Ellery lay on her side with one arm tucked beneath her head, watching Reed sleep in the half-light shining in on them from the open bathroom door. She had not slept in the same bed with anyone since her brother, Daniel, was alive, when she used to crawl under the covers with him because it was the only thing that kept his chills at bay. The cancer and the chemo took turns whittling away at him until Danny was no more than a sack of bones, unable to keep warm no matter how many blankets they piled atop him. Ellie had lent him her body heat for a few hours, happy to be able to grant this small service, while they told each other stories about what they would do when they grew up and Danny was finally not sick anymore.
“I want to go to the African desert and paint the sun,” Danny had said. He’d continued sketching as the cancer worsened, but his only access to paints and easels was at school, which he no longer attended. “They have colors there we don’t see around here—umber and crimson and toffee brown. I bet it’s never cold there. I bet if you sit really still you can hear the elephants walking in the distance, feel the rumble of their feet.”
“I want to buy a house in Old Town,” Ellery had replied. “Something tall, with big windows and a private roof deck where you can see the lake. Somewhere like where Oprah lives.” She didn’t want to go to far-off lands to make her fortune; she wanted to prove herself here on her home turf where everyone could see. “We’d have barbecues on the weekend, as much as you could eat, and we’d sit up there stuffing our faces and playing music as loud as we wanted because no one’s on the other side of the walls.”
Danny’s answering scoff was low and raspy: “That’ll cost you more than a million dollars. Where are you getting that kind of money?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find a way. Maybe I’ll write my memoir. Or I’ll write yours—the heartbreaking but true story of the courageous boy who beat cancer. People love those sappy medical dramas about sick kids, right? They make movies out of ’em, like that one about the boy in the bubble.”
“That boy died.” Danny’s tone was darkly ironic.
“Oh. Guess I’ll have to hit the Powerball then,” she’d said, and he’d thumped her with a pillow.
Later, after Coben took her and then she came back, she wouldn’t climb in bed with Danny anymore. He’d been in the hospital more than he was home, but even when they were back in their old bedroom together she couldn’t take the feel of it, the press of flesh up against her body. She couldn’t close her eyes with someone breathing that near. She’d huddled in her bed, squeezing herself into the tightest ball possible, while Danny’s weakened voice pleaded with her from far across the room: Abby? Come on. You can tell me what happened. It’s okay; I can take it. Just come over here and talk to me …
Tomorrow, Ellery would think as she hid her face in the pillow. Tomorrow in the daylight she’d find the strength to go over there and tell her big brother what Coben had done to her. But she never could get the words out, and then Danny went to the hospital that last time and there were no tomorrows left. She’d had both beds to herself, but neither one would let her sleep. Instead, she’d listened to music through her headphones and watched the night city from her window, how the shadows could swallow up whole buildings and make them disappear.
Once she’d gotten out Danny’s sketches and found a pencil drawing that might have been Africa. It showed a gentle sloping plain of wavy sand and a watering hole where several large birds and a zebra had gathered for a drink. Ellery had bought a set of cheap drugstore watercolors and tried to paint it, tried to conjure the vivid hues that he’d described to her, but the result turned into a runny mud-brown mess.
Reed let out a sigh in his sleep and flung one arm above his head. Ellery shrank even farther to her side, a continent of space between them. She could get up and go to his room to sleep, but that meant facing Angus Markham, who sat camped out in their living room. Besides, Reed had sought out her company on purpose. He wanted her there. If she left him now, he might never come back. She drew a shuddering breath and shut her eyes experimentally, only to have them spring back open when Reed shifted and changed the tilt of the bed. She leaped up and escaped to the bathroom, where she splashed water on her face and ignored the thundering cadence of her heart. You’ve faced down murderers and survived okay, she told herself as the water dripped from her chin. You can spend the night on one side of the mattress with him.
She felt her way back into the darkened room, hugging the wall. Reed did not move from his place under the covers, blissfully unaware of the war going on inside her head. She approached and receded from the bed several times until she finally made contact again, lightly touching the mattress. Reed didn’t stir. Gingerly, she lowered herself to the far edge of the bed, keeping a watchful eye on Reed the entire time. His shoulder rose in a steady, soothing rhythm. Ellery turned her back to him and squeezed her eyes shut. She willed her body to relax, forcing down one muscle group at a time until her own breathing slowed. She would not sleep, but she could float. She could take herself away from here to the hot, sandy African desert with its golden sky and waving sage-colored grasses—a place she could only see in her dreams.
