“Yeah.”
I shove him, and Liam forces me back, harder than expected, and my head slams into the wall. Pain radiates from the back of my neck to the crown of my head, and I nearly cry out.
“I trusted you.” I can barely say it, and before I know what’s happening, tears are streaming down my cheeks.
Liam takes a step back. I’m so angry I can’t look at him. My hands are shaking, head throbbing as I try to unlock the door, fumbling with my keys.
“Naomi, wait,” he says, trying to stop me. “I’m sorry—”
I throw my arms up and shrink away from him. “No. You can fuck off. Get out!”
Undoing the lock, I yank open the door and burst in, relieved when it slams shut behind me. My heart is pounding fast. My head filled with a searing pain. If Matthew did all this to prevent the story from coming out, was he the one who’d hurt Lila? Or had it been my sister?
In my bedroom, I collapse onto the bed, eyes stinging with tears, and reach into my purse for my medication—I won’t be able to sleep without it—but it’s not there. Furious, I slam the purse down and yell out in pain.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Maya
July 2023
On Tuesday, when I getback from Kai’s bachelorette, I reach out to Margaret for Sara’s number—they know each other from Legacy Foundation events—and she puts me in touch with Sara’s assistant, who tells me she has a meeting in the city this morning. When I press her, she accidentally lets slip that it’s with the producer behind her latest show.
I look up his company and go to the address near Union Square. As I wait outside, pretending to sip my coffee, my mind spins from what Cecily told me: Sara was acting strange theweekendbefore my sister died. She’d accused Matthew of having an affair with one of his students, said he’d lost his temper…What if he did the same thing to Naomi that he’d done to Lila?
By nine-thirty, my coffee is cold, and I’m about to leave for work when I see Sara walk out the revolving door talking to a man in a suit and take off up Park Avenue. I follow them, staying a good fifty feet behind, until she breaks off from the man and walks to the nearest subway station on 28th Street. Heart racing, I hurry down the stairs after her. When I’m close enough for her to hear, I call out her name, but she doesn’t turn around, and she disappears around a corner a few seconds later.
I make it to the platform as the train is about to leave. Morning commuters jockey for space as I shove my way past, trying to get to her, but the flow of people is going in the opposite direction. I panic as I lose sight of her again, but then I see a flash of blond hair as sheslips into the last car. Running for her car, I arrive as the train is about to leave, reach from the platform into the subway car and grab her sleeve. “Sara!”
She looks at me like I’m human-sized vermin and yanks her sleeve out of my grasp as the doors slam shut. Her eyes lock on mine as the train pulls away, and I watch it grow smaller and smaller as it slips from the station, taking Sara with it.
—
By noon, I’vehad two large coffees to make up for the lack of sleep and am so jittery I don’t think I’ll make it through the day. When I get a free moment, I step outside the gallery and dial Sara’s direct number, which Margaret found for me later. It rings and goes to voicemail, so I text her instead:Hi Sara, this is Maya Banks. Please give me a call—it’s important.
I sigh and lean my head against the wall. I’m exhausted, and the longer this search for answers goes on, the more I think I might lose it completely.
A moment later, my phone rings. I pick it up right away. “Sara?” I cringe at my desperation.
I can hear someone on the other end of the line. Then Sara’s voice—impatient. “Yes…”
“Hi—it’s Maya Banks. I have to ask you something—did my sister and Matthew have a falling-out that you know of?”
A pause. “No, why?” I can sense the tension in her voice.
“Did she ever try to get in touch with you?” I inhale, wait.
She doesn’t respond. Her breathing is slow and steady, the awkwardness of the conversation seeping through the phone.
I wonder how she’d respond if I’d come right out and asked:Did you think she and your fiancé were having an affair?Maybe she does, and that’s why she’s being so cold. Or maybe that’s just how she is.
When she speaks again, her tone is derisive. “We’re private people, Maya, and in the past month, the police have come by our house multiple times, thanks to you.” She pauses, and I’m too shocked to reply. “You and your sister have caused us enough problems. I’m sorry for your loss, but please, leave us alone.” And she hangs up the line.
—
When I gethome from work that evening, I expect Dani to run up and hug my waist like she usually does, but instead she is standing at the window holding her stuffed rabbit and staring down at the road as if in a trance. “Dani?” My first thought is that she’s sick again—something’s going around her summer school.
I set my purse down and clear a few stray toys off the ground before making my way to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. “What do you want for dinner tonight?” All we have is frozen peas and chicken nuggets and I’m reminded of how I’m failing as a mother.
