Chapter Seventy-Four Piper
Chapter Seventy-Four
Piper
The cul-de-sac rang with high-pitched screams and laughter as the kids did PE outside with Reggie, while Valentina took a break on the front porch with a cappuccino, completely absorbed in one of Rosamund’s Shield-Maiden of Stamendahl Viking romance novels.
Inside the house, the moms prepared lunch in the Beaverbrook “cafeteria.”
“Do you think it’s true?” Piper asked, jutting her chin toward the third and last diary sitting open on the counter as she cut open a package of baby carrots.
“Listen to us.” Kiersten shook her head in disgust as she spread peanut butter over a slice of bread. “We’re doing exactly what Dottie predicted people would do. We’re calling her a liar. We’re wondering if she’s crazy, if she’s making it all up.”
“I never called her a liar . . .” Piper protested. Well, not in so many words anyway. Maybe Kiersten had a point.
Kiersten reached for the grape jelly. “But we’re questioning whether or not it could be true.”
“I believe her.” Rosamund’s voice had a slight edge as she sliced a knife through an apple.
“Why?” Piper asked.
“Because Dickie sounds like Guinevere’s father.”
Piper froze as a sympathetic ache rose in her chest.
Rosamund set her knife down on the cutting board and lifted her chin. “His name was Adam, and he was a controlling narcissist. At the time, I didn’t know what that was. After a lot of therapy and reading many books, I eventually figured it out.”
“How did you . . .” Piper began.
“Get away?” Rosamund asked.
Piper nodded. “Yeah.”
“I disappeared.” Rosamund’s fingers moved quickly as she carved the apple into slices. “When I found out I was pregnant, I left. He doesn’t know Guinevere exists. He’s the reason I do radio and podcast interviews but never appear on TV.”
She sank the knife into another apple with more force than necessary. “He’s the reason there’s no mention of my daughter on my website or in my bio. He’s the reason you will never see my face on social media.”
She slammed the knife through the apple each time she referred to her ex. “He’s the reason I write under a pen name, and he’s the reason I have no picture on my book jackets.”
Kiersten set her peanut butter knife down on the cutting board, moved around the island, and wrapped her arms around Rosamund. “I am so sorry, Rosamund. I had no idea.”
Rosamund rested her head on Kiersten’s shoulder for a brief moment, then pulled away, dabbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you.” Then she looked over at Piper. “Don’t worry, Piper, I don’t expect you to hug me too.”
Piper smiled. “I appreciate that, but I’m going to do it anyway.”
Piper crossed the kitchen and enveloped Rosamund in a quick, stiff hug. “Sigrid of Stamendahl’s got nothing on you. You’re a total badass.”
Rosamund looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Thank you,” she said, returning to her apple slices again. “But there are so many details in Dottie’s life that strike me as familiar. Which is why I think she’s telling the truth.”
“Can you give us an example?” Piper asked, tilting her head. “I’m trying to understand this, but it’s hard, not having been through it.”
She understood physical terror, like the kind Mr. Claussen used to control and terrify Mrs. Claussen. But this was something different. This type of abuse was far more subtle, leaving bruises and wounds on the inside, scars no one could see.
Rosamund grabbed another apple and cut through the skin.
“Calling her belittling nicknames, like Dottie the Dimwit. Telling her what she can and can’t say.
Isolating her from everyone in her life.
And the fact that he’s charming to everyone else.
That’s classic. Narcissists are often charismatic people.
And they use their charm to isolate their victims.”
“How awful,” Kiersten whispered.
Rosamund lifted her chin. “This is why we need to keep reading. This is why we keep going through pages and pages of obituaries on Google, to see if she’s alive or dead.
We have an obligation to figure out what happened to her.
And if something bad happened, then we have an obligation to make sure that bastard doesn’t get away with it. ”
“One more entry?” Kiersten asked.
Piper glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Okay. One more.”