The trill of the hotel phone startled her, and her entire body seized up, instantly on alert. The phone rang only once before falling silent again, and Ellery sagged back into the pillows. Bright light spilled in from around the curtains, signaling that day had long ago arrived. Reed squinted at her across the bed. “What was that?” he asked about the phone call. His hair stood up on end, making him look like a confused hedgehog.
“Search me. But I guess we could’ve used the wake-up call.” The glowing numbers of the bedside clock read: 9:06. Ellery rose in one smooth motion, easing from beneath the covers so neatly that it was almost like she’d never been there at all. She dug her bare toes into the thick carpet and lingered by the bathroom door, using it as a shield between her and Reed. “Think your father is still out there waiting for us?”
They both paused to listen, and sure enough, the shuffle of slow, heavy footsteps could be heard outside in the living area. “Great,” Reed muttered, flopping back into the pillows again.
“You want me to get rid of him?”
Reed stared straight up at the ceiling, glassy eyed and defeated. “How?”
She shrugged. “He’s scared shitless or he wouldn’t be out here trying to stop you. What’s he afraid of? Everyone finding out about the affair and the murder and his role in the whole mess. We could tell him that you’ll go to the sheriff with the story, or better yet, the press, unless he goes home and leaves you alone. I bet he’d leave a vapor trail a mile wide, he’d be gone so fast.”
Reed pondered her words for a moment and then sat up in bed. “No,” he said. “Not yet.”
“Suit yourself. I’m going to take a shower.” In the polished bathroom, she stood under the rain-head spray with her eyes closed, the way she had after it happened and she couldn’t seem to feel clean. Her mother had hectored her about the rising water bill as Ellery showered three or four times a day, always with her eyes shut tight so she wouldn’t see the scars. It had taken her years to adjust to this new, cracked version of herself, to forgive her body for what it had endured. Even now she sometimes startled at a glimpse of her arm or collarbone from an unexpected angle.
When she couldn’t hide in the bathroom any longer, she slipped on jeans and a navy-blue sweater, towel dried her hair, and reluctantly rejoined the Markham men in the living room. They each had coffee—strong, from the smell of it—but Reed had put the kettle on for tea. He sat at the kitchen island, his back to his father, while Angus poked around in the old murder files.
“Jesus,” he said when he got to the pictures. “I can’t believe you can sleep at night with this stuff lying out here.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Reed said without turning around.
Ellery regarded him as she steeped her tea bag. The men, at least, could put the pictures down if they wanted. They could walk away.
“What’s your plan for today?” she asked Reed in a low voice, her gaze still on Angus across the room. Reed’s father hadn’t been so put off by the pictures that he’d stopped snooping through the files.
“First,” Reed began, but he didn’t get to finish his thought because someone rapped loudly at their door. He and Ellery exchanged a look that affirmed they had not been expecting anyone, while Angus started charging toward the door. “Wait, I’ve got it.” Reed intercepted his father and checked the peephole. He rocked back on his heels, looking torn, but eventually he pulled open the door. “Mama. How lovely to see you again.”
Marianne Markham strode in without a backward glance, followed by Rufus Guthrie, who was looking stooped and vaguely hungover. “I’ve brought bagels and muffins,” she announced, holding out two paper sacks. Her Southern accent was soft, like her son’s, rather than pronounced like her husband’s. “Reed, could you please rustle us up some plates and napkins?”
Reed just stood holding the door open while Angus sputtered from across the room, waving his arms, “Mary, I—what on God’s green earth are you doing out here?”
She tucked a fallen lock of blond hair behind her ear, revealing sizable diamond studs, and pierced her husband with an ice-blue stare. “The same thing you are, I presume—trying to save our son from your mistakes.” She turned to Reed. “Is that coffee I smell?”
Reed took this second hint and shut the door. He set about fixing a cup of coffee for his mother while Ellery took out a small stack of white porcelain plates. She kept her head down and willed herself to blend into the background, but Marianne was already on the move. “You must be Ellery,” she said, stopping on the other side of the counter directly in front of Ellery.
Ellery raised her eyes and nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”
The woman’s smile was forced but bright. “Reed has told me so much about you.”
Ellery glanced in Reed’s direction, but he was pretending not to notice. “He has?” She wondered if his mother had read Reed’s book about the Coben case and concluded she probably had. A mother who would fly across the country to bring baked goods to her errant son would certainly take a couple of hours to read his bestselling book. Ellery forced herself not to yank down her sleeves to hide the scars, but Reed’s mother didn’t seem to be looking for them.
