“You in?” I ask Collin, and he nods. I turn to Cal, and he’s quiet then he looks at me with a sincerity that I've never seen.
“I’d do anything for her.”
“I have something to show you both then. If we’re going to agree to do this,” Collin stutters. Both Cal and I look at him curiously. The lights dim in the room we’re in and suddenly we’re somewhere else, a small house. There are kids playing in the living room, and a TV is on. We follow Collin to an open doorway. We look in and my heartbeat picks up when I see me—the little boy standing in front of my mother, gun in hand, pressed to a woman’s face with tears streaming down her eyes.
“Come on, pull it for Daddy.” Our heads all turn and we see a man… not just any man but young Dexter Crestfield goading my five-year-old self. I turn away and hear the shot. In the blink of an eye, we’re back in the meeting place I chose, a façade of my parents’ kitchen. At this moment I wish it was real, that my mom would walk through the door and tell me everything is going to be okay.
“I’m going to kill him!” Cal’s face is red, and he’s trembling.
“You can’t kill him,” Collins says, evenly unaffected. I look at him in disbelief.
“How long did you know that?!” I ask him angrily. He looks away, but not before I see the guilt in his eyes. Cal charges him like a mad bull before pinning him up against the wall by the throat. This time I don’t stop him.
“You’ve been holding out on us—on this bastard killing our mother for what—let me guess so you could blackmail him?” he says through gritted teeth.
“We can’t bring her back, we’ll never be able to prove he did it…” he says, his voice strained. Cal punches him in the face before letting him go. He grabs a chair and then slams it against the wall before sinking to the floor. My brain feels like it’s being smashed with a rolling pin.
“I have an idea,” Collin says.
“You shut the fuck up!!!” Cal screams at him. I sit on the floor and try to catch my breath. I don’t know how I’ll get them to integrate after this. I scowl at Collin.
“If you would just listen to me,” he pleads, only making eye contact with me. “I planted a bug in his office and car, and I have people…” he starts to say. “We may not be able to get him on murder charges, but we can get him put away for a very long time on insider trading, embezzlement, and coercion.”
I look over at Cal. “Are we on the same page?” He nods his affirmation.
Collin does as well. “Okay.” He mutters.
We all look at each other. Or our self. I swallow the lump in my throat, all of us in different thoughts, fighting different ghosts but for the first time I don’t feel alone, or as if I’m in an enemies camp.
“Whatever it takes,” Cal says quietly, and we all repeat it.
Chapter 33
Lauren
“Mommy sand!!” Caylen squeals as the white sand pours through her fingers.
“That is a beautiful sand castle sweetheart,” I tell her before stealing a kiss on her cheek.
“Look at mine, Lauren!” Willa giggles.
“Beautiful!” I exclaim, and she twirls around in her pink princess swimsuit.
“I’m so glad to get away from all of the madness. This is close to heaven,” Mrs. Scott says, a wide smile on her face.
“Girls, why don’t you go bury Papa!” Mrs. Scott suggests pointing the girls in her husband's direction who’s about fifteen feet away from us reading his newspaper on the Ipad we gave him for his birthday.
“Daddy, can we bury you again?” Willa asks Mr. Scott who feigns a groan but agrees.
“Come on, Caylen,” Willa says as they make their way over to him.
The past four months have been like a whirlwind. Hillary was right. The night that turned my world around seemed to be one of the best social media kickoffs our gallery could have had. I have a wait list for artists work to be featured, we’ve been featured on several celebrities’ social media accounts, and I’ve even listed some of my own work. Nothing as personal as I had the last time but it feels good to run a successful business and still be an artist. With Dexter Crestfield Sr. beginning his trial soon, we thought it was as good a time as any to get away from the madness that’s likely to ensue. The sun is hot and there is a cool breeze off the water. The sky is clear and I can’t help but drift back to my wedding day on that beach in Rio. I blink the thought away, the joy of the memory tied around sadness. I’ve been trying my hardest to not be sad, to not think about him. It’s been four months since he left me at the gallery, when he told me he had to get better. The days after that nearly suffocated me, but Caylen pulled me out of that depression—the thought of her losing both her parents in mere days was more than the overwhelming need to pine, cry, and linger in the depth of my pain. I wish I could hear his voice, that I could just touch him. At least this time I know where he is. Elm Memorial, according to Dexter, is the crème de la crème of psychiatric hospitals. I looked at the website—no stark white paint, no bars on the doors, no creepy workers in matching outfits that sneer at you and stuff pills down your throat to keep you crazy. I guess those images came from a collage of movies I’ve seen over the years. Instead, it looks like a day spa, boasting days of individual therapy, group musical therapy, group therapy and family therapy.
Except his family therapy doesn’t include me. His new doctor there stressed that in order for him to heal fully that I couldn’t be a part of the equation. She put it more politely than that, but it still felt like a sledgehammer to my heart. I couldn’t believe the jealousy I felt when the Scotts would come and pick up Caylen to go see him. Aidan has been around a lot getting their car restoration business set up. He says he’s doing good, but I don’t get any more details than that. Raven could even see him if she chose to, but me, I’m not allowed. I’ve fantasized about driving up there and running past the guards and throwing myself into his arms but his mental health comes before my loneliness, my ache for him. Everyone’s picked up on my loneliness because they don’t mention their visits and barely say his name anymore. I pull out my journal and I start my letter to him. These are letters I don’t plan on sending because communication is a no-no between us, but I’d go crazy if I couldn’t get everything out. If it weren’t for Caylen, I would have checked myself in there just to be near him. Insane right?
“Hey sweetie,” Mrs. Scott calls out to me, with a warm smile. Whether she says it or not she sees what is hidden behind my mask.
“Hey.” I reach out for her hand to squeeze it. “I think I’m going to grab a cocktail. You want anything?”
“Just a lemonade please.” Her phone vibrates, and she looks down at it and sighs.
“Lauren, can you run back to my room. I left the little thingy there that charges my phone,” she asks.
“Of course,” I tell her. She hands me her room key and I trek my way back through the villa to our rooms. This was my first splurge in such a long time. The three bedroom, four bathroom villa overlooks a private beach. I swipe the key and walk in and spot the portable charger on the coffee table and grab it, ready to fill up on a Long Island Ice Tea.