“Amelia?” Edward holds his arm out to me, but I shake my head.
The cause of death listed on the death certificate wasexposure. We believed she’d passed out on the beach and slept through her own death, too careless to save her own life.
But she wasn’t careless.Wewere. We didn’t insist on a toxicology report, ask for a more thorough investigation into what had happened. We didn’tquestion that Georgia would be cavalier with her life, so we were cavalier with her death.
We should’ve been suspicious the instant her suitcase arrived without a spiral notebook inside.
I look down at the wide cedar planks below, slippery with snow, then at the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of me, flakes clinging to the frame. If I were in California, I’d think I was trying to stand during an earthquake but it’smesetting everything off-kilter, not the ground beneath my feet.
The snow turns to ice in my hair and sticks to my leggings like dust. I’m crying so hard I can’t stop.
All this time, I thought her death didn’t matter. Months before she died, I’d already made up my mind never to speak to her again, so what difference did it make whether she was alive or dead? I hated her. Iknewthat I hated her.
Suddenly (there it is, the word my professor told me never to use), I know why I destroyed the tattoo beneath my breast, why I slashed my mother’s initials into nothing but scar tissue. Deep down, I had already decided to name my child after Georgia, imbuing them with all the history my mother gave me when she named me.
I always loved my mother.
63Lord Edward
My leg hurts and my hands are trembling. Is this withdrawal? Or perhaps it’s merely adrenaline leaving my body. I want to crouch beside Amelia, but I can’t; my body literally cannot make that shape.
“Amelia!” A striking woman emerges onto the terrace from below. She’s wearing a parka zipped to her neck, and her hair is twisted into braids, gathered into a bun on top of her head. She’s taller than Amelia, but still several inches shorter than I am. Her walk is rushed but even; she’s wearing insulated duck boots, perfectly appropriate for the weather. She’s slightly out of breath as she says, “What are you doing here?”
When Amelia doesn’t answer, the woman turns to me and briskly introduces herself as Dr. Mackenzie, Amelia’s care manager, then pulls her phone from her pocket.
“Just letting my colleagues know you’re here,” she explains as she moves her fingers over the screen.
“What about Sonja?” Amelia asks hoarsely. I look at her in surprise. I’d all but forgotten the missing patient.
“Sonja’s okay, thank goodness. She hitchhiked into town, but she’s all right.”
“To the Shelter Shack?” Amelia asks.
Dr. Mackenzie looks at her quizzically, but nods, then crouches beside my friend. Glancing up at me, the doctor says, “You should go inside, Lord Edward. Unfortunately, we have to send both of you home tomorrow.”
“I was already leaving,” Amelia says.
“You were?” I ask dumbly.
Amelia doesn’t answer.
Dr. Mackenzie explains, “We’re closing the facility until more effective security measures can be put in place,” she says. “Sonja’s underage, so matters are a bit complicated.”
“Dr. Rush will just lock patients on the property,” Amelia says, her eyes bloodshot.
Dr. Mackenzie looks tired. “I don’t know exactly what we’re going to do.” She pulls Amelia to her feet. “But you don’t have to worry about that. For now, let me walk you to your cottage.”
“I can’t go back there,” Amelia says.
“I understand you don’t want to be here, Amelia, but we’re on an island in the middle of the night. Everything is closed, and the ferry doesn’t run at this hour. And with the weather…” She gestures at the snow, though it’s coming down more lightly than it was an hour ago.
Amelia shudders. “I can’t spend another night on this property.” She sounds desperate.
Dr. Mackenzie must recognize something in Amelia’s tone, because she doesn’t argue. “Okay.” She nods. “We’re leaving.”
Amelia follows her doctor off the terrace. She doesn’t pause to say goodbye. I open my mouth to apologize—I should have believed her, I should have helped her sooner—but she’s gone before I can make the words.
When Harper’s parents kicked me out of her hospital room, I protested with apologies. Her parents looked as though they couldn’t believe I had the nerve to offer a simpleI’m sorryafter what I’d done.
