“I don’t give a shit about that,” I say viciously.
“I’m not saying you should.” Nathan shrugs. “But we can be smart about this. We can win.”
“I’ll think on the plane.” I flip open my laptop on the kitchen table.
“I’m coming with you,” Candice says.
“Of course.”
I click on the internet browser, and an unknown email inbox loads. A quick scan tells me that it’s Winnie’s. She must have left it open when she used my computer to buy herself a new dress. There are a few emails from her parents with dramatic subject lines, all unread, and some others that look to be junk.
And at the top of the list, there’s one from the Morning Joe, with the subject line, “We’d love to have you on our show!” I click on it just to see if it’s real—to see if one of the most popular morning shows in the country really wants to have Winnie on.
A quick read through tells me that they do—badly. They want to hear Winnie’s story, in her own words. They want to know why she disappeared, and what she’s been up to. It’s clear that they want to sensationalize it a bit, but that makes sense. She was beloved and well known—an all American princess with millions of followers. At this point,everyonewants to knowwhat happened to her. A plan starts forming in my mind. It might be insane, and it might not even work, but I have to try.
“Nathan, come look at this,” I say. Out of everyone here, he’s the one with the most public relations experience. He’ll know if this has a chance of working.
He hops off his chair and comes to stand behind me, reading the email over my shoulder.
“Oh, this is good.” He leans in and scrolls to see more of it. “Yeah, Winnie should go on this show.”
“We both should.”
“Yeah, you’re right. That’s even better. It will make you both seem sympathetic?—”
“Because it will show everyone that what’s between us is real. She’ll also get the chance to tell the world about who her parents really are. Winnie is easy to love. She’ll have the hosts and the audience eating out of her hand in no time. There’s no way they won’t side with her. Her parents will be left with nothing and once everything they’ve done is out in the open, they won’t have anymore ammo left to fire at her. ”
Nathan lets out a whistle. “Ruthless. But perfect. If I need a new publicist, I know who to call.”
We fill everyone else in on the plan, and then Candice and I book flights to Birmingham, scheduled to leave tomorrow morning. Nathan helps me draft a response to the Morning Joe, and when they call me immediately, he acts asmypublicist on the call, helping me negotiate terms that will work. If things weren’t so fucking bleak, if Winnie weren’t gone, I’d probably laugh at it.
By the end of the evening, we have a solid plan in place. I try my best to sleep that night, knowing that I’ll need my energy for tomorrow. But every time I close my eyes, all I can see is Winnie’s face.
I will get you back. I will come for you, I silently promise, over and over again, until sleep finally takes me.
44
WINNIE
Being backin my childhood home doesn’t feel half as strange as I thought it would. It almost feels normal. Since I left, nothing has changed. Upon getting in from the flight, neither one of my parents say a word to me. My father sits his ass in front of the television, and my mother gets herself a glass of white wine and plops down next to him. He turns on sports, and she scrolls through her phone.
I make my way to my bedroom and flick on the lights. There’s my pale blue bedspread, and my fluffy white pillows. The carpet I chose when I was seventeen and never updated. The vanity and tufted, velvet stool. The photos I pinned around the mirror. Me and Carly, at last year’s winter carnival. And a few from my first trip to Star Mountain.
For a moment, I find it comforting. This place was my sanctuary away fromthem. The one space in the house that I got to decorate, that I got to call my own. And then it hits me how small it is. How little I ever had here, and how much I was starting to build in Star Mountain. I sit down on the edge of the bed and bury my face in my hands.
I barely got the chance to be independent. To be free. It was there and then gone in a flash and now I’m back in this tiny,tinylife. I should have savored the last six weeks. I should have memorized each day—especially the ones spent with Jonah.
A knock sounds at my door, drawing me from my thoughts.
“Winsome!” My mom’s shrill voice sounds through the room.
“Yes?” I pop my head through the door.
“Your phones, please.” She sticks her hand out at me.
“Why?” I keep the door slightly ajar, not wanting her to invade the one space I can call my own.
“You didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to let you have a phone after that little stunt you pulled, did you? No, you’ll only get to use your phone for work. And if you’ve been good.”
