She blinks at him, taking the envelope. “No need to be rude,” she says, her voice slurring slightly.
And for the first time since I’ve met him, a tiny smile quirks at the corner of his lips. “I simply meant that the circumstances were unfortunate.”
“The fruit of his womb,” Juniper mutters, letting her head drop back onto my shoulder.
One of Lionel’s brows hitches. “I’m sorry?”
“She’s not entirely lucid,” I say. “And she’s having trouble processing the events of the night. It would probably be best ifyou spoke again at a later date.”
He nods, looking frankly relieved, before turning and striding off, down the hallway and out the front door. His bevy of legal minions follows, their shoes clicking on the wood floor.
I turn to my very drowsy girlfriend. “Let’s put you to bed,” I say with a sigh.
Matilda callsJuniper the next day. I call in sick, lying through my teeth—though to be fair, if we were able to acknowledge the need for mental health days, I wouldn’t have to be so dishonest.
Juniper puts the phone on speaker as soon as she answers. We’re curled up on the couch together, pretending to read our own separate books while secretly stealing glances at each other. I’m captivated by the shadow Juniper’s lashes cast over her cheeks when she’s looking down at the book in her lap, and I can’t quite look away.
“Hi, Matilda,” Juniper says into the speaker, sounding tired. She shuts her book without marking the page, and I do the same with mine.
“Juniper,” Matilda says in a nasally voice. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”
“Yeah,” Juniper says. “Sorry. It’s been a bit crazy. What’s up?”
“What do you mean, what’s up? You asked me to see what I could find about some guy named Cam Verido. I asked around.”
These words manage to pull my attention away from Juniper’s lashes; I look at the phone in her hand. Her body stiffens against me, and she straightens up.
“Okay,” she says, her voice quivering slightly. “Did youfind anything?”
“I did, actually,” Matilda says. “He lives super close to you. You’re in Autumn Grove, right?”
“Mmm.”
“Next to your town is a town called Sunshine Springs. He lives there. 405 Atlas?* Lane, Sunshine Springs?—”
“What?” Juniper says, cutting her off. “Say that again.”
“The address? 405 Atlas Lane.”
Juniper’s eyes flutter closed, and my heart stutters; that address clearly means something to her. “Thanks, Matilda,” she says. “Anything else? Job or family or anything?”
“He’s a social worker,” Matilda says. “Wife and two kids. That’s all I was able to find.”
But Juniper is already nodding. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much.”
They say goodbye and then hang up.
“You know that address,” I say. It’s not a question.
“I do,” she says quietly, her gaze far away. “I send him a Christmas letter every year.” Then she turns her head to look at me. “My case worker. Cameron, I’ve always called him.”
I blink at her. “Your—what? Your case worker?”
She nods. “He settled me in my foster home, kept in touch, checked in on me.”
Her case worker? He was her case worker? What are the odds of that? What are the odds of him being nearby the whole time? Minimal, right?
“But…” I trail off, frowning as I think. “Why didn’t you recognize his name? Or his face in the yearbook?”
