9. Margo
Chapter 9
Margo
F amily dinners still seem foreign. Robert, Lenora, and I developed our own routine. It didn’t always involve the kitchen table—and very, very rarely involved the dining room table or the fancy place settings—but we were usually together.
At the foster home I shared with Claire and Hanna, they got everyone together on Sunday nights. It set the week up right, they said. Although those dinners were awkward more often than not. I liked the family, don’t get me wrong. We just didn’t really know how to talk to each other.
This is different.
I sit with Caleb on one of the long sides of the table. Eli faces us. Mr. and Mrs. Black have the heads… or head and foot? I’m not sure of proper etiquette. What to call it.
All the food is in the middle of the table, and we pass stuff around to fill our plates. But there’s never a lull in the chatter. Eli mainly fills it with hockey talk. Or school. Or gossip.
“No one wants to hear about Savannah’s dad’s new girlfriend,” Caleb finally says. “He’s a sugar daddy. I’m pretty sure he pays them to date him, but that’s not news.”
My eyes widen.
Mrs. Black—who told me to call her Norah, but that still feels weird—coughs. “Perhaps we should discuss something else.”
Caleb glances from her to her husband. “Maybe we should discuss Detective Masters.”
Mr. Black grimaces. “I hadn’t wanted to say anything earlier.”
“But?” Caleb presses.
“Jim Masters went to school with your dad,” Mr. Black explains to Caleb. “There’s some bad blood there.”
“Did you know him back then?” I ask.
Mrs. Black shifts. “We all did. And we knew your parents, too, Margo.”
“ What? ”
They look guilty. Under the table, Caleb catches my fingers and squeezes.
Eli’s mom explains, “Josh, Ben Asher, and your dad, Keith, were friends in high school. Josh and Ben played football together, and Keith…”
My dad .
It’s surreal to hear his name on her lips after so many years of nothing.
“He was the smart one of the group.” She smiles.
“But you said you knew my mom, too?”
Her smile fades fast. “We didn’t meet her until after college. Your parents came back to Rose Hill engaged. They were partially proud, but he was also returning with his tail between his legs. His family disowned him in the process of their engagement.”
“Disowned?” By family? We didn’t have any family.
Mr. Black sets down his silverware. “You have a grandmother. Had? I’m not sure if she’s still around. She had a home in England, but she may have relocated or passed away… I wish I could tell you for certain.”
“That’s…” The first I’m hearing of this . I have a grandmother? Bizarre. “I always figured any grandparents I had died before I was born. Dad never mentioned having anyone, and neither did Mom.”
It’s the reason I went into the foster system. The state couldn’t find anyone who would take me. No relatives they could contact. Not on my dad’s side, and not on my mom’s either.
Another thing occurs to me. I face Caleb. “I thought we moved into your guest house because Mom got a job?”
Norah clucks her tongue. “Keith called us asking if we knew of any opportunities. From my understanding, the three of you were living in the city at the time and struggling. Josh and I didn’t have any leads for him, but we suggested he reach out to Ben.”
“But Eli and Caleb didn’t meet until later,” I say slowly. “Right?”
Mr. Black nods. “Ben and I had a falling-out when you all were young—probably in diapers. For the sake of our family, we put some distance between us and the Ashers. And then, of course, the terrible tragedy that happened to Ben…”
The true tragedy is that no one is innocent. The Blacks played a hand in getting my parents back to Rose Hill. Ben Asher and my father knew each other. Well , apparently. Even though, from my perspective, they seemed more like enemies.
If Dad was disowned, it probably meant his family had money. And the quick fall from grace with his new wife might cause some rifts between him and his friends, right?
Ben Asher most of all.
Would that have led Ben to cheat on his wife with my mom? How could he have done that to one of his oldest friends?
“Enlightening,” Eli says, breaking the silence. “But can we talk about the rumor of Amelie being engaged?”
I tune him out.
After dinner, I excuse myself and grab fresh clothes, then lock myself in the bathroom. Once I’m alone, I strip off my shirt and grip the edge of the counter. I blow out a slow breath, trying to keep control of myself.
My dad was best friends with Ben Asher in high school?
I focus on my eyes. They’re brown, which is usually nothing to write home about. Heroines in romance novels don’t often have brown eyes, or they’re described as honey, amber, or chocolate. Nothing wrong with any of those things. Mine just seem a bit more plain.
My attention drifts from my eyes to the bandage on my forehead. The nurse gave me instructions on washing—basically, try not to get it too wet. If I take a shower, avoid dousing it under the water. The stitches will come out in a few days, but already the swelling is better. My face is a patchwork of scrapes and bruises, but the gash was the worst of it.
Robert did his best to protect me. I close my eyes and see the accident in slow motion. The other vehicle coming at us, hitting our car just in front of where I sat. The way Robert’s arm banded across my chest as we careened into a ditch. We were weightless for a moment, and then it all came smashing down.
Glass.
Metal.
Blood.
My torso is speckled with bruises, and one nasty one that stretches diagonally across my chest—the seat belt as it locked, preventing me from falling through the windshield.
