Chapter 14
Jules
Genie tumbles into the soft grass as she tries—and fails—to do a somersault.
She’s never been able to do it, but that doesn’t stop her from trying her best as often as possible.
If we weren’t all over the place, I’d have her in gymnastics as soon as she’s old enough, but that brings its own dangers.
Part of me dreads what our life is going to look like as she gets older.
She’ll never be able to go to regular school while we’re on the run.
Homeschool is the only option. She’ll never be able to join a baseball team, hang out with friends, go to big events with lots of people.
The moment we appear anywhere and my father gets wind of it is the moment this all ends.
He’ll stop at nothing to have me back. I’m the perfect trophy daughter to solidify a high-class merger between our family and the Harringtons.
But if he even got a hint that Genie exists, he’d come storming in and it would all be over.
The first Ward grandchild. And another daughter at that.
A heavy sigh slips from my lips as I watch Genie tumble around in the grass, giggling at the feeling of it.
To be a child and just enjoy the sensation of living.
I don’t even remember what that feels like.
I don’t even know if I had it when I was her age.
My childhood was a series of nannies my father was caught sleeping with before mother fired them and events where I wasn’t allowed to do anything other than smile pleasantly and sit still. Genie won’t have that. I refuse.
“Cow!” Genie screeches, drawing me from my mind as one of the dairy cows come meandering up to the white picket fence in front of us. “Cow!”
“Very good, Genie,” I coo. “That is a cow.”
“Cow!” she screams again and starts toddling over toward it.
“Oh, no you don’t!” I say, reaching down and sweeping her into my arms before she can take off.
I’m barefoot, the soft grass pleasant on the bottom of my feet.
There’s a grass stain on the knees of my sweatpants where I’d tumbled around the grass with Genie only a few minutes before.
And as I try to take her away from the cow that could step on her, she screeches, reaching toward the large animal. “Genie,” I groan. “Now isn’t the time.”
“Cow!” she shrieks. “Cow!”
To the cow’s credit, it doesn’t react to the banshee scream that Genie lets out. At least, not in fear. It just looks up at her, chewing the grass it had pulled from the ground, watching us curiously.
“Fine,” I grumble, moving over toward the fence and the very large black and white colored cow. “Hopefully you’re one of the nice ones.”
“She is,” a voice says from behind me.
I turn, catching sight of Oak as he trails past with a bucket of something. “Yeah?”
He nods. “Her name’s Desdemona. Sweetest cow you’ll ever meet. She enjoys pets and ear scratches.” He winks at Genie as if they’re sharing some sort of secret before he disappears into the barn like he was never there.
“Well . . . it’s nice to meet you, Desdemona,” I tell the cow before leaning forward and stroking her ear. She immediately leans against the fence, asking for more, so I smile and lean Genie closer to touch. “Nice and easy, Genie. We’re nice to animals.”
“Cow,” Genie coos, patting at Desdemona’s fur. “Pretty cow.”
I smile, running my fingers along the black spots. Desdemona feels as if she’s been freshly bathed and blow dried, her fur soft and clean. She gives no indication of discomfort as the two of us pet her.
“Very pretty cow,” I agree, smiling despite the worries I’d been thinking of earlier.
I look down at Genie as she pets Desdemona, at the way her eyes light up and how happy she looks.
Here, with the sun beaming down on us, it feels almost .
. . normal. We’re in the middle of nowhere, on a ranch in the mountains, and there’s no one looking for us in this moment.
We can let our guard down a little, enjoy something so simple as petting a dairy cow.
It’s the first time I’ve been able to take a deep breath in a very long time.
The situation spears into my chest, and tears bead in my eyes before I can stop them. I blink at the wetness, trying to clear it before I start crying over something so silly as petting a cow.
“Mommy. Cry,” Genie says, grabbing my face instead of petting the cow. “No cry.”
“They’re happy tears,” I tell her. “I’m okay.”
“Happy?” she asks, watching me carefully with those blue eyes that haunt our entire family.
“Happy,” I repeat, hugging her close. But part of it isn’t happiness at all. It’s fear. Fear that I’m not a good mother. Fear that I’ll make a mistake and he’ll find us. Fear that I’m ruining her life. “I promise.”
It’s not the first lie I’ve told her, and it won’t be the last.
Remaining anonymous comes with a series of lies, all in a row, over and over again, until the lie is the truth.
Until the lie is all you know.