Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
Josie
Christopher waves me toward a hallway that leads to the back of the house. I can’t believe I’m about to get a tour of the Langley mansion from Christopher Langley. I can’t wait to tell Alice everything.
Just as that thought passes through my head, I feel a light pressure against the small of my back.
My muscles reflexively coil, and I stumble forward, almost tripping over the toe of my rubber flip flop.
I spin around to find Christopher giving me a mild smile.
“Careful,” he says. “The living room is this way.”
My cheeks flush at the realization that Christopher had pressed his hand to my back to indicate that I should go ahead of him. “Oh. Thank you,” I mumble.
He stays several feet behind me for the entire walk down the hall, and with each step, my mortification grows.
I’ve seen plenty of men touch women this way as they crossed the dining room at the sailing club, and it always seemed sort of sophisticated and polite the way they guided their companions ahead of them.
I’m just not used to hanging out with people who are cultured.
Until I met Ian, the boys I hung out with still liked to make fart jokes.
“I hope you’ll like the views in here,” Christopher says when we reach the end of the hall. He sounds unaffected by my awkwardness a moment ago, and that thought buoys me. Maybe he didn’t even notice.
We emerge into a multi-level living room that I’m pretty sure is as big as my family’s entire beach bungalow.
At the top level is a full bar that I’d think was a kitchen, except I suspect that the real kitchen is tucked somewhere in the back of the house with space for an entire catering staff.
Christopher sets the flowers in a vase by the prep sink, then waves me down a set of about six stairs to the second level.
An opulent array of lush white couches and chairs are arranged around a gold and glass coffee table.
Suspended overhead is a glittering crystal chandelier, and huge, gold-framed paintings adorn the walls.
Though I’m usually the first to get excited about discovering new artwork, I can’t help thinking that in this case, those paintings detract from the amazing scene framed in the windows of the estate’s sprawling property and the ocean beyond.
I look past the paintings, inhaling sharply at the sight of the blue sky and frothy sea meeting at the horizon. “It’s beautiful.”
Christopher smiles. “I’m so glad you think so, Josie.”
I walk to the wall of windows to gaze out at the sailboats gliding past. My sketchpad is in my bag, and I’m dying to pull it out and draw this scene. “So gorgeous,” I say with an awed sigh.
I feel something brush against my shoulder and realize it’s Christopher sliding into the space next to me. “Isn’t it?” he murmurs, so close I can feel his breath on my cheek.
I’m afraid to turn my head because my face will be only inches from his.
A slow flush works its way over my cheeks.
I’m hot and uncomfortable, and I want to back away.
But I just made things awkward for no good reason not even a minute ago.
I don’t want to offend him by skittering away like a scared cat.
I grasp the pendant around my neck and rub my thumb over the starfish etching to steady myself.
He’s just Ian’s dad giving me a tour. Ian and his mom will be home any minute.
Christopher points out a ship in the distance, and his fingers brush my forearm. My muscles tense again. I try to enjoy the view but it’s hard to focus when he’s standing this close. Finally, I feign a cough to take a couple of steps back.
“Well,” Christopher says, checking the large gold watch on his wrist. “I’m sure Ian will be home any minute.
Maybe you’d like to go out and wait for him on the dock?
” He waves out the windows at a large wooden structure hanging out over the water.
Several boats are tied to the pilings—a catamaran that I assume is Ian’s Grumpy Cat, a sleek orange speedboat that gives off a James Bond vibe, and a larger sailboat like the one at the club.
At the very end of the dock sits a gazebo draped in curtains for privacy and shade from the sun.
“There are some lovely views and comfortable seating out there. I’ll send my son down as soon as he gets home. ”
Relief washes over me followed by another kick of embarrassment.
Christopher is standing in the middle of the room, the expression on his face friendly but distant.
There’s no reason for me to think he was being inappropriate a minute ago.
His son is running late, and Christopher is stuck entertaining me.
