A police cruiser, lights on but no sirens, pulled into the parking space directly in front of the door. Behind the vehicle followed an ambulance.
My world had collapsed and all I could do was sit there on the cheap motel’s sidewalk, in that flimsy chair, and pray I’d find a way out of my father’s reckless, selfish actions. A way that didn’t lead me into the same empty life he’d fallen into, the same life he’d squandered looking for his next fix.
Clutching the book to my chest, I lifted my chin and stood, shrugging the backpack onto my shoulder, and waited for the police officer as she opened her car door.
Chapter two
Terri Kingston
12 Years Ago
“Whatarewegoingto do? When news of this leaks, we’ll be ruined, Charles,ruined.” Charlotte Kingston, my mother, fiercely clutched my dad’s arms. Her face scrunched so tightly that tiny lines formed at the corners of her eyes. Black tears streamed down her cheeks from ruined mascara.
Lana, my eight-year-old sister, ran down the stairs with a book in one hand. Her eyes were bright and her big smile showed a missing front tooth.
Sensing the mood of my parents, I motioned her over to my side, held a finger to my lips, and shook my head, hoping she understood.
After a quick glance to our parents, who hadn’t seemed to have noticed her arrival, she slipped between them and crammed herself next to me. “What’s wrong?” she asked in her soft voice.
“Not sure, just…be quiet for now, okay?”
She nodded and turned her gaze up to our parents.
“Calm down.” Dad gripped Mom’s shoulders, giving her a light shake. “Get ahold of yourself. There’s about to be a flood of reporters on our doorstep digging around for any information they can find. Do you want them to see a unified husband and wife with nothing to hide, or an accused man with a bawling woman at his side?”
For the past fifteen years of my life, Charles Kingston—my father—had been the head accountant for a major accounting firm. Last year, the board elected him as the company’s CFO. He and Mom had never failed to remind me how important it was to maintain appearances in the public eye.
‘I’m scrutinized because some people think I don’t deserve my position based on my heritage,’he’d explained. At the time, I hadn’t quite understood what he’d meant, yet I’d tried to please him, to please my mother, even if it made me miserable.
He handed Mom a black silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his crisp Armani suit. “Clean yourself up, Charlotte.”
“O-okay.” She took it with a grateful nod, then patted the corners of her eyes and wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks.
“When the reporters get here, don’t say a word. Let me do the talking. Smile and pretend you’re happy.” Reaching for the used handkerchief in her hand, he stuffed it in his front pocket, pulled a cellphone from his pants, and typed a message.
Mom’s attention zeroed in on me and Lana.
I pushed Lana behind me.
“Terri,” Mom said, waving a hand in our direction. “Come here. You look like a homeless urchin.”
I trudged forward, my stomach falling. That gleam came into her eyes, the one that always seemed to shine right before she scolded me on some aspect of my clothes, or my hair, or how my body looked.
Whatever she says this time, I won’t cry. Daddy needs us to be strong, to be unified.
“Your hair’s such a goddamn wreck.” Leaning down, she scratched her long fingernails against my scalp, as if she could force the springy curls into submission. Her perfume, a combination of light florals and crisp greens, whirled into my nose. For as long as I could remember, she’d always worn the same scent. “And you’re still wearing that short, ugly dress that makes your legs look like tree trunks.” She tugged on the waist of the garment. “I thought I told you to stop eating so much. You’re going to get fat. Is that what you want, to be called a fatty or Miss Piggy?”
Biting my lip, I let my gaze fall to the floor.She sounds like the kids at school.I drew my shoulders inward, wishing I could curl into a ball and hide.
“We have”—Dad twisted his wrist and peeked at his Rolex—“ten minutes to put our own spin on this. If we control the story, we control the outcome. Forget Terri and fix yourself. She’s not important right now.”
With a frown at me, Mom straightened then turned toward Dad. They stepped to the front doors.
My father squared his shoulders and took her hand. “Remember, I’ll do the talking. Just smile and look pleasant.”
Mom inhaled deeply, placing a hand on her chest. “Yes. I…I can do that.”
A vibration shook the phone in Dad’s pocket. He slid it out halfway to glance at the screen. The line between his eyebrows smoothed and he smiled. Not hisI’m happysmile, but hisI know something you don’t knowsmile. The one he used on me when I tried to fib my way out of trouble.