The backs of my legs are the most cut up, thanks to being dragged across the glass-ridden asphalt.
This has been the week from Hell.
I shower, scrubbing my scalp and avoiding the stitches.
I find the scar on the back of my head, and I hesitate. I remember the stitches I had to get for it, but I don’t quite remember how it happened.
Falling backward, my head hitting the edge of… something .
A hand held mine in the hospital. The doctor didn’t even have to cut my hair to put stitches in. Or maybe it was staples?
With sudden clarity, it dawns on me that I lied to Caleb. I don’t have all my memories back. I don’t know how I got the scar or how I told Dad about Mom’s affair.
I don’t know how she reacted.
How the blood got on my door.
Dad has a story to tell. He insinuated as much, but we ran out of time too fast. Maybe he can jog my memory. Maybe he can just tell me what I’m missing.
I rinse and dry as fast as I can. My body is sore, but I ignore it. After I pull on the loosest-fitting outfit I brought, I go seek out Mr. Black.
He’s in his home office on the first floor, staring down at a file. It’s the only thing on his huge desk besides a computer monitor tilted at an angle.
I knock on the door, and his head jerks up. His gaze goes through me for a second, then he frowns. “Margo. You look a little pale. I expected you to be in bed.”
He gestures to the clock above the fireplace. It’s nearly ten.
“I didn’t realize the time,” I say as an apology. “I don’t have a phone.”
“Do you need to sit?”
I sink into the chair across from his desk. We sit in silence for a moment, and I try to think of the best way to word my question.
“I, um…” Yeah, this is going well .
Josh glances up, then slowly closes the file. “Why do I think you came in here for a purpose?”
“You’re defending Caleb, right? In case Detective Masters tries to arrest him again.”
“I am. I doubt Masters will do anything without solid evidence and a warrant.”
I chew on my lower lip for a minute. “We kind of got off topic when it came to Masters.”
He dips his head. “Right. Ben Asher was fearless in high school—but sometimes it made him cruel. Jim Masters didn’t look like he does now. Back then he was scrawny, and a rule follower…”
“A good target for a bully,” I murmur.
He nods.
“Ben has been gone for seven years, but some trauma doesn’t go away. I suppose that’s why, when Jim first saw your last name, then your relationship to Caleb, he doubled down. Like father, like son.”
“But Caleb is nothing like his dad!”
He raises his hands. “I know. It’s an archaic, simple way of thinking. And to answer your next question, the law allows them to hold suspects for up to seventy-two hours before charging them with a crime. When Masters was unable to bring any other evidence to the District Attorney, Caleb was released.”
My eyes are huge.
He grimaces. “Once he gets his teeth into something, it’s hard for him to let go.”
“I told him Caleb was innocent.”
He sighs. “You did. Doesn’t mean the truth can’t be twisted.”
“Like… my dad’s trial?”
“What makes you say that?”
I shift on the seat, suddenly nervous.
“Margo, stop.” Josh rubs at his eyes. “I know this is hard. You just saw your dad, and I’m sure he professed his innocence. Then someone took you, which is traumatic. You were drugged?—”
“Wait. Drugged?”
Drugged?
“The toxicology report came back. Your social worker got the results before they discharged you.”
I swallow that information. It makes sense that they wouldn’t let me leave without knowing what was in my blood. Still. I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. “What was I drugged with?”
“Margo…”
I’m beginning to think everyone in this damn town is keeping things from me.
“I deserve to know, Mr. Black,” I say. “It’s my body. Honestly, the doctors should’ve told me.”
He nods. “We’ll find out, okay?”
We sit and stare at each other for a moment.
“My dad did say he was innocent,” I say quietly. “And I believe him.”
I have so many questions, I can’t begin to frame them in my mind. I can’t help but think everything would be easier if all my memories returned.
“Margo?” He looks pointedly at my hands. “You’re bleeding.”
I release my wrist, where a thin line oozes blood. The rest of my wrist is covered in scratch marks. “Oh, um, I’m going to go put a… Band-Aid on it.”
He says nothing, and I rush away. Instead of going back up to the safety of my temporary room, I go to the basement. Caleb’s space.
He’s not here—he went for a run with Eli about the same time I went up to shower—and the room is cold without him. I rinse off my wrist in his bathroom, determined to stop touching it.
The feeling of duct tape being wrapped around them comes back full force.
I thought I was knocked out .
It hits me hard enough to put me off balance. I grab the counter and stare at my reflection.
I should’ve kept Caleb’s phone when he offered it, seconds before he left. Part of me thought I’d be happy with the freedom, but it just serves to isolate me.
A hysterical giggle creeps up my throat. Didn’t I think that was exactly what Caleb wanted to do to me before? Isolate me. Single me out.
Turns out, all he had to do was mastermind a car accident, a kidnapping, and steal my phone. Oh, and put my foster father in the hospital.
Caleb could very well be the bad guy in my situation, pulling the strings. It’s what he’s wanted from day one: to break me. Destroy me.
He’s not my knight in shining armor. While I’ve been falling for him all over again, he never stopped playing the game.
He’s the villain. I’ve known this from the beginning. And villains…
They’ll do anything to win.