For the first time, I feel a surge of annoyance at Ian.
If he wasn’t going to be home in time, he should have texted me before I arrived.
I’m going to have to tell Alice about our “date” and unpack this whole situation with her later.
But for now, I adjust my beach bag over my arm and take the steps downstairs to a door that opens to a patio.
Like the inside of the house, the outdoor space is built on various levels, and to my left, I find a set of stone steps that lead to the pool.
It’s a sunny day, perfect pool weather, and I don’t want to be annoyed with Ian.
He might have even texted me, I haven’t checked since I got off my bike at the end of the road.
I take the stone path around the pool to the edge of a small, rocky outcropping that hangs over a narrow expanse of sand and ocean. Suspended over the beach is the dock and gazebo I spotted from the window.
I follow the dock to the gazebo at the end, and Christopher is right about the views.
Out here, you feel like you’re in a boat on the water.
It’s quiet, peaceful, the only sound an occasional seagull squawking overhead and the water gently lapping at the pilings.
I lean over the railing and gaze down into the water.
Three wide silver fish glide by, and I pull out my phone to try to capture the image with my camera to draw later.
Photos snapped, I open my texts and click on Ian’s name.
Under his last message, I’m counting the hours until I can see you, I write: Hi! How far away are you?
At that moment, footsteps tap on the wooden planks behind me, and I laugh to myself. I guess Ian’s not that far away after all. All my annoyance at his lateness blows away on the warm ocean breeze, and now I’m just excited to see him. I spin around, and my heartbeat falters.
The footsteps on the dock aren’t Ian’s. They belong to Christopher, and now he’s standing in the gazebo’s arched doorway.
“I forgot to offer you a drink.” He holds up two cocktail glasses full of ice and clear liquid with a lime on each rim.
I take the glass he holds out to me, assuming it’s sparkling water like I had at the club, but as soon as I raise it to my lips, I’m hit with the astringent punch of gin.
It’s not like I’ve never had a drink at parties or bonfires on the beach.
But an adult has never just handed me a cocktail like this.
Does Christopher realize I’m only eighteen, like his son?
Maybe rich people are different, and Ian’s been sipping champagne on the family yacht since before he could walk.
I don’t want to make a big thing of it, so I fake another tiny sip and turn to set the glass on the coffee table in front of a set of plush outdoor furniture.
Christopher stands at the railing looking out over the water, so I sink down into the couch cushions. “Um, have you heard from Ian?”
He turns to look at me, his eyes dropping from my face to the neckline of my sundress, and then down to my legs.
I tug at the hem where it’s ridden up to reveal the length of my thighs.
Is he judging me? My outfit is really more of a bathing suit cover-up than a dress, short and filmy.
I never would have worn this if the plan wasn’t to go swimming, and I did pack shorts and a T-shirt to change into in case Ian wanted to hang out later.
“I’m afraid Ian and his mother got caught up with something.” Christopher takes a few steps closer. “I’m sorry to say that Ian won’t be able to make it after all.”
My eyes widen, and I flip my phone over to see a reply to my How far away are you? text to Ian.
I think Cape May is about 75 miles away, he’s texted with a smiley face emoji. One last race to go. Can’t wait to head home and be closer to you.
My heart thunders so loudly I can hear it pounding in my ears. Ian is still at the regatta. He’s not on his way. He was never on his way.
I blink as the reality dawns on me. Christopher lied. And I’m alone with him.
I grab an armrest to pull myself to my feet, but Christopher slides onto the cushions next to me and grabs my wrist, tugging me back down. “You don’t have to go, though.”
I stare at him wide-eyed. He’s Ian’s dad. Maybe he didn’t lie. Maybe he was confused. I inch away from him toward the armrest. “I really should. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
He slides closer. “It’s no trouble. I enjoy your company.
Stay and have a drink.” He picks up the cocktail glass and hands it to me.
I set it back on the table and try to slide farther away, but I’ve hit up against the arm of the couch.
