PROLOGUE
Twenty years ago
Waverly
I was late.
So freaking late.
Dad was being a jerk again, but what was new? A huge scandal had rocked Uncle Adam’s campaign, meaning the rest of the family was busy trying to sweep it under the rug. Heaven forbid someone actually faced the consequences of their actions. Never in the Mitchell family. We were too well known, too powerful in the political realm to let a night with hookers and coke come between us and world domination. Maybe if Uncle Adam learned how to keep it in his pants, my dad would have more time to actually be…a dad.
What a joke.
In my eighteen years on earth, I could count on one hand the times he’d shown an interest in me beyond what my presence could do for him. For the life of me, I didn’t know why the man even had a child. Essentially, I was apawn; someone to be brought out during high priority engagements when Congressman Jack Mitchell needed to look the part of the widowed, single dad.
Today though, his bullshit cost me precious seconds while he stomped around our mansion in Wellesley, shouting the roof down. I didn’t need to be there to witness his tirade, but he made certain to remind me during his temper tantrum that women were only good for fucking and sucking.
Misogynistic prick.
He hadn’t always been an ass. Before Mom was diagnosed with stage IV ovarian cancer, he doted on her like she was the most precious gem in the world. Once they realized she was living on borrowed time, he withdrew from her and anything which didn’t revolve around his stupid career.
Eight years ago, Mom took her last breath with only me, her sister, and the hospice nurse at her side. She left me alone to be raised by a man who thought his presence at a charity function was more important than holding his wife’s hand while she left this world behind.
So much for “in sickness and in health.”
I was speeding down Highway 9, away from my home, nearing downtown Boston. Aunt Carolyn—Mom’s baby sister and my last living maternal relative—and I were escaping the confines of Massachusetts. Girls’ weekend; it was a tradition we’d kept up with even after Mom died. Usually, we’d rent a house off the beaten path and spend three days relaxing with a good book. This year, though, Aunt Carolyn convinced me what we really needed was to get lost in the crowd, rather than sulk in private. New York City, with its crowded streets and never-ending noise, was her choice. And because I loved her more than anything or anyone, she got her way.
Thanks to my father, I was running behind schedule picking her up at Sunny Day Café where she worked full time. Her shift ended ten minutes ago, which was when I was supposed to be there. It was probably his plan all along, since he couldn’t stand when I spent time with her. They never got along and that only worsened when Mom wasn’t around to play referee.
Two blocks from the café, I hit a wall of brake lights. Traffic had come to almost a complete standstill, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence downtown, though it usually didn’t get this bad until later in the day. Creeping along at a snail’s pace, I pulled off on the next side street and decided to hoof it to the café. The walk would give me the opportunity to pull myself out of the funk my father had put me in.
Whipping my Volkswagen Beetle into the first available parking spot, I shot off a quick text to let her know I was almost there, then climbed out and locked the doors. The trek down Huntington Avenue was short, but with the midday sun blazing high in the sky, my pale skin would undoubtedly turn a reddish hue rather quickly, thanks to my Irish heritage.
Up ahead, a large crowd was gathered at the intersection across from where the café was located. Their presence wasn’t what had the pit forming in my stomach. It was the flashing lights from the emergency vehicles blocking the road which had my feet moving faster.
She hadn’t texted back.
Shouldering my way through the mass of people, I picked up whispered conversations, but by then, my heart was pounding too loudly in my ears to make out any of the words. When my progress was halted by yellow tapestretched along the edge of the sidewalk, breathing became impossible.
Don’t look, Waverly.
I didn’t listen.
Nausea swirled in my belly as I took in the scene before me. The brick facade of Sunny Day Café was crumbling around the white box truck, which was lodged halfway inside the building. Emergency personnel worked frantically, attending to the injured while my eyes scanned from left to right, searching through the chaos, praying for a miracle.
Then I saw it and my world skidded to a stop. Red hair—the same shade as mine, the same shade as Mom’s—sticking out from underneath the truck. I couldn’t see her face, but my heart knew the truth.
Aunt Carolyn was gone.
My last connection to Mom…gone.
My best friend…gone
I’d never recover.
1SIN IN SWIM TRUNKS
Ten days ago
