NOW
Daisy had spent most of the holiday weekend locked in her room, on her computer, researching her mother. Each click brought a fresh horror; the internet did not care to protect her feelings. She read courtroom transcripts, old newspaper articles, Reddit debates on Amber Kunik’s culpability. . . . Daisy’s dad had defended the beautiful young killer. Her father knew every vile act, every gory detail, and yet he had fallen madly in love with her mother. She and Charles were the product of this sick union.
On Monday, she stayed in her quarters while her parents took her brother to school. Normally, her mom played chauffeur alone, but today, her dad was accompanying them. Moral support? Protection? If Frances Metcalfe knew the truth about her mom, it was only a matter of time before the entire school community knew. And it was only a matter of time before the Randolphs would be run out of town. Again.
When she heard her parents return, their voices tense and strained, she gathered her courage. But it wasn’t until she saw her father’s Audi backing out of the driveway that she emerged. Her heart rattled in her chest as she descended the staircase to the main floor. This conversation needed to take place between Daisy and her mother without distractions. But now that she knew what the woman was capable of, she was slightly afraid to be alone with her.
She was still on the staircase when she heard “Why aren’t you at school?”
Her mom’s voice, in the darkened living room, startled her. The blinds were drawn and the lights were off, leaving the room dim and gloomy. Kate Randolph sat stiffly on the sofa, her hands knotted in her lap.
Daisy reached the main floor and moved tentatively toward her. “I need to talk to you.”
“This isn’t a good time.”
Daisy stopped in the middle of the room. “I know who you are. And I know what you did.”
Kate’s features hardened slightly, but she remained mute. Daisy waited for her mother to deny it, to assure her daughter that it was all an ugly lie, a terrible mistake. She waited for the inquisition: How did you find out? Who told you? But the woman just sat there, in the faint light, her eyes veiled and hollow. Daisy filled the silence in a trembling voice.
“I know that you’re Amber Kunik. That you and Shane Nelson murdered that girl. That you tortured her and raped her, and then you killed her.” Tears slipped from Daisy’s eyes, and sobs made it difficult to get the words out, but she persisted. “I’ve been reading about you online. Courtney Carey was only fifteen. She was just a kid, like me. And you . . . you murdered her.”
Kate sat silent and stoic. She didn’t defend herself, didn’t deny it, didn’t explain.
“Say something,” Daisy cried. “Tell me it’s not true! Tell me Shane Nelson made you do it!” She wanted nothing more than to absolve her mother of blame, to grant her forgiveness. If only Kate would ask . . .
But she didn’t. She just watched her daughter, cold and impassive. Finally, her mom spoke in a calm, level voice.
“You’ve already made up your mind that I’m a monster. There’s nothing I can say now.” The woman stood then. “The community knows, so we have to move. Charles is going to be kicked out of school. You’ll be next.”
“I—I’m not going with you.”
“Suit yourself.” She walked past her daughter toward the kitchen. “But you can still help us pack.”
The words sent a shiver through Daisy. She had felt her mother’s indifference for years, but it had never been so blatantly articulated.
“D-did you ever love me?”
Kate stopped, whirled on her. “Of course I did. You were my baby. But then, you grew up. And you changed.”
“Do I remind you of her?” Daisy said, her voice hoarse. “The girl you murdered?”
“No,” Kate said, with the slightest hint of a smile. “You remind me of me.”
The words were an insult, an accusation. “I—I’m nothing like you.”
“Yes, you are. You’re superior and distant and bored with everyone around you. If the wrong guy came along, offered you thrills and excitement, you’d make the same mistakes I did.”
“I wouldn’t,” Daisy said, but her voice was weak. David had come for her, and she had gone with him, willingly, not knowing who he was or what he wanted. If he had pushed her to do cruel, horrible things, would she have complied?
No . . . Daisy was not her mother.
Kate moved into the kitchen, Daisy trailing after her. Her mom was taking glasses out of the cupboard, setting them on the counter.
“Why did you have kids? You must have known this was no life for us, all this running and hiding.”
“Your dad wanted children and I wanted to make him happy.” She plunked a glass onto the countertop. “He thought we’d be able to live a normal life once I’d served my time. He thought he could protect me, that people would eventually forget. But they don’t.”
Daisy absorbed this, watching her mother busy herself with the glassware. “If I hadn’t found out, would you ever have told me?”
Her mom paused, a wineglass in hand. “I don’t know. . . . That was up to your father.”
“Charles has to know.”
Kate’s beautiful face contorted, an ugly mix of anger and fear. “Don’t you breathe a word of this to your brother.” She stabbed a finger at Daisy. “Do you understand me?”
It was a threat. A frisson of fear ran through Daisy. If pushed, her mother would still be capable of ruthless acts.
Her dad entered then, his arms wrapped around a flat of packing boxes.
“What’s going on?”
Kate set the wineglass on the counter. “Your daughter needs to talk to you.”
She took the packing boxes and left the kitchen.