CHAPTER THREE
Saturday, March 25
Emmy
Emmy Silva woke with a jolt, her vision calibrating to an unfamiliar space. The previous night replayed in bursts. The fight with her mother. The uncomfortable car ride with Kathryn.
She found her bearings: Kathryn’s guest room, the pink and blue cotton-candy clouds floating by the window. A few more steadying breaths, then she completed her morning ritual: wiggling her fingers under the duvet to the count of twelve. Twelve weeks until her eighteenth birthday. Twelve weeks until the day she could board a plane to Seattle and never look back, never again see her mother, and never, ever, ever, ever again have to lay eyes on her nasty bitch of a grandmother.
In late January, Emmy had returned from school to find a thick white envelope tossed on her bedspread. Three dirty lines ran down the front, marking its journey, and the logo in the top left-hand corner rang as clear as a bell: the University of Washington. Emmy knew by its weight she’d been accepted before she tore it open, leaving shreds of manila confetti on her bedroom floor. Since the fall, she’d watched her classmates celebrate their college-acceptance letters. Some were showered with parties or lavish dinners, sandwiched between their glowing parents. Others were whisked away on vacations, gifted cars. The sky was the limit at Saint James Academy, where both GPAs and celebrations were equally competitive. But when Emmy had intercepted her mother, Harper, in the kitchen to share her acceptance letter, Harper had frowned thoughtfully, as if she hadn’t considered that her daughter wished to attend college. “Right,” Harper had said. “I’ll arrange to have your deposit paid this week.” Harper had plucked the letter from Emmy’s fingers, then disappeared down the long hallway toward the wing she shared with her dull-as-a-board husband, Joshua, without further comment.
There was no celebration, no acknowledgment at all, and Emmy felt silly for expecting anything. In her fantasies, Emmy never dared dream she’d be the hopeful freshman in a collegiate sweatshirt, decorating her dorm with the help of a weepy mother. Harper’s approach to parenting consisted of sporadically whisking Emmy away for lunches on Worth Avenue or for exhausting shopping dates followed by long stretches of silence. Sometimes weeks stretched on and Harper didn’t venture from her bedroom at the far end of the cold, marble estate owned by Emmy’s grandmother Nora. Like all the residents who hid behind the gilded gates of one of Palm Beach’s most exclusive neighborhoods, Nora scrutinized the landscapers and housekeepers while Harper, Emmy, and Joshua stayed out of her way.
Since her college acceptance, Emmy had counted down the weeks until she could leave her family, like a prisoner hashing their days to freedom. Emmy soothed herself with daydreams of lush greenery against foggy Seattle skies, of rainy days and long afternoons spent in the warmth of a Seattle bookstore. Her vision of the future had steeled her resolve, and she passed time in her bedroom, lost between the pages of a romance novel, in dewy worlds of lust and promise, where happy endings existed, where love always found a way to win. Emmy had dodged any arguments with her grandmother for nearly three months—a record, really. That was, until the previous night, when the familiar sound of arguing floated in from the hall outside, drawing her attention from her book. It was soft at first, like music, until the pitch and tone spiked. Emmy listened for Harper, her voice soft and pleading, between Nora’s jabs. Harper spoke exactly the way she presented herself: delicate, like words could physically break her, while Nora took great care to give off the poised air of a Palm Beach socialite. Nora was manicured and graceful in the public eye and appeared as if the slightest upset might shatter her like a Fabergé egg, but behind closed doors, she had the personality and bite of a rabid dog.
“This is why I warned you not to run off with the help .” Nora’s voice pierced the air. “This all could’ve been avoided, Harper.”
The help . This was how Nora saw Emmy’s father, as if he’d never been a person with his own life, his own dreams, just a faceless figure who had once served Harper and Nora lunch at their country club. Lucas Silva had been a few shades too brown for Nora’s taste, as was his inconvenient offspring. Nora never bothered to conceal the fact that she was bitingly racist.
And worst of all was Harper’s response: nothing.
The way she always responded to Nora.
Then Nora’s sharp “Are you going to spend your whole life paying for the mistake of marrying that man?”
The words sliced through Emmy. She’d heard her grandmother berate Harper over Lucas before, and on a few nights Emmy had slipped into the bathroom and unwrapped a razor blade she kept in a tissue under the sink, which she held to the side of her wrist. At first she’d been scared to press too hard, but when the sharp point broke her skin and tiny pearls of blood seeped out, a blissful rush of adrenaline neutralized her pain. Each time, she wallowed in shame the following day, concealing her secret under a stack of beaded bracelets, and promised herself she’d never do it again.
But this time Nora’s words broke something inside Emmy, something that had been fraying like an old rope her entire life. In a single moment of clarity, she knew her time in her grandmother’s house had come to an end. She’d reached for her phone and called Kathryn.