“He tells me you have a dog. A basset hound?”
Ellery smiled at the thought of Bump and felt a pang at missing him. “Yes, Bump’s a hound, through and through—but I’m surprised Reed mentioned him. He can’t stand the animal.”
“Is that so? Well, you’d never know it from the amount of time he—and you—come up in conversation.”
Behind her, Angus and Rufus were sharing some form of argument that was quickly growing in volume. “That doesn’t give you the right to go meddling around in my affairs,” Angus growled, bringing all other conversation in the room to a halt.
Guthrie’s red face matched his thinning hair. “You weren’t getting anywhere with him! I figured maybe it was time to give someone else a try. That’s what you pay me for, isn’t it?—solving your problems.”
“This ain’t your job, Rufus, and it ain’t your business. This is my family.”
“Yeah? How’s this for size? If I do my job, then you get to keep your family. And maybe your job, too—or have you forgotten about the campaign you have going on back home?”
“Oh, screw the campaign right now! Believe it or not, I get to have a life off the podium.”
“A life I’ve helped make possible, and don’t you forget that,” Rufus shot back. “Your son is out here trying to ruin all of us, so yeah, I’m gonna do whatever it takes to rein him back in before your whole existence—and mine—turns to shit!”
“And you think you’ve made things better by dragging her into it?” Angus gestured at his wife, who rolled her eyes and turned around again.
“Please. Rufus didn’t drag me anywhere. I’ve been in it with you since the day I said, ‘I do.’” She smiled at Ellery. “Would you be a dear and hand me that butter knife?”
Ellery looked down at the rounded edge of the knife and figured it was safe to hand it over. Marianne accepted the knife and began splitting open a whole wheat bagel as though this were just a normal family breakfast.
“You had no right,” Angus said, still fuming. He pointed a long finger at Rufus. “None.”
“When you gave me the money to give that girl, it became my right. This is your goddamned mess, Angus. I’m just trying to help you clean it up.” He stalked off toward the balcony and leaned his palms against the glass doors, glaring out at the city below like it was somehow responsible.
Angus wilted at his departure, the fight going out of him. He kicked at a throw pillow and muttered a curse before joining the rest of his family at the kitchen island. “How long have you known?” he asked Marianne gruffly as he lowered himself onto a stool.
She barely looked at him. “Our son is out here seeking answers about that girl,” she said as she stabbed at her bagel with small, furious swipes. “I suggest you tell him whatever he wants to know so we can all go home.”
Angus threw his hands in the air. “He wants to know who killed her! If I knew that, don’t you think I would’ve said something a long time ago?”
She fixed him with a hard look. “I don’t know. Would you? Think hard, Angus. You might not get another chance at this—anything you know about that girl and what happened to her, now’s the time to tell it.”
The senator rubbed his grizzled chin and sighed. “It was one night,” he said quietly. “More than forty years ago. I barely knew her. She’d gotten herself into a rough situation in the room next to mine—a bunch of drunk yahoos who wouldn’t take no for an answer. I helped ’em see reason, and Camilla and I got to talking. It’s not like I planned it.”
“The drunk yahoos,” Reed interjected. “Did you know their names?”
Angus shook his head. “They went back into the room and I didn’t hear another peep. In the morning, I dropped Camilla back at her apartment just as the sun was coming up. I didn’t get the sense that anyone was following us, if that’s what you’re thinking. Those guys from next door were probably still belly-up, sawing logs, at that hour. I watched her go into her apartment building and then I drove away. I didn’t see her again, didn’t even think much about her until she called to say she was pregnant.”
There was a heavy silence, and it felt to Ellery like no one wanted to look in Reed’s direction. She shifted fractionally so she stood just a little bit closer to him. “That’s it?” Reed said. “She didn’t say anything about Billy Thorndike or anyone who might have been threatening her?”
“No, nothing like that. She talked about her mama, who’d passed on from cancer not too long ago. We’d just lost your grandmama the year before, so I kind of understood what she was feeling.” He paused, looking guilty at the memory, and Ellery saw Marianne’s mouth tighten. “She seemed sweet … a little lost, like she’d come here with big plans and when they didn’t work out she was having trouble figuring out what to do next. I told her that her mama was watching over her, that she’d help her find her way.”
They all sat with those words for a long minute, imagining what Mama Flores might have seen if indeed she’d had some sort of window down from the heavens. Angus took a deep breath and nudged aside a breakfast plate.
