37 Gemma
Gemma
Grant was in the shower early Sunday morning.
Gemma, who had barely slept, was awoken by the sound of the glass shower door closing and the water starting.
She pushed herself up and looked around, orienting her brain.
Lined up by the door were her and Grant’s bags, looking like they’d been packed.
Grant, it seemed, was ready to go, Hazel’s wishes be damned.
Immediately, she recalled the conversation with Lily in the middle of the night.
She’d wanted to wake up Grant the second she got back to the room and ask him what the heck was going on, but he’d looked so peaceful, and she was beyond exhausted.
She would have to talk to him about it today—find out what had transpired between him and Lincoln to get them all on this trip.
She was still a little offended about the way Lincoln had talked about Grant.
They had all spent so much time together over the years.
Had Lincoln really found Grant irritating the entire time? If so, he was a great actor.
Her chest flooded with dread when she thought about speaking to the authorities. They would have to learn about the notes. She’d have to tell them about the role she’d played in what had happened here this weekend. Would they arrest her? If they did, what would happen to the girls?
The girls. They had slept through the whole thing last night.
Gemma dreaded breaking the news that Juliet was dead.
What a nightmare. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.
She couldn’t think about that now. There were more immediate issues to deal with.
Someone was going to have to figure out food.
With a deep breath, she threw the blanket off her legs.
But before she could get up, there was a knock at her door.
It creaked open, and Vienna stuck her head inside.
“Mom?”
“Hey, hon. What’re you doing up?” Gemma asked. Her heart immediately started pounding with sour anticipation, knowing what she was going to have to do.
Her daughter pushed the door all the way open, and she and Florence stepped inside, both freshly showered and fully clothed, their hair in matching French braids. They closed the door behind them.
“Dad made us get packed, but we were up anyway,” Vienna responded. She held her phone in both hands, sideways, as if she’d been watching a video.
“We never went to bed,” Florence added, screwing her lips up to one side.
“Oh, girls. Really. You have to try to get some sleep. I know it’s hard with—”
“Mom.” Florence cut her off. “It’s not about that right now.”
“We need to show you something,” Vienna said, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Gemma.
“It’s important.” Florence sat on her other side.
Gemma felt an odd mixture of trepidation and gratification.
She couldn’t remember the last time her daughters had sat on either side of her, cuddled close like this.
But she also had the most awful sense that they weren’t about to show her some contouring tutorial they’d made.
Slowly the realization of what they’d just told her began to sink in.
They’d never gone to sleep. So why hadn’t they come downstairs when Marley and Marshall had started banging on doors?
“So Vienna and I . . . we couldn’t sleep last night, for real,” Florence began as Vienna cued up the video. “So we went outside to film the storm.”
Gemma bit the inside of her cheek to keep from telling them how stupid and dangerous that was. The image on the screen was paused on a view of the dark trees that surrounded the house. Her daughters stared at each other, communicating silently.
“You know what? Just watch,” Vienna said finally. And she hit play.
At first, the video was a simple, steady shot of the trees bending and groaning in the wind.
The sky was a dark, inky blue, gray clouds undulating and racing at an unnatural pace.
There was a semiconstant whooshing sound that would have almost been lulling if not for the ominous nature of the video.
And then, in the background, Florence said, “What was that? Did you hear that?”
She sounded terrified.
Trained as they’d been from birth to be on-air personalities, the girls went into selfie mode, and Gemma saw both her daughters in the frame.
Vienna’s hair was loose around her shoulders and being tossed every which way by the wind, and her face was clean of any makeup.
Florence had a white hoodie on, the hood pulled up over her skull, two braids falling out the front.
For half a second, Gemma missed her daughters when they were little.
When they didn’t even know what a phone could do yet.
They were both looking left at first, eyes wide like something out of a horror movie, and then Vienna looked at the screen.
“You guys, someone is shouting. We’re going to go get a better look.”
Vienna kept the camera trained on her own face as the two of them moved.
Even though they were clearly running, the feed was fairly steady, thanks to her daughter’s practiced hand.
She’d likely be able to make it even steadier with some of her film-editing software later, but it was clear even to Gemma that this was raw footage.
Now and again she’d shift so the viewer could see Florence, whose attention was focused dead ahead.
“There’s someone out there,” Florence said and paused. “Oh my God, Vee—”
“Shhh! Get down.”
Gemma held her breath. The looks on her girls’ faces . . . they were clearly scared out of their minds.
The camera POV changed again, and Gemma saw the house come into view. She couldn’t quite tell where the girls were, but they were clearly crouched on the ground and aiming up. The camera was trained on a balcony. Hot acid flooded Gemma’s stomach. A balcony. This couldn’t be what she thought it was.
“Girls—”
“Shh! Just watch!” Vienna whispered next to her.
Someone was shouting, but with the wind, Gemma couldn’t make out who.
“Who is that?” said Vienna on the feed. “Is that Juliet?”
“She’s totes wasted.” Florence giggled.
On the bed, Gemma covered her mouth with her hand. Juliet stumbled into view, her arms flailing as she shouted at someone just off screen. Her long hair was down and being ripped in every direction by the wind. Her words were likewise caught up in the swirl, so that only a few were decipherable.
“How could . . .”