Kathryn had once been Harper’s closest friend, had lived with Harper and Lucas until Emmy was three, when something dramatic had imploded their relationship. Emmy gathered it had something to do with her father but had never been able to extract any details from tight-lipped Harper. The bitterness between the two women was so complete, it was palpable on the rare occasion they were in each other’s presence. Kathryn sent cards like clockwork on each of Emmy’s birthdays until they’d evolved into text messages in recent years. They were always the same.
Happy birthday, sweetheart! I love you. Call me if you need anything XOXO
Emmy had never called. She’d been keenly aware that Harper had invited Kathryn to her wedding only to prove to Kathryn she was worthy of remarrying. At the reception, while Harper was distracted with Emmy’s so-called stepfather, Kathryn had pulled Emmy into a dimly lit space outside the bathroom and clutched her.
When she finally pulled away, Kathryn made earnest eye contact. “Oh, honey, look how grown up you are,” she gushed. “You can call me anytime. Seriously. For anything .”
After overhearing the fight between Harper and Nora, with her phone trilling in her ear, Emmy hoped Kathryn’s promise had been sincere. “I need to get out of here,” Emmy begged Kathryn the moment her breathy voice answered.
“Put Harper on the phone,” Kathryn said without hesitation. Sharp. Assertive. So unlike Harper. “And pack a bag. I can meet you in an hour.”
In the hallway, Emmy had thrust her phone into Harper’s hand. “I’m going to stay with Kathryn.” Reaching out to Kathryn was the ultimate act of sticking it to her mother, which held an appeal all its own.
Harper’s face was alabaster white but registered her shock. “Absolutely not.”
Emmy pointed at the phone. “Then I’ll find somewhere else to go. But I’m not staying here.”
Harper drove Emmy to meet with Kathryn, looking small and fragile, her shoulders hunched. “Take some time away.” Harper’s voice was raspy, just above a whisper, and Emmy wondered whether she’d been crying, whether she had brushed her tears away before they’d climbed into the car, like it would kill her to show even a shred of emotion. “You may feel differently in a few days.”
Her mother was supposed to stop her from leaving. That was what mothers did. Instead, Harper agreed they needed time apart? All they’d ever had was time and space between them. “I won’t.” Emmy crossed her arms, her body angled toward the passenger door. “Grandma hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“She hates you, too,” Emmy snapped.
Harper swallowed but didn’t respond.
“I’m nothing but a reminder of Daddy, anyway. For both of you.” Harper stared straight ahead on the winding road, where the headlights illuminated the tunnel of greenery. “You aren’t anything like the parents of the kids at my school. Nobody in our house even talks to each other. Why did you even have a kid if you didn’t want one?”
That had struck. “Emmy,” Harper gasped. “I—we wanted you more than anything.”
“Well, you don’t show it. All you do is mope around.” When Emmy spotted Kathryn’s car idling in a cone of yellow light in the parking lot where they’d agreed to meet, she’d slammed the door.
Kathryn waved to Harper as Emmy climbed into her car. Emmy watched her mother’s car with bated breath, waiting for the dome light to burst aglow, for Harper to step out and beg her not to leave. But there wasn’t so much as a flicker of movement, and finally the red taillights spilled onto the pavement as Harper maneuvered out of the lot and disappeared down the street. Emmy had turned away, her eyes stinging.
“Oh, honey.” Kathryn reached out. Her body was warm and unfamiliar, but Emmy let herself lean into her hair, where a hint of her spicy perfume still lingered. When she pulled back, Kathryn appraised her in the dim light. “Whatever’s going on between you two, your mom will come around.”
Emmy had never seen a shred of evidence to prove this. “No, she won’t,” Emmy said with certainty. Kathryn had been Harper’s best friend, but maybe now she didn’t know Harper at all.
Emmy watched Kathryn’s face concede.
“Sweetheart . . .”
Emmy waited for her to tell her she was wrong. But she didn’t. To be fair, Kathryn didn’t seem like the type to bullshit. Instead, she said, “Come back to the house and get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
All Emmy could offer was a nod, and the two fell into silence as Kathryn drove south along Ocean Avenue, the world passing by. There were no streetlights on the east side of the road, just stone walls and tall gates, concealed in thick vegetation. On weekdays, the gates stood open, and on the sprawling lawns the roar of lawn mowers rose in the air. The yards and gardens were peppered with tan men in stained white coveralls who ate their lunches out of paper bags under the shade of palm trees to escape the hot afternoon sun, people like Emmy’s father, who had once worked for the wealthy residents of Ocean Avenue. Lucas had likely never believed he’d reside in one of the towering properties one day. But he had, and when the brass numbers marking 228 Ocean Avenue glinted in the dim light, Emmy craned her neck to catch a glimpse of her father’s house in the darkness.
