Chapter Ten #2
“Headmaster” might sound fancy, but Sophia’s dad is a glorified school principal.
I guess they could have family money, but the fact that Sophia’s mom cleans the house herself instead of employing a full-time housekeeper makes me think they’re not so accustomed to wealth that they’re willing to get careless with it.
“Want to stay and watch a movie?” Sophia suggests, filling the unintentionally long silence I’ve let hang between us.
“Yeah. That sounds fun.” I glance around the room. “I need to use the bathroom first, though.”
“Oh, the bathroom is right across the hall.” She grabs her laptop and pops it open. “I’ll search for something to watch while you go.”
“Great.” I don’t have any trouble locating the spa-like bathroom.
I decide that if things here don’t work out, I might try to get the Harringtons to adopt me instead of heading back to the States.
Actually, forget adoption—I’ll work for free.
Dusting the chandelier in the front hall is probably a full-time job, like cleaning the outside of the Statue of Liberty.
When I step back out into the hall and my feet sink into the plush carpet, I can’t contain a little sigh of pleasure.
I glance up and down the hall to make sure no one else is around before peeling off my socks and wiggling my toes into the velvety pile.
I do a little twist with my hips, then skip a few steps, looking behind me to see if I’ve left footprints in the pristine carpet.
I haven’t, and I feel a little silly for thinking I might.
I roll my eyes at myself as I spin back toward Sophia’s room. But my eyes snag on a set of open French doors halfway down the hall. Curious, I hover in the doorway. Looks like I’ve found an office or library.
The door is open, so I step inside. No surprise, the llama motif continues.
I kind of love this side of the Harringtons; it’s like finding out a stiff, tweed jacket is lined in bubblegum-pink silk.
It’s quirky and weirdly endearing. Endless rows of books occupy shelves that stretch from elegant wooden cabinets to the ceiling—including a long line of familiar, gold-embossed yearbooks.
Jackpot.
I beeline for the late nineties and pull the book I need off the shelf. Flipping it open, I thumb through the class photos until I find her, right on the front page for the graduating class that year.
Samantha Arnaud. My mother. Her expression is downright serene, with a barely-there smile curving her lips. She looks incredibly young. Even a little … sad?
Maybe Mom has always had that hint of sadness clinging to her.
Beneath her name, it says, “Arts Merit Scholarship,” and it reminds me of the acronym Isla had in her notes. “ARTSMER.” I’m sure that’s what it stands for.
As much as I want to flip through the rest of the photos until I find Statue Boy, I’m wary of how long I’ve been away from Sophia. She deserves better than me sneaking around her house. If I want to see these yearbooks, I bet I could just ask her to show them to me.
I shove the yearbook back into its spot and exit the room.
On my way back down the hall, I pause at a gold-framed mirror hanging above a pedestal table with a small flower arrangement in the center.
I stare at my reflection, looking for any resemblance to my mother at the same age that I am now. I spot it immediately.
I have that same sadness clinging to me.
The source is easy to understand—it’s Isla. But what was Mom’s reason? I’m not sure.
I’m also not sure if Isla was able to figure out if Mom was ever a llama or not. Does that even matter? I assume it does. But is that part of the reason someone tried to take my sister out? It doesn’t make any sense.
None of it does.
…
We end up watching the latest horror movie on Netflix downstairs in the living room with the white fluffy
couches that are indeed as soft as a cloud.
I’m snuggled under a thick faux fur blanket, a stack of pillows behind my back.
Sophia is sitting on the opposite end of the couch in the same setup, the both of us content and barely moving except for the occasional yelp due to an on-screen jump scare.
Mrs. Harrington arrives home around the halfway point of the movie, and she’s perfectly pleasant when Sophia introduces us.
Even a bit over the top, like she’s thrilled Sophia is having a friend over.
Makes me think Sophia doesn’t have guests to the house much.
Her mom putters around in the kitchen while Sophia and I continue watching the movie and I revel in the complete normalcy of it all.
A parent who seems to care about their child while living in a nice, clean home is not normal for me.
Not even close. Mrs. Harrington keeps asking us if we need anything, and we keep saying no, and I make sure to add “thank you” every time. This is just … unreal.
Must be nice to live with parents who act like parents and let their kid be a kid.
I wonder how Mom is doing back at the rehab center.
I have no clue, and I hate to admit it, but …
it’s kind of nice, the not knowing. Not worrying about her whereabouts all the time.
Since coming here, Mom doesn’t occupy my headspace twenty-four seven like she does when we’re at home.
Being at Wickham is stressful AF, but it’s downright refreshing to stress about a murder investigation compared to parenting a parent and trying to survive day-to-day without tipping anyone off that I’m drowning in never-ending bills and constant worry.
Then again, there is one adult who’s actually helpful in my life …
I pull out my phone and pull up a new text to Doug. I promised I’d let him know I’m okay here in England, and I haven’t done that yet. I think about what I want to tell him, because I can’t reveal too much …
Cheerio from jolly old England! No. He’ll want to throw up in his mouth if I send him that.
Hey. Flight was ok. Settled in. No, that won’t work, either. He’ll probably think it’s code for, “I’ve been kidnapped, please send help.”
In the end, I send him a simple text asking him how the bar is doing. The only thing I feel like I can chat about with him without revealing too many details about what I’m really doing over here.
