CHAPTER ONE
NOW
Ifloat. Nothing but a woven knot beneath my feet and a ten-foot drop below me. A thick jute rope chafes a trail of exposed skin running down my breastbone and between my thighs, skipping the only section covered by a pair of high-waisted bottoms and a bikini top. An expanse of water waits beneath, settling into the cracks of inky shadows and steep rocky cliffs. Here, suspended in the air, miles from our cozy cabin on Bear Lake, is the last place the daughter of Archie and Birdie Fletcher should be.
I close my eyes and drift back to last night’s conversation over dinner.
“Teddy, you aren’t eating,” my mom commented as I shuffled this week’s vegetable hash around the center of my plate with a fork. “Did I cook it too long?”
“No, it’s fine, Mom,” I assured her.
I tracked the movement of my dad’s hand out of the corner of my eye. When it met his mouth, he grimaced but let the wet, pulpy bite mash between his teeth.
“Really, honey. I can make you something else. Maybe avocado toast?” she offered.
I jammed my fork against the ceramic plate, excavating a bite of my own and scrutinizing it as it dripped from the sides. I’d need a levitation charm to will it to my mouth.
“I had avocado toast for breakfast,” I reminded her.
Although, anything would have been better than this.
“Oh.” Her eyebrows bunched, and then she leapt from her seat, sending the straw fedora toppling off her crown. “Well, I’ll just fill your water then!”
Before she could close her hand around the rim of my seven-eighths-full glass, I jerked it off the table. “You know what, no!” I screamed in defiance. “I don’t need any more water. I don’t want avocado toast. I don’t need anything from you!”
The wooden legs of the dining nook table rattled as I shoved away from it. Two pairs of stunned eyes followed me as I marched up the stairs leading to the third-story loft.
“Teddy, wait…” I heard her falter and move to hustle after me, but still I took the steps two at a time and slammed the door shut.
My body trembles against the rope, snapping back to the present. I refuse to believe it has to do with anything other than my nervous system’s reaction to swimwear before the sun has risen. I should have worn a wetsuit for this.
Bloomington Lake is a crater of melted snow so clear I can see the bottom from my bird’s eye view. Lush green grass grows around the water’s edge, and droves of wildflowers pucker open, even at five in the morning in the beginning of June. It won’t be long before a sea of cars overflows the gravel parking lot near the mouth of the trail, so I close my eyes and savor the single sound of a robin’s song.
Like clockwork, my mind perceives the moment of calm as an opportunity to intrude, and the memories seep back in…
A softtap, tap, tapsounded from the other side of my bedroom door, and I already knew what she was going to say: “Please, tell me what I’m doing wrong. You know I just want to help.”
When I didn’t respond, she pushed the door open anyway.
“I’m coming in.”
It was a column of wooden slats on an old frame. There wasn’t much stopping her.
“I see that.”
I knew I was being unfair. I was lucky to have two parents who cherished me. They’d already proved they’d do anything to help me through this, but it was the one thing they didn’t give me that I needed the most.
My mom tiptoed toward me like the floor was made up of broken glass fragments. She perched on the edge of my bed and sighed. “Was it something I said?”
I lifted my head where it rested against my knees, tucked up close to my chest.
I wanted to tell her, “It’s everything. The nutrient-dense diet and strict routines. The constant emphasis on hydration. Daily meditation and sleep hygiene. The two La-Z-Boy recliners you donated so you could make space for an elliptical machine right in the middle of the damn living room. Most of all, it’s the way you and Dad treat me like a porcelain doll, poised to shatter at the slightest touch.”
But I couldn’t do that, because to them, I was. I almost died nine months ago, and their world hadn’t been the same since.
“I’m just tired,” I said.
A half-dozen charms jingled as my mom read the watch fastened around her wrist. “It’s only seven o’clock. Are you feeling okay?”