I can’t stand up. Christopher’s hand is still clamped around my wrist. Don’t panic.
“I really should get back. I—uh. I forgot to text my mom that I got here okay, so she’ll probably come looking for me if I don’t call her.
” I fumble one-handed with my phone, but Christopher takes it from me and slips it into my bag.
And then he takes the bag and sets it on the ground next to the couch, out of my reach.
“I’d like to get to know you better.” He keeps his voice mild, friendly, but he’s tightening his grip on my wrist and the harder I pull away, the more he clamps down.
“Please let me go,” I demand, but my voice shakes along with the rest of me.
Christopher leans closer. “In a minute. Let’s just talk first.”
“I don’t want to talk.” I yank hard at my wrist, and to my surprise, he lets go.
But my relief is short-lived because in the next moment, he grabs me by both hips and shifts my weight, sliding me toward him.
My shoulder blades scrape against the arm of the couch, and now I’m half-lying with him hovering over me.
“Come on, Josie,” he murmurs, his breath hot in my ear. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve felt your eyes following me across the room at the club.”
Oh my God, this isn’t happening.
I slowly shake my head. “No, no, I didn’t mean…”
I struggle to sit up, shoving at his wide, muscular shoulders, but he pushes me back down like I’m a ragdoll, grabbing my right leg and tossing it onto the couch.
The left is bent with my foot on the floor, and I realize my dress has flipped fully up around my waist, revealing my bright green bikini bottom.
His eyes dart to the thin strip of fabric covering me, his gaze hot and hungry.
He shifts so his forearm is pressed against my chest to hold me down, and with the other arm, he reaches down to rub his fingers against the thin nylon.
“No!” I slam my foot against the wood planks, trying to buck away from him, but he’s too big, too heavy. I can’t breathe, I can barely think. His monster hands are sliding over me, and his astringent breath is filling my lungs.
And then like a miracle, the hard, suffocating weight of his body eases off me.
I’m about to sit up, but then I freeze at the sight of him reaching for the button of his pants.
Some vague, faraway voice in my head screams at me to move.
This is my chance, maybe my only chance.
I take it, swinging a hand up and pushing it into his face, shoving his head away from me with all the strength in my body.
He lets out a long string of curses, and I use his surprise as an opportunity to drive my knee upward toward his crotch.
Since I’m still half-lying on the couch, it’s hard to get leverage, and my knee lands to the left of its intended target.
But I manage to hit with enough force that he grunts and recoils from me.
I roll off the couch and crash to the floor, scraping my knees on the floorboards, but I don’t even feel the pain.
I’m crying now, gasping for air as I crawl from between the couch and the coffee table to lunge to my feet.
My phone. I need to call for help.
I grab my bag, but before I can reach inside, Christopher is moving toward me, his face red with anger.
Go, a voice in my head screams. Go.
I don’t even look back, just take off up the dock, running as fast as I can away from him. Behind me, I can hear his footsteps pounding on the wooden planks, and I only make it about ten feet when something closes around my neck.
He’s fisted my dress in between my shoulder blades and is yanking me backward against him.
I scream, stomping my heel on his foot and shove an elbow into his chest. He grunts and releases me, but I know it’s only a matter of time before he’ll be back again.
He’s bigger, and stronger, and I’m wearing a flimsy dress and flip flops.
I just need to get off this dock, to make it through the scrubby brush to my bike at the end of the road.
With desperation, I turn and give him the hardest shove that I can.
And thank God, it’s just enough to send him off balance.
His hands fumble in the air and his loafers scrape across the wood planks as he tips toward the edge of the dock.
I’m already running again when I hear a splash.
As my eyes scan the dunes next to the house for a path where I might be able to escape, I think I see movement in the water out of the corner of my eye.
Did Christopher fall in? Please, please let him have fallen in.
If he did, I might have a chance to get away.
I can’t glance back, though. I can’t waste a single second. Instead, I take a deep breath and keep running.