“I’m not sure she’ll be here.”
“Lovers’ quarrel?”
“I’m not sure what’s going on with her.”
He points to a chair. “Sit. I’ll make you tea, then I’ll cook up this extra beef. If Missy comes home, I’ll stick a candle on the table and go on my way. If she don’t, I’ll be your supper companion.”
“Thanks, Joe. That sounds good. You know her name is Devyn, right? How come you keep calling her Missy?”
More laughter. “When you’re old like me, sometimes rememberin’ stuff ain’t as easy as it used to be. Makes things easier. Since I’ve got one foot in the grave, most of ’em let me get away with it.”
“You’re not that old, Joe. You have a lot of years left in you.”
“I may not be dyin’ today, but this here body has taken a lot over the years.”
My attention goes to his eye patch. “Are you ever going to tell me how it happened?”
He works over the stove and eventually puts down two dinner plates, looks outside—for Devyn, I presume—then sits opposite me and takes his flask from his pocket. He offers it to me. I shake my head.
“You ever gonna tell me why a young’un like you don’t like drinkin’?”
I take a bite of steak. It’s not that I don’t want to tell him about Cameron; it just hurts to talk about it.
“The three of us are quite a trio, aren’t we?” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“We all got a past we hide from the world.”
Over supper, I tell him about Devyn’s ideas for the lodge. Joe sips from his flask when he’s done eating.
“You sit,” I say. “I’m cleaning up.”
He leans back. “You ain’t gonna hear me complainin’.”
We make small talk until the last dish is dry and put away.
“Got a deck of cards?” he asks.
“I might.”
“Up for a friendly game of gin?”
I stare out the window. “I’m up for anything that’ll keep me busy right now.”
“She’ll show up,” he says. “Sooner or later.”
We play cards for an hour, until the sun starts to set. It’s getting harder and harder for me not to worry.
Joe stands. “Go home, boy. Give the woman some space. You don’t want to smother her so much that her bright light gets snuffed out, do you?”
We go outside together, and I watch him drive off, listening to the sounds of his truck long after he’s gone. I take one last look down the driveway and see someone walking toward the lodge. It has to be her. She stops when she sees me. My heart sinks. She doesn’t want to talk. Maybe she’s even disappointed I’m here. I think about what Joe said and go to my cabin.
Unable to sleep, I lie in bed wondering what the hell happened to her. She stayed away all day. She never carries money. She doesn’t have a credit card. Where did she go and what did she do?
I want to go to her. I get out of bed and watch the roof, hoping she’ll emerge. If she does, I know it’s an invitation.
I’ve never seen such a visceral reaction as the one she had earlier. Just the mention of the congressman turned her into an empty shell.
I pick up my phone. There must be something out there if she worked for him and there was a scandal.
I search his name. I get a hundred hits, most of them about his political aspirations to run for senate. I skim them, not sure what I’m looking for. He’s been a congressman for two terms. I look at the names of his staff. I search his name and the word “scandal.”
When I’m about to give up, I do one more search on Edward DeMaggio Devyn.
Pages and pages come up.
I see words like manslaughter charges. Child endangerment. Felony drug possession. “What the fuck?” How can this guy still be in office?
It takes a minute to put it together and realize what I’m reading. Then my heart stops. All those horrible words don’t apply to Edward DeMaggio; they apply to his daughter, Devyn.
I feel sick as I read one of the articles.
Devyn DeMaggio, nineteen-year-old adopted daughter of first-time congressman, Ed DeMaggio, was brought up on charges today in the death of DeMaggio’s five-year-old biological child, Kasey. Kasey was under the care of Ms. DeMaggio while her parents attended a dinner at the governor’s mansion in Austin. The young girl was found lifeless in the family pool after a night of apparent partying by the older sister and her friends. As of now, the two other teenagers present have not been charged and are cooperating with police.
Ms. DeMaggio has been charged with several offenses, the most severe of which is manslaughter. Though sources indicate it’s highly unlikely those charges will stick, due to the circumstances and the relationship between suspect and victim, in the state of Texas, serious injury or death of a child through a reckless or negligent act is a second-degree felony punishable by up to twenty years in prison.
The question remains, will the lawyer-turned-congressman use his power to help his eldest daughter or ensure she pays for her grave mistake?
I drop my phone and run to the bathroom, where I hurl my steak dinner.
I spend all night researching what happened. The reduction in charges. The two-year jail sentence. Hell, I read the transcripts of the trial. At four in the morning, I conclude that the reporter’s last words were correct; Representative DeMaggio used all his influence to make sure Devyn was punished. He cut off all ties with her, as did her mother, who wasn’t her biological parent but was Kasey’s. In the end, this was a case of parents choosing their blood child over their adopted one. It was a case of a teenager making a terrible mistake that resulted in a horrible outcome.
We’re even more alike than I thought. I should tell her. I should go over there right now and make her understand that she’s not alone. Mistakes happen—unbelievably bad ones that make us feel like we don’t deserve to be alive. Ones that will haunt us until the day we die.
But I stay put. I was in the same place once, and at the time, I wouldn’t have been comforted by anyone telling me their own tragic story. She literally just got out of jail and is still processing everything. She needs time to make peace with it. I struggle with whether or not to tell her that I know.
Memories of Cameron flood me. It’s only 5:20 a.m. in New York, but it’s time I told Mom and Dad. They had no idea why I transferred schools. They were far enough away that I could keep them in the dark. Maddox, Andie, and Quinn are the only ones who know the truth. I understand how that was a mistake. If I ever expect Devyn to open up to me, I have to be willing to own up to my story as well.
I pick up the phone and call home.
Chapter Twenty-four
Devyn
All morning, Aaron looks like he wants to tell me something. As I help Maddox and the rest of the crew paint the last part of the new stable, I can tell something is wrong. Is he done with me? Maybe I pushed him too far, and he’s decided he doesn’t want to put up with a whiny mess of a girlfriend. We even drove separately to the stable, me on the ATV and him in his truck.
I want to tell him this person isn’t me. That I’m a strong, independent woman with dreams and aspirations. But it’s not true and hasn’t been for almost three years.