Kathryn chewed her lip, and Emmy wondered what might be troubling her. They turned right on Atlantic Avenue, the street that bisected Delray Beach, meeting Ocean Avenue to form a T. Two blocks inland, in an entirely different world, smaller homes lined a quiet street. There were no fences here, no stone walls; the properties were divided by high shrubs, and Kathryn turned into the driveway of a two-story house that looked like the others. They came to a stop in the garage, and Kathryn led Emmy inside, then offered a brief tour, gesturing toward the bathrooms and the kitchen. Emmy had the feeling Kathryn’s Seriously, sweetie, help yourself to anything meant she’d be left alone most of the time, which brought some comfort.
Now, the following morning, Emmy was tucked under the white duvet in Kathryn’s guest room. She’d done it. She was free of her family. But her eyes stung. Harper hadn’t put up a fight. Her own mother didn’t want her around. And why was Kathryn certain Harper would come after her?
Emmy swallowed and narrowed her focus, let the picture of her future bloom, clearer than it had in as far back as she could remember. She could crash at Kathryn’s house until her birthday. That allowed Harper twelve weeks to prove Emmy wrong and Kathryn right, to offer a single hint that she cared. Otherwise, Emmy would leave for Seattle and never look back.
Emmy slipped from her bed and ventured into the hallway, where the aroma of coffee floated up from the kitchen. She’d kill for a cup, but first, more practical matters needed to be addressed. She edged toward the bathroom, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.
“All I ask is that you tell me you’re okay.” Kathryn’s voice, dripping with unease, rose from the first floor. “Nothing more.”
Emmy tiptoed to the top of the staircase, cloaked in shadows, peering down at Kathryn standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Max stood a few feet from his mother.
Max. She hadn’t considered him when she’d called Kathryn. In the years since Emmy had seen Max, he’d sprouted and now stood a few inches over his mother. Emmy’s childhood memories of Max were too slippery to grasp; what she recalled was splashing in bright ocean waves together, that they’d adored each other. Max was two years older than she was, so that made him, what, nineteen now? Why was Kathryn drilling him about a few nights out?
His shoulders squared. “I don’t ask you to text me when you spend the night out.” A beat of silence. “Just because I got into a little trouble doesn’t mean you can stop me from having a social life.”
“A little trouble?” Kathryn scoffed. “You could’ve killed someone—you could have killed yourself. If Nick hadn’t intervened, you could be looking at jail time right now.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Max snapped. “I don’t need you throwing his favor in my face every chance you get. I’m not a kid anymore; you can’t keep tabs on me every single second, and you can’t ground me.”
Tension reverberated upstairs into the hallway. Emmy knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but curiosity tickled her, and she didn’t move.
“Max.” Kathryn’s voice was almost pleading. “Nick says since you got that car, you’ve been speeding around—”
A strangled groan from Max; then his footsteps pounded up the staircase. Emmy’s options forked before her, her brain screaming at her to run, but her body froze. Max reached the hallway and stopped. His gaze fixed on Emmy, looking at her— through her—for an intimate, unsettling second.
Neither said a word; they just stood as the air around them grew still. A vivid memory flashed of his face illuminated by the glow of fireworks at her mother’s wedding.
Kathryn’s voice rose from downstairs. “You need to be careful, Max.”
Max’s eyes darted to his left, over his shoulder—a subtle movement, almost protective. Kathryn’s shadow moved toward the kitchen.
“Well.” Max cleared his throat, slipping past Emmy. “It’s good to see you again.” He disappeared into his bedroom, the door closing with a click.
The hallway was heavy in Max’s absence. Emmy’s heart drummed, her chest and face hot with mortification. She slipped into the bathroom, working the lock behind her.
She hadn’t meant to impose on Kathryn when there was drama with Max, hadn’t considered it. All she’d thought about was getting away from her grandmother and Harper. Maybe it was a mistake to come live with these people she hardly knew. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours, and she was already invading their privacy. And why did Max’s presence—and his penetrating stare—rattle her that way? It was ... uncomfortable. Inconvenient.
Maybe spending the night at Kathryn’s had been enough of a lesson for Harper. Emmy’s fingers found the doorknob. She’d go into her room, call Harper, tell her she’d changed her mind. Maybe Harper would be relieved. Maybe she’d realize Emmy was worth keeping.
She recalled Harper’s indifference. Seventeen years of it.
No. She couldn’t let anything derail her plan to move to Washington.
Emmy’s heartbeat slowed, and she moved away from the door, met her eyes in the mirror. She couldn’t go back to her grandmother’s house, back to the stony silence Harper had let grow between them. No way.
Emmy switched on the tap and splashed her face with cold water. The night before, when Harper had stayed still behind the darkness of her windshield, that was the last chance.
She had to stay with Kathryn. And with Max, if that was how it was going to be. How had Max earned the right to have any bearing over her life, her decisions? He hadn’t. She wouldn’t allow it.
Kathryn and Max certainly had their own things going on, and no time to worry about her. Emmy could stay out of their way.
It was only twelve weeks. She had to make it work. She had nowhere else to go.