I set my phone down and try to get back into the movie, but I’m hopelessly lost. The heroine’s love interest is suddenly chasing her through the woods with an axe, and the guy I thought was the villain seems to be trying to save her?
Sophia is captivated, her gaze never straying from the screen.
Every once in a while, her mother peeks into the room, making a face when she catches a glimpse of the screen.
So nice. So normal.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes, and I check it immediately, fully expecting a response from Doug, but it’s not him. It’s a text from an unknown number.
Unknown:Hey. Wanted to apologize for how I lost it on you earlier. Didn’t mean to blow up like that.
I frown, rereading the message. But it only takes a second for me to understand who it’s from. There’s only one person whose shitty attitude earlier today warranted an apology. Connor. And now he’s apologizing to me? What a novel concept.
Me:How did you get my number?
Probably should’ve acknowledged his apology, but I’m in a state of shock over it. Plus, I feel a perverse zing of pleasure at making him sweat it out, wondering if I’ll forgive him.
Connor:Mrs. Brown is susceptible to dimples and isn’t above peeking inside a student’s file to find contact info if you ask nicely enough.
My brows shoot up. I didn’t realize Connor had dimples, since he so rarely smiles. And is he implying he flirted with Mrs. Brown to get my number?
Interesting.
Connor:Are you angry? Do you want me to forget this number and never reach out to you again? I can, you know. Just forget your number and your beautiful face like neither of you ever existed.
Okay, is Connor Wells … flirting with me? I reread the text, but I had it right the first time: he totally just called me beautiful. It’s out-of-character enough that a frisson of alarm shoots down my spine.
Me:Are you all right? Where are you right now?
“Belinda, dear, would you care to stay for supper?” Mrs. Harrington is standing in the doorway with a hopeful look on her face. When I glance over at Sophia, I see she’s wearing a similar expression.
“Um, I wish I could, but I need to go back to my room after the movie and finish a paper.” My frown matches Mrs. Harrington’s. “Maybe another time?”
“Of course. Anytime, really. Don’t you agree, Sophia?” Mrs. Harrington glances over at her daughter.
“Definitely.” Sophia nods, the disappointment disappearing from her gaze like it was never there. “What paper are you working on?”
My brain scrambles for an answer as my phone buzzes repeatedly with multiple notifications from Connor. “Uhh …”
“Is it the English lit one? That’s not due until Sunday night,” Sophia reminds me.
“I haven’t even started the reading yet,” I admit sheepishly. “That’s what I need to do first. Read the book.”
“Well, you have an entire weekend to do that, thank goodness. I’ve already finished mine.” Sophia beams, and Mrs. Harrington looks on proudly.
My heart pangs at their little mother-daughter moment. Then yet another text notification comes from Connor, and I forget all about it as I check his messages.
Connor:I’m great.
Connor:In top-notch condition actually.
Connor:Feeling inspired for the first time since my sister died.
Connor:Fuck, that’s the first time I wrote those words out.
Connor:I don’t like seeing them. My sister died.
Connor:There it is again.
Connor:Still feels like she’s just away, you know? She’ll be back on campus any minute now.
Chatty Connor is a red flag. As little as I know this boy, I can say with confidence that this behavior seems out of character. I quickly type out a response, concern filling me. He seems off. Maybe he’s drunk or high?
Me:Drop a pin with your location.
Connor:So demanding.
Me:Please?
He does as I ask, giving me his location. Looks like he’s somewhere out on the cliffs near campus. That’s not scary or anything, considering his current state.
Connor:Going to come rescue me, Billie?
My skin warms at him calling me by my actual name. He even spelled it correctly.
Me:Do you need rescuing?
He doesn’t even hesitate.
Connor:Perhaps.
I push the blanket off of me and jump to my feet.
There’s no such thing as an unserious cry for help, and while I can’t know for sure if Connor is really in danger, I get the sense he shouldn’t be alone right now.
I can always call Sophia for backup if something’s really wrong—her mom seems like the kind of woman who wouldn’t hesitate to help a Wickham student in need. “I should probably go.”
“But the movie isn’t over yet,” Sophia protests as she watches me fold up the heavy blanket and leave it on the couch.
“I know, but it’s stressing me out how I only have a couple of days to read that entire book.” Sophia can fully understand being stressed about an assignment, right?
“Oh, I totally get it.” She nods. “We’ll finish next time?”
I nod and take a beat to give her a warm smile—because I really do hope there’s a next time.
I’m out of the house in minutes, shocked by the darkening sky and drop in temperature once I’m outside.
Mrs. Harrington offered to drive me back to campus, but I declined, telling her a walk would help wake me up for all the reading I have to finish tonight.
Now, cold and adrenaline send a shiver down my spine as I map my way to Connor’s location and turn my phone’s flashlight on, stumbling my way through the damp field that separates the Harrington estate from the rest of the Wickham campus.
I turn a hard right just before I’m on official campus grounds, drawing closer and closer to where Connor is.
I come to a stop when I see the massive tree looming ahead of me.
Realization hits me like a punch to the stomach. I know this place. Or at least I’ve seen it before.
It’s the very tree that appears in my mother’s favorite family photo.
Right by the cliffs where Emily died.