“I don’t know who killed her,” he said to Reed. “I wish I could help you; I sincerely do. All I can tell you is that it wasn’t me who hurt Camilla. Whoever did that to her, they were here before I got here, and they stayed behind when I left. I know because Rufus has kept an eye on the case. The police have investigated on and off but could never close it out. If they’re calling it over, well then, maybe you should, too.”
“It’s not over,” Reed said in clipped tones. “Someone slashed our tires last night. Someone who clearly doesn’t want any fresh investigation. Maybe the same someone who slashed Camilla’s tires a few nights before she died.”
Marianne glared at her husband. “You see? This is what I’m talking about. Your foolishness is going to get him killed.”
“Did you not hear a word I just said? I just told the boy to leave it alone!”
Reed put his hands down on the counter and leaned forward between his parents. “Don’t you see? It means we’re getting close.”
“To someone who did that!” Angus pointed back at the table where the pictures of Camilla’s body lay. “If you’ve got a fresh lead, give it to the sheriff. Let him handle it.”
“The sheriff says the case is closed. He won’t be investigating further.”
“Then maybe that’s a sign you shouldn’t, either,” Marianne said, siding with her husband this time.
Ellery drifted away from the bickering, across the room to where Rufus Guthrie stood frowning over the pile of old evidence. She joined him without saying anything, and they stood like that, staring at the grimy files. “She was a little bit of a thing,” Rufus said gruffly. “Only came up about yay high.” He indicated the center of his chest. “She must’ve put up an awful fight to have ended up like this.”
“You’re the one who made the payoff, then,” Ellery said, and he nodded.
“Twenty-five Gs, all in cash. I had it wrapped up inside a small duffel bag, hidden under an old sweatshirt. I stood in that apartment, dripping sweat, while she counted out every dollar.” He shook his head as if amazed. “Her kid was sitting there in some baby bouncer, watching us the whole time with these huge dark eyes. I remember thinking he looked like her, not Angus, and wondering again if maybe we were paying for someone else’s kid.”
“You weren’t,” Ellery said tartly.
“I know it now. Back then…” He shrugged.
He lapsed into silence and Ellery bit her lip, debating whether to push further. “Who do you think killed her?” she asked finally.
Rufus reached down and pulled out one of the old Polaroids from the stack with such surety that he must have already known where it was. He and Ellery regarded the picture of Camilla and Angie, arms around each other, dolled up for a night on the town and smiling for the camera. “I don’t know who did it,” Rufus said, tapping the picture against his large palm. “But if it were me? I’d talk to this one.”
“Angie? Why?”
“She took about one look at the body and split town. Maybe she was spooked by what she found, or maybe she had reason to think she might be in danger, too—on account of she knew who did it.”
“If she knew who did it, why wouldn’t she just tell the police?”
He shrugged again and put down the picture. “Maybe she was too scared.”
“Of the police?” Ellery recalled what Thorndike had told them about Giselle Hardiman’s murder. The cops didn’t investigate too hard because they knew what they might find—like proof that Giselle had customers in uniform. “We’d like to talk to Angie,” she told Guthrie. “But she moved to L.A. and Reed hasn’t been able to track her down yet.”
“She started up a little dance studio near the Valley,” Guthrie replied. “I can give you the address if you want it.”
Ellery tried not to let the shock register on her face. “You’ve been tracking her all this time?”
“I haven’t set eyes on the woman in more than forty years,” Guthrie answered, looking affronted. “Angus asked me to stay informed on the case, and so that’s what I did. No reason to go stirring up trouble where there ain’t none.” He added this last bit pointedly, but Ellery did not rise to the bait.
“We’ll take that address.”
Ellery left Reed to his dysfunctional family reunion to escape outside for a quick run. Reed said he would ask the hotel security detail for the surveillance footage from their garage in case the individual who had slashed their tires was visible on the video, but neither of them held out a lot of hope. The garage was filled with cars, and it would be easy for someone to duck down between them and puncture the tires. Reed also wanted to go to Los Angeles to track down Angie Rivera, which meant they would need a new vehicle. For her part, Ellery favored any itinerary that let them be free of Reed’s parents and the frosty atmosphere that surrounded them. She had a niggling idea, though, that would require following up on yet another old name, this one a byline from the Las Vegas Review-Journal. All the articles about Giselle Hardiman’s murder had been written by one journalist, a man named Bruce Carr. If the sheriff didn’t care to talk about the case, maybe Bruce would.
