Chapter Twenty
Iwake up to a gentle hand shaking my shoulder, a woman’s soft voice whispering my name. Not Belinda, either.
Billie.
I’m disoriented at first, my entire body aching as I slowly sit up. I fell asleep with my head resting on my crossed arms on the side of Isla’s bed. Must’ve been exhausted to sleep like that for so long, but it also makes sense. The last few days have been an emotional roller coaster.
“Billie.”
I glance up to find Whitney standing beside my chair, a small brown shopping bag in her hand.
Diffused light from the windows on the far wall illuminates her silhouette, and my sleep-groggy brain supplies an observation my mouth isn’t awake enough to keep to myself.
“Tessa Thompson. You. Her,” I babble, rubbing crud from my eyes. “You could be sisters.”
“Aren’t you sweet in the morning,” Whitney says. “A little blind, maybe, but sweet. Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I return, though in an instant, I remember there’s not much good about today. It’s Friday. My time is up, and I’m no closer to saving my sister from potentially being arrested.
Wait a second.
I am closer.
I need to get to Wickham. I need—
I start to rise out of the chair, but Whitney puts a firm hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place. “You need to eat something before you start your day. I brought coffee and an egg sandwich.”
I sag into the chair with relief and accept the paper cup Whitney offers. I cradle the warmth as I take a tentative sip, heat from the liquid spreading through my hands and up my arms. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”
“Eat the sandwich,” Whitney demands, though it’s not a cruel command. “I’m sure you’re starving. You never ate dinner last night.”
I don’t bother telling her I never ate anything at all yesterday. I was too upset, too nervous, too overwhelmed. I take the sandwich from her and unwrap it, the delicious scent of meat, egg, and cheese hitting my nostrils. My stomach growls, and I take a big bite. Then another.
The sandwich is gone in seconds. Usually I’d be embarrassed to wolf down food so fast, but I’m not this morning.
The pleased expression on Whitney’s face as she watches me eat makes me feel a certain way, and I realize it’s the fact that she seems to get joy from taking care of me.
I’m not familiar with that sort of thing, and it makes me sad.
But I have no time for sadness, I think as I wad up the sandwich wrapper. Whitney holds her hand out for it, and I give it to her, watching as she tosses the paper in the trash bin.
“That was delicious,” I tell her. “Thank you again.”
“Of course. I also brought you a change of clothes.” She settles the shopping bag in my lap, and I peek inside.
Yet another one of those soft cashmere sweaters—this one navy—and a pair of jeans, plus undies, socks, and shoes.
Loafers. I would never wear any of this back home, but now it all feels …
right. Not just for Belinda, either, but for me.
Billie.
I meet her gaze, wanting her to know my feelings are genuine. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”
“It’s all right. I come every morning anyway, to see Isla.
And, well … I wanted to talk to you. Peter told me the two of you worked through some things last night, and I’m so glad.
When all of this is over—” She chokes on the last word and takes a second to compose herself, though her lips quiver.
Like she’s this close to completely breaking down, thinking about all the horrible ways this situation can end.
“When all of this is over, I hope you’ll consider joining us here.
For the summer. And maybe even … beyond that. We would love to have you.”
“But my mom—”
“Your mother will be welcome as well. There’s a guest house on our property …
Frankly, I think it’s high time you’re not the only one taking care of Samantha.
I don’t care if the past is painful for Peter or even for me.
Her pain can’t be allowed to destroy your present, or your future, Billie.
Which reminds me, we must have a serious discussion about where you’d like to go to university.
” Whitney’s smile is nervous, and she seems to brace herself for … what? My possible rejection?
“College?” I don’t know why I feel the need to clarify.
Maybe because the opportunity has seemed so far outside my reality, she might have said we must have a serious discussion about what color unicorn you want to ride in your magic princess parade.
Her words light the tiniest flicker of hope in my chest, but I don’t let it grow into an all-out blaze.
Disappointment is an ice bath on the coldest day of a brutal winter.
No sense inviting it in. Better to keep my expectations low.
“Wherever you want. You can of course return to the States, but I have some wonderful contacts at—”
To hell with low expectations.
I leap out of the chair and wrap Whitney in a massive hug, probably squeezing her petite frame too hard, but I don’t think she minds.
