We all flinched.
"Were we expecting anyone?" Rowan asked.
"No." Brooke frowned. She set her wine glass on the counter and glided from the great room down the hallway to the foyer. Muffled voices. A woman's voice, strained and sharp. Brooke's response, accommodating, then pleading.
The others looked at each other. No one spoke. Whitney had gone still; even she seemed to forget to move.
Then rapid footsteps sounded and Vivienne appeared in the doorway. She still wore her pajamas. Her eyes were swollen, her black hair uncombed. But it was the expression on her face that made my blood run cold.
It was pure rage.
"Vivienne?" Camille stepped forward. "What's wrong?"
Vivienne's sharp gaze swept over us. "I found Leah's diary."
My heart stopped.
Viv said, "And your daughters are all in it."
Chapter Fifteen
Vivienne stood in the archway, her whole body vibrating with hostility. She gripped something in one hand. A bulging manila envelope, the edges crumpled.
"Vivienne, sweetheart." Rowan rose from the sectional, her voice hostess-smooth though it was Brooke's house. "Why don't you come sit down? Let me get you some water?—"
"I don't want water! I want answers."
Camille tucked her phone into the pocket of her black slacks. Her posture shifted, her shoulders back, eyes sharp. "What's this about a diary?"
"Leah kept one. She kept it hidden. Secret." Vivienne's hands shook as she pulled papers from the envelope. "I tore that house apart looking for answers. The police looked, too, but they didn't find anything in her room." Her gaze flicked to me briefly. "Turns out she hid it behind a painting in the basement. I found it this morning. I made photocopies for you."
She marched to the coffee table in the center of the room and dropped the stack. The photocopied pages fanned out across the marble. Several slid onto the sisal rug.
I leaned forward, my heart in my throat. Handwritten entries in different-colored ink, though the photocopies were in blackand white. Dates. Names. Words underlined and circled. Leah's familiar doodling and drawings of flowers edged the diary entries—bleeding hearts, black-eyed Susans, forget-me-nots, Indian paintbrush, and wild roses.
Rowan moved fast. She came around the coffee table, placing herself between Vivienne and the rest of us. Brooke returned to the island and gripped her wine glass like it could protect her from something. Whitney sat frozen for once, her eyes locked on the pages.
I picked one up. "'December 12,'" I read. "'After school. Alexis cornered me by the lockers outside the art room. No one else was around. She grabbed my wrist so hard I thought it would snap. She shoved me into the locker. I couldn't breathe.'"
Brooke made a strangled sound in the back of her throat.
I read it again, certain I'd misunderstood, but the words stayed the same. I kept reading, a sick feeling hollowing my gut.
"'Then she dragged me to the bathroom and pulled out the art scissors. She cut my hair. The one thing I was proud of. A huge chunk right above my ear. Just cut it. She held my head and cut off the rest. She said, "You're so ugly it won't even matter." Mom found the bruises. I told her I fell. She wanted to go to the school. I begged her not to. She did anyway. Nothing happened. Alexis's mom came in with her husband for a private meeting with the principal. The principal said there wasn't enough proof. That I agreed to let her do it and then changed my mind when I didn't like it, for attention. They pressured me to change my story. Alexis said she could make me out to be the psycho one if I told everyone. That Peyton, Chloe, and Zara would have her back. Mia, too.'"
Brooke shook her head, hard. "That is not true."
I stared at Brooke in shock. When I'd spoken with Vivienne, I hadn't realized it had been this bad. My mind flashed to the bruising on Alexis’s wrist. Her presence outside my house right after the break-in. Her access to my spare key. And now this—she'd physically harmed Leah.
My mouth went dry. "You knew your daughter was a bully. All this time."
"It wasn't like that. She didn’t mean it. It was just girls being girls. It got a bit out of hand."
Vivienne's eyes met mine. "Leah cried herself to sleep for a week."
Whitney stood abruptly. "This is completely out of line, Vivienne. You can't just barge in here and?—"
"And what?" Vivienne demanded. "Tell the truth? Is that what you're afraid of?"