Preoccupied by this thought, Ellery burst through the automated sliding front doors, ready to run, only to have a man’s voice draw her up short. “Abigail!” After all these years, the sound of that name still made her freeze. She knew even before she turned around what she would find because she’d been hearing that voice in her dreams for twenty years. She balled her hands into fists and held her breath as she turned to face her father.
“Abby,” he said with relief. “It’s finally you. I’ve been looking everywhere.”
John Hathaway looked surprisingly unchanged. He’d always resembled a mountain man, with his strong shoulders, broad face, and full beard, and the plaid shirt he wore only added to the illusion. He had put on a few pounds around his middle and his beard was half-gray, but he certainly didn’t appear to be a man on the edge of death. When he took a step toward her, she took a step back. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“Your friend with the dogs told me you were out here, and so when I got to town I just started calling all the hotels and asking to be put through to Ellery Hathaway’s room. This is the only one that rang through.”
“You shouldn’t have come. I have nothing to say to you.” Go, her brain ordered her, and so she went. She turned around to run, but he immediately hurried after her.
“You don’t have to talk; you only have to listen. Abby, please…”
She didn’t even slow down. “My name’s not Abby.”
“I’m sorry. Ellery. I just always think of that as your mother’s last name, or your grandparents’.”
Stop talking about them! she wanted to yell at him. Stop acting like you’re part of the family! She trained her gaze straight ahead and picked up her pace. Huffing now, her father tried to keep up with her.
“I only need a few minutes of your time. Just … just hear me out. Then you can go back to hating me if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t hate you. I don’t think of you at all.”
The lie landed its mark, as he abruptly dropped out of the race, stunned by her words. She felt him growing smaller in the distance and lengthened her stride. The hard, mean feeling inside her throbbed with each slap of her footsteps on the pavement.
“Run all you want to!” he hollered after her. “I’ll be waiting here when you get back!”
Tears blurred her eyes, but she kept going. Whatever he wanted to say to her, it could never make up for two decades of silence. She ran away from the main boulevard, where the crowds still lingered, and down the side streets that looked more everyday, with their array of fast-food joints, car washes, and souvenir shops. She ran until her calves ached and her lungs felt like fire, until she had to bend over to catch her breath. Reed would be wondering where the hell she got to, so she had to turn back, even if that meant facing her father again. Slowly, she started the return route, taking it at one-quarter speed.
True to his word, John Hathaway stood sentry at the front of the hotel waiting for her. Ellery wiped her brow with the forearm of her sweatshirt and went to stand in front of him. “I could have you arrested for stalking.”
“I’m your father, not some stalker.”
“I haven’t seen my father in twenty years. You might understand if I don’t remember quite what he looks like.” She went into the hotel and he followed her through the lobby.
“Okay,” he said, holding out his hands to her. “Okay, I deserved that. I’m sorry. I really am. I meant to call, I promise you. But—”
“But what?” She whirled on him, furious. “You forgot our phone number? For twenty years?”
“I wanted to wait until I had a place, until I was set up good. I wanted you and Danny to be able to come visit. But it took longer than I thought, getting established. I know it sounds lame and phony now, but I promise I intended to call.”
She stared at him. “Twenty years,” she said finally, and she walked away again.
He scrambled after her. “I know. There’s no excuse. I’m not here to offer any, because I know there’s nothing I can say that will make it right again. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for you and for Danny.”
“He died!” She halted again, almost yelling the words at him. He cowered back under the force of her anger, and the man and woman at the front desk gave them concerned looks. Ellery no longer cared who heard her. “He died and you didn’t even show up for the funeral!”
Her father’s gray eyes, so like her own, welled up with tears. He wrung his hands together. “I know. Your mother told me when I called. I—I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t know he was sick.”
“That’s because you walked out and never looked back! You didn’t give a crap about us, so I don’t understand why you think I should listen to a damn thing you have to say now. Whatever apologies you have, whatever regrets you want to unload, take them somewhere else. I’m not interested.”
She stormed over to the elevators and stabbed at the button. In her peripheral vision, she saw her father shuffle over and stop a few feet away. “You have every right to hate me,” he said quietly. “I hate myself sometimes when I think on it, how I left you kids. Like I said, I’ve got no excuse. So much time passed that I convinced myself the pair of you were better off without me.”
Ellery turned to glare at him. “Maybe we were.”
The elevator doors slid opened and her father surged forward again, grabbing her arm. “Wait,” he said, his voice desperate.
