever it took to shut things down—put the wild girl back in the attic and turn the key—that was a-okay with him, and he could tackle, or not, thereal problem later. But Ash, despite the mountains of scorn she felt for Willow... Ash knew her.
Willow saw it in the slight narrowing of her eyes as she met Willow’s gaze.Yes? What now, big sis?
Willow was a good actress. Good enough to give a convincing performance for Juniper, her father, and the bewildered party guests. But with Ash, she’d need to drop the act. Fight fire with fire. (When had Willow lasthadfire in her belly? It had been a long time, but the ember was still there. That was a relief.)
“You were a jerk, but I was out of line,” she told her sister, her words traveling easily through the held-breath hush of the house. “I apologize.”
The guests’ heads turned to Ash as one. The air tingled as they waited for her response.
Willow watched the play of emotions on her sister’s face. It was subtle. Ash was a master of self-control. But just as Ash knew Willow, Willow knew Ash. She could see how much Ash wanted to slap her down with a scathing remark, perhaps something in syrupy tones about how everyone grew up at their own pace, didn’t they? It took some people longer than others. It took Willow longer even than that.
But there was Conrad Baines to think about, and Judge Baylor, and of course Ash would want to maintain her place as favorite daughter. Favorite daughters did what their fathers wanted them to do. If the father was Grant Braselton, that meant sweeping the ugliness, once again, under the rug.
“Thank you, Willow,” Ash said, her calm the steady glow of a lighthouse perched high above a tumultuous sea. “I’m sorry your head hurts.”
And there it was, the lie that called out the lie. Ash was sorry for nothing, and the pressure in Willow’s skull, while tremendous, didn’t present as pain. In her expression of supposed sympathy—I’m sorry your head hurts—what Ashwas really saying was,And so you are like Mom, aren’t you? Pathetic.
“I appreciate that,” Willow said contritely. “Thank you.” She swayed, then clutched the banister for support. She briefly closed her eyes and rubbed her temple, her fingers pressing small circles into her skin.
“Go rest,” her father said stiffly. “You’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.”
Willow did as she was told. As she proceeded up the stairs—one by one, and slowly, as if each step required enormous effort—she peeked at the guests from beneath her lashes and saw that she’d done it. Their shock had morphed into pity; their repugnance at her antics had gentled into a far more comfortable feeling of superiority.
She’s sensitive, like poor Mercy,they’d be thinking.Delicate. Frail. Prone to excessive emotions.
Already, conversations were starting back up. They began in church whispers, but by the time Willow reached the second-floor landing, the chatter had almost returned to a normal volume.
Youdoknow what happened,Willow imagined one of the Braseltons’ closer friends confiding to the women clustered around her.I’m talking about that ugliness at Braxton Academy, of course. So unfortunate. No? You haven’t heard?
Alone in her darkened bedroom, Willow closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her spine pressed to the wood, her palms finding solace in its smooth grain. She tried to take long, deep breaths. She tried to ground herself.
When the scene she’d caused tried to replay itself in her mind, she pushed it forcibly away. What was done was done. It was time to let go of the past and move forward, just as her father had said.
Okay, then. She pushed herself off the door and flipped on the lights. From her bed, her chubby tabby cat, Cricket, meowed his disapproval. Didn’t Willow know he’d been napping? Had she no consideration for the needs of others?
Not tonight, she didn’t. She crossed to her bed and scratched his cheek with her knuckles. “Sorry, bubba,” she said, “but this is my life.”
Her chest burned with shame, disappointment, and profound fury at everyone in her family for letting her down. Well, not Juniper. But everyone else.
“Apparently, I’m the only one with the power to change it,” she said bitterly. “So guess what? That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
She slipped out of her jingle-bell skirt and wiggled into her favorite pair of faded jeans. She shoved the business card Miriam had given her into the front pocket. Her peasant blouse she kept on, but she layered a lightweight jacket on top. Then she pulled her go bag from her closet—the backpack she’d packed and repacked a dozen times. An escape plan she’d never had the guts to execute—until now.
She yanked open the top drawer of her bedside table and pulled out a notepad and pen. She ripped a blank page free, and the paper trembled in her hand.
