“How long?” she asks. “Does Mom know?”
I shake my head. “Please don’t tell her. Not yet. At least not until after the holiday.”
She juts out her chin in defiance. “Don’t worry. I’m not going home with you. I’m staying here, at the camp.”
My breath catches as she backs toward the edge. “Sadie, stop.” I take a few steps toward her.
“I hate my life,” she cries. “Mom treats me like a baby, and you’re always angry at me, or never there. Too busy with Aunty Scarlett.”
I force myself to stay still, trying not to reel from the blow she just dealt me. “This is a camp, Sadie. People don’t stay here forever.”
“Yes, I can,” she shouts. “Some kids from unsuitable homes are allowed to stay as long as they want. They’ll let me.” She steps back again.
I rush forward, panic flooding me as tears come. “I love you, Sadie. I love you so much and I’m sorry for everything.”
“I hate you,” she screams, and her entire body stiffens with rage. She’s crying openly now. Her sobs are a knife driving right into my chest.
Until now, I’ve only heard her say that to Judy, often from behind her locked bedroom door. I usually told Judy she’s just a child and she does not mean it. But whether she meant it or not, those words cut deep.
“Don’t say that, baby. I know you’re upset, but you don’t mean it.” I reach out to touch her, to pull her to me, to hold her in my arms and reassure her.
I want to promise her that everything is going to be okay, that I’m going to make it all better, that I will fix what I broke.
For a sixteen-year-old, she’s quite strong. Just as my arms are about to close around her shoulders, she plants her hands on my chest and shoves hard. When I try again, she attempts to bite me.
“Go away. Leave me alone!” She jerks away from me, stumbles, and falls backward.
Her head strikes the wooden plank with a sickening crack.
THIRTY-SEVEN
For one endless second, the world goes silent as I stare at my daughter on the dock. My heartbeat drowns out even the waves below.
“Sadie!” The word tears from my throat as I sink down next to her. My hands linger over her face. I’m afraid to move her, and afraid not to touch her.
Before I can say more, her eyelids flutter. A groan escapes her lips. Relief floods through me as she blinks up at me, dazed but awake. The hatred in her eyes remains intact, even as confusion clouds them.
She’s still upset but not badly hurt, at least not physically.
She lifts her hand to her head and I stop her. “Sweetheart, don’t move?—”
“Leave me.” She jerks away from my touch.
Then she scrambles to her feet.
“Sadie!” I try to reach for her again, but she hurries away, her hand pressed against the side of her head.
She stumbles once but doesn’t fall again. Then she starts running, off the dock and toward the camp buildings. Away from me.
I chase after her, my chest tight with each ragged breath. The fact she can run means she can’t be badly injured. She’s moving. She’s alright.
I’m gaining on her when someone steps directly into my path so suddenly we almost collide.
She’s tall and very blonde. The moonlight shines on her hair in a way that creates an eerie glow around her head, like a halo.
But there is nothing angelic about the way she looks at me. “You shouldn’t be here. You need to leave,” she says calmly. “This is a private beach.”
“Sadie!” I try to move around her.