“Lies . . .”
“Used me . . .”
“For what . . .”
Her motions were broad and somehow clunky and graceful at once. The girls were right. Juliet was clearly high. Whatever she was on, it was something that made her muscles so relaxed that she could barely express her ire with any sort of conviction.
“Who is she yelling at?” Gemma asked, her whole body tight with dread. She was watching the last moments of this woman’s life. Her children had seen it happen.
“Just wait,” Florence said.
“Just listen to me!” someone shouted through the tiny speakers.
And then, Suzy stepped into the frame.
“Oh my God,” Gemma said.
“Give me back the notes, Juliet,” Suzy’s voice said, clear as day. She was facing the camera, unlike Juliet, and was also naturally loud.
Juliet leaned back against the railing, one hand held way out and up above her head.
Gemma saw the little blue notes she clung to, whipping in the wind.
The notes she, herself, had delivered. She knew what was going to happen half a second before it did.
Juliet went to throw the notes into the wind, and Suzy lunged.
The little blue cards swirled up and out and all over as Suzy collided with Juliet.
And Juliet, clearly with zero control over her own body, tipped backward over the railing.
Suzy screamed and grabbed for her friend’s arm, but it slipped right through her fingers, and Juliet plummeted to the ground.
“Holy shit!” one of the girls said through the phone.
“Omigod, down!”
Just before the camera hit the dirt, they all saw Suzy lean into the railing with both hands, an expression of utter horror on her face, then she turned to the right and ran, and the feed went black.
Gemma grabbed the phone from her daughter and clicked it off via the side button. She was shaking from head to toe, but she managed to stand up. Her brain was scrambled, and all she could do was pace. Pace and cling to Vienna’s phone, which she was not letting out of her hands any time soon.
Well, at least she didn’t have to tell the twins about Juliet.
“Girls, I don’t even know where to begin,” Gemma said. “That you were out there in the middle of the night in a hurricane. That you didn’t tell your father and I where you were going.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Vienna said quietly.
“Sorry, Mom,” Florence echoed.
“And then, this. You saw . . . oh my God, girls, you saw a woman die. Right in front of you! Are you all right?”
The two of them gazed at each other sorrowfully, and Gemma noticed how wan and tired they both looked.
Her beautiful, vibrant, infuriating daughters.
These last two days had taken a toll on all of them.
But this . . . watching a woman fall to her death.
Watching the woman’s friend essentially push her.
Accidentally, it seemed, but still. Her kids were definitely going to need therapy after this.
And Suzy. Last night or early this morning or whenever the hell it had been, Suzy had been going off about how she didn’t want to be next.
She’d stood there, knowing the whole time what had happened, and let everyone accuse Josh of killing Juliet.
No wonder she’d been so hell bent on leaving. The woman was a sociopath.
Good God, they were all going to need therapy after this.
“We’re okay,” said Florence, twisting her lips to one side—a telltale sign that she was not okay. She looked down at her lap and picked at her fingernails.
“We just really want to go home,” Vienna added. And then she broke down in tears.
Gemma’s heart severed down the center. Florence reached over and put both arms around her sister, pulling her close. That was it. She was glad Grant had packed their bags. They really did need to get the hell out of here.
The shower turned off. Gemma looked at her girls. “Go make sure you have everything ready. I need to talk to your father.”
Grant was ashen after watching the video. His wet hair dripped onto the shoulders of his polo shirt as they stood in the center of the room.
“The girls actually saw it happen.” He stated it, like he was trying to process it.
“Yes.”
“Where are they? Are they okay?”
“I told them to go back to their room and make sure they had everything packed,” Gemma said. “I think we should get them out of here as quickly as humanly possible. God knows it’s going to be impossible to get a flight back home, but we can go back to the rental and crash for a few days.”
Grant blew out a breath and ran both hands backward through his hair, then held them together behind his head, his arms forming bat wings. “This is insane.”
“I know. What do we do?” Gemma asked. “Should I confront Suzy? Make her confess? Show Lily? Show everyone?”
Grant dropped his arms again. He walked over to the window and looked out.
There wasn’t much light coming through, but she couldn’t help staring at him.
Sometimes she forgot how broad his shoulders were.
How totally strong and sturdy he was. At that moment, she was glad to have that strength on her side. He turned to face her again.
“We need to tell the group. They deserve to know that Suzy murdered their friend.”
Gemma winced. “I don’t know if murder is the right word. It’s pretty clear it was an accident. I mean, yes, she lied about it, but—”
“Exactly. What else might she be lying about?” Grant asked.
She stared at him, the phone clutched so tightly in her hands it was making ridges in her fingers. “You don’t think . . . she couldn’t have been the one who killed Lincoln. And what motive could she have for hurting Trevor?”
“I don’t know, but three murders in one house in two days?” Grant said. “What are the chances there are multiple killers running around this place?”
“But she was just grabbing for the notes,” Gemma said. “She didn’t mean for Juliet to fall.”
“Or did she just make it look like she didn’t mean her to fall?” Grant asked. “She was clearly worried about something getting out. Whatever was in those notes.”
The notes. Gemma turned and sat down on the bed, the wind knocked out of her. It always came back to the notes.
She looked up at Grant. “Let’s go wake everyone up.”