She shook him free. “Never touch me.”
“I’m not here because of me,” he said in a rush. “I’m here for her.” He held up his cell phone, which showed a picture of a blond, smiling girl who appeared to be about fourteen years of age. She had braces on her teeth and freckles across the bridge of her nose, and there was something about her that felt eerily familiar. “Her name is Ashley,” he said, still holding the phone toward her. “She’s your sister.”
The elevator doors slid closed again as Ellery failed to get inside. “What?”
“Please, let me explain. Just for a few minutes?” He held out his arm toward a nearby tufted bench. “If you hear everything I have to say and you want me to go away again, I will.”
Ellery felt her body moving before she’d mentally agreed to go with him, but she let herself follow him to the bench and take a seat. Up close, she could see the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the kind you get from laughing, and the steam rose up inside her again. “Talk,” she commanded darkly. “I don’t have all day.”
“I’ll keep it short, okay? If you have questions, just ask me.” He took a breath. “When I left, I headed for Detroit because a buddy of mine said there was a guy there looking for truckers who could help him move a bunch of electronics up over the border into Canada in a hurry. He said he’d taken on a bigger contract than he could deliver with his regular personnel so he needed extra drivers. There was the promise of full-time work if we delivered. Turns out, of course, he didn’t exactly have his paperwork in order to ship that stuff across the border. I found that out the hard way and ended up doing six months as a result. It wasn’t hard time or nothing, but I got injured working in the boiler room—the thing exploded on us, and the wall caved in on my right side. I was okay, but it messed up my knee pretty good, and that’s when I got sent to the VA hospital and I met Shirley. We got to talking, and she told me to look her up when I got out.” He smiled faintly. “So I did.”
“Fascinating, all of it. What about Ashley?”
“Ashley came along two years later. She’s fifteen now, and real sick.”
Ellery did the math. This girl had been born fifteen years ago, which was one year after Coben and six months after they’d buried Daniel. “Sick,” she repeated. “With what?”
Her father swallowed visibly. “Leukemia,” he said, his head bowed. “Sounds like similar to the kind that got Daniel.”
Ellery looked beyond him to the people passing through the lobby, smiling and chatting and dragging suitcases. “I’m sorry,” she said, but the words felt hollow.
“Maybe, maybe it’s my fault, huh? If both of ’em got it. I got bad genes or something.” He shook his head. “I wished I would’ve known.”
“Maybe not. Maybe it’s just bad luck.”
He didn’t argue one way or another, just sat there with his own thoughts. “I wasn’t there to help Daniel,” he said at length. “And I wasn’t there to help you.”
Ellery felt her ears burn. Where had he been when she was trapped in the closet? Jail? Screwing some other woman named Shirley? “No,” she said harshly. “You weren’t there.”
He nodded sadly. “I’m sorry for that. I’d go back and change it if I could. Meantime, I’m here for Ashley. She needs bone marrow to cure her cancer, and neither Shirley nor I is a match. I was hoping you might agree to get tested.”
“I got tested for Daniel. It didn’t work.”
“But this is another chance. Maybe you’ll be a match this time.”
Her blood ran cold at the thought. She remembered the long, silent dinner they’d had the night the test results came back, the three of them trying to choke down the steak and potatoes her mother had bought in hopes of a celebration. Ellery’d still had the bruise on her arm from the blood draw, but it was nothing compared to the growing shadows under Danny’s eyes. “No,” she blurted out, hopping up from the bench as if it had stung her. “I can’t.”
Her father looked stricken as he rose, too. “Please just think about it.”
“No, I’m sorry. It—it wouldn’t work, anyway.” How dare he come back now, not to make amends, not to throw himself at her feet and beg forgiveness, but to remind her of her worst failure and then demand she try again.
“Just try. Take the test. That’s all I’m asking. I did everything wrong, I know, but Ashley doesn’t deserve this. She—she’s a great kid—”
“Daniel was a great kid!” Ellery cut in angrily. “It didn’t even matter!” Dammit, she was crying again. She fled for the elevator, and mercifully, it was there. She ran inside and the doors slid shut on her father’s pleading face.
“Abby, please, honey. I’ll do anything…”
Alone inside, she covered her face with her hands and slid to the floor, shaking. Her father came back at last, not for her, but for some other daughter, some girl he’d loved enough to raise. Maybe it was his fate to lose this one, too, and now maybe he’d finally understand. The black hole he’d created with his absence never went away. It was devouring them all one by one, and no one could escape.