She returns the embrace with a ferocity I don’t expect, almost like she’s holding both of us together when we’re at risk of flying apart.
We cling to each other, the steady beeps from the machines hooked up to Isla the only sounds beside the hiccupping gasps I try, and fail, to contain.
“Thank you. Just … thank you.” I tighten my arms around Whitney’s waist, and she lets me. Just stands there and takes it, as if she’s enjoying this, and I firmly believe she does. She wants to help me. Wants to take care of me.
I love it. More than anything, I appreciate it.
Whitney doesn’t have to do this for me—didn’t have to do any of the things she has for me since I arrived here—but she wants to.
I’m not about to take that for granted, and I won’t let my sister, either.
When she wakes up, I’m never letting Isla complain about Whitney again.
As I pull away from Whitney, I catch myself. Not when Isla wakes up, but if. The reality is devastating, but I need to face it. I must resolve Isla’s case and clear her name. It’s why I came here, and yesterday’s revelations have brought me closer than ever before to understanding the truth.
Even if the worst comes to pass—and I can’t think about that, not right now—Whitney and Peter—Dad—deserve resolution. They deserve to know the truth. They’ve been great parents to Isla, and for that alone, I owe them.
“Your sister is a fierce hugger, too,” Whitney says, halting the cascade of thoughts waterfalling through my mind.
“Yeah? I don’t … I don’t really remember that. Or much. We were in touch a lot until the past year, when I … I pulled away. Things were really hard at home and …” I trail off, too full of self-loathing to get the words out.
The touch of Whitney’s soft palm on my arm is somehow full of understanding.
“She knew—knows—how much you love her. In fact, I don’t think she’ll be surprised at all to learn you dropped everything to come over here and help her. She’ll think it’s just the most natural thing in the world to find you here when she wakes up. I’m sure of it.”
…
Iuse the shower in Isla’s hospital room and get dressed, then climb into Peter’s car, which he left behind for me. I tell Lurch we’re headed back to Wickham. He keeps sending me curious looks in the rearview mirror, but he doesn’t say anything.
Neither do I. I’m too nervous about returning to campus.
What if Connor holds true to his threat and exposes me to everyone?
Would he really be cruel enough to do that?
Not that the truth can hurt me personally, but it could definitely ruin my plans.
Pressing just as heavy on my heart is guilt over the way my secrets hurt Connor.
Our night together in the greenhouse glimmers in my memory like a mirage.
I want so badly for it to be real, but it feels like that time belongs to someone else—someone who hadn’t betrayed the boy she’s falling for.
I wonder if it feels unreal to Connor, too, when he looks back on our time together.
We got so close, but all the time, I wasn’t me.
Not completely. That’s got to hit Connor where it hurts the most, especially after so many of his friends refused to stand by him during all this stuff with his dad.
Then I come along, somehow dodge his defenses, and proceed to completely abuse his trust.
Nice going, Billie.
I’ve lost Connor; I’m sure of it. But knowing it solidifies my already firm resolve into something so heavy, it could keep my feet grounded on the surface of the moon.
If I figure out what happened to Isla and Emily, I’ll at least be able to give Connor and his family some peace.
It’s the very least I can do after everything he’s been through, everything I put him through.
A parting gift for the boy who deserved better than Belinda Winters.
Hell, he deserved better than Billie Vale, too.
Traffic is light in London thanks to the early hour, and when we arrive at Wickham, I know Connor will be in the dining hall.
The moment we pull into the drive, I’m opening the car door and running across campus, ignoring the strange looks from the handful of students up and about at this hour.
I’m too intent on finding Connor to worry about anyone else.
I enter the dining hall out of breath, frantically searching the room for his familiar, beloved face.
I find him sitting alone at a table with his head bent over his phone and AirPods in his ears.
I approach slowly, my stomach twisting into knots, protesting the breakfast sandwich I inhaled earlier.
He doesn’t notice me until I’m practically looming over him, and when he lifts his head, a grimace spreads over his face that leaves me a shaky, nerved-out mess.
“What are you doing here?” He plucks an AirPod from his ear, the weariness in his voice giving me the slightest bit of hope.