Chapter thirty-three
I’ve never driven as fast as I am now, speeding toward the cottage and trying to think of how I can even begin to apologize to Lucy. The things I’ve said and done to her might be unforgivable, and if she refuses to take me back, I’ll understand. I won’t let her go, but I’ll understand. Best-case scenario: she’s missed me, and she’s mad for a while, but we move past it. Worst-case scenario…she’s chained up in my estate until Stockholm syndrome kicks in. Either way, we’re it for each other.
As soon as I open the front door, I know I’m too late. She’s gone. The cottage looks the same as when I last left after taking her brutally against the wall. Her cheery paint and multicolored pillows are dystopian when combined with the knocked-over furniture and broken picture frames, still lying in heaps of glass, victims of one of my recent rampages.Jesus, I’m an asshole.
Her things are still here, from what I can tell, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She’ll come back. Where else could she go? She doesn’t have anyone else. Nausea rolls through me as I realize that whatever pain I thought I had inflicted is likely worse than Icould imagine. Regardless of what lumps come my way, I know I have a support system behind me. A big one, now that Kat’s married our family to the Sinclairs. Lucy thinks she has nobody. Well, shethoughtshe had the Sinclairs, too, before I did my best to rip that away.
She’s not coming back, and you know it.Logic tells me her things are here, but my gut is loud in my head, imploring me to accept what I can feel in the cottage. She’s gone for good, stuff or not. I’m bracing my hands on my knees and trying to formulate a plan when the door swings open violently, slamming against the wall.
“Sasha? Have you seen Lucy?” Blanche strides into the room, in as much of a rush as I’ve ever seen her.
I try to speak, but all I can croak out is one word. “Gone.”
A beat of silence passes, and I hang my head. I know it’s my fault, Blanche knows it’s my fault, and I…
My thought fades away as the cold contents of Blanche’s giant water cup hit me in the face, startling me as I rise to my full height.
“Get it together, Sasha, good Lord! I swear I never had to work this hard for any of the other kids,” she huffs. “If she’s not here, we need to move. She sent me a text about how she’s going back home, blah blah.”
Back home? To California? If she left all her things here to cut and run like that…fuck, she’s never going to forgive me.
“Alright, it looks like the last location her tracker pinged was Jack’s house! I suppose she’s finally figured out that he’s her brother…it looks like she went to the airport earlier, but she must have had a change of heart. We’re lucky we’re so close. Come on, you can drive.”
Blanche looks up from where she’s tapping away on her phone to see me staring, mouth open, water dripping onto my forehead from where she splashed me.
“You’re tracking her? Wait, you know about her and Jack being siblings?”
She rolls her eyes and moves to the linen closet near the bathroom, pulling a towel out for me to wipe my face with.
“Of course I know! I knew the whole time. I’ve had eyes on that girl her whole life, and really, dear, you all should have seen the resemblance. It’s uncanny! Now come on, we need to move. Get your keys!”
Blanche hustles me out the front door as I grab my wallet, keys, and gun.
“And don’t even think about going digging for yours. You’ll never find it, and trust me, there might be a day when you’re happy that I know where you are!”
I don’t have a response to that. Peeling out of the driveway, I’m thankful I drove my fastest car today as I speed the short distance to Jack’s house. If Lucy is there, I hope Jack has taken the news that he has a half sister well. Maybe they’re hugging and crying, with Jack sharing stories about their dad from when he was little. Although, now that I think of it, I think he hated the fucker and was abandoned by him at a young age, so maybe not.
“Oh good, it looks like Ledger has come to see Jack as well! Maybe once we’re there, I can call Henry to bring your sister, and we can have a celebratory dinner tonight. You haven’t had my special roast yet, but it’s everyone’s favorite, and…”
Blanche continues, and I catch the words “Christmas stockings,” “babies,” and “security perimeter,” but all I can think about is how much I hope Sunshine is okay. I can’t share Blanche's optimism that she’s having a happy family reunion with Jack right now. Maybe it’s the fact that I know how badly I’ve fucked up, but there’s a deep sense of foreboding in my gut that I can’t shake.
Before long, we’re at Jack’s, and Blanche has ordered mine and Lucy’s matching Sinclair Christmas pajamas. I think she’salso named our firstborn, but all I can think of as I slam the car door and run up the steps is getting my girl back in my arms. Pounding on the front door, Ledger finally answers.
“Hey, man! Hey, Mom…what’re you guys doing here? Did you talk to Lucy already about what we found out?” Ledger eyes us with confusion, but moves aside when I push into the house.
“Is she here?” I ask desperately, already sensing, based on Ledger’s comment, that my Sunshine isn’t here.
“Hey guys! Did you come for dinner? Margot is pretending to cook while she heats stuff she had catered.”
“Jack, have you seen Lucy?” I’m desperate now. “Blanche, can you cycle the tracker? If she isn’t here, we need to move.”
“No, I haven’t seen her. It’s been a quiet day here, except earlier when some strung-out looking guy came by and tried to tell me he kidnapped ‘my sister’ earlier and threatened to extort me—”
“What model tracker is that, Mom?”
“I told him he was barking up the wrong tree since I don’t have a sister, unless he was talking about my wife, and he seemed disturbed…I probably could’ve phrased that better. But Margot is here and definitely not kidnapped—”
“It’s a BD797.”
