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A security photo of which is now taped to my passenger side window.
When I stutter out what it is, his string of curses lights up the air. “I’m going to stop this, Laura.”
That’s when I admit the absolute truth aloud for the first time. “Daddy, it will never stop, no matter where I go or what I do. It lives inside of me. Don’t you realize that?”
Sobs rip through me as my buzz drops me from the highest of highs just a few minutes ago to the lowest of lows as I realize I’m never going to get over this.
Never.
From the Journal of Dr. Laura Lockwood
Few people discuss what happened to me. No, that’s not true. It just feels that way because my family is so sizeable. In truth, I can speak openly about what happened with my father and Jon. To a lesser degree with Kalie and Grace.
But none of them understand my guilt.
How can I help others heal again when my own heart isn’t whole?
Chapter
Seventeen
The day after my father swore he’d get to the bottom of the nastygram delivered at Greenwich Hospital, I agreed to meet Liam at Amaryllis Bakery in Ridgefield. When we were still in the garage as a team of agents led by one of my father’s most senior employees—Al Libert—poked around my car and garage cameras, I informed him I’d meet Liam face-to-face in order to decline the job, but my dad assured me Bailey Payne was safe. “Not only will you have agents shadowing you, Laura, but this asshat only enjoys striking when you’re alone.”
“Agents? What agents?”
My father nodded at the team around me. At that moment, Al’s comforting brown eyes met mine. I felt a pervasive sense of relief flood through me, though I’d be damned if I’d admit it. “What about the box at the house with you and Mama?”
“I spoke with the Collyer police. We’re certain that was the Tiberis. But there’s no note. The signature on the incident is different, Laura. I’m not certain they’re the same person.”
“Great, so I don’t have one psycho after me. I have more than one.”
“Laura.” His voice is as pained as mine.
“What do I do, Dad? Never be alone?”
He squeezed my shoulders. “Avoid it for now, if possible.”
Now, I definitely needed a damn cupcake.
Located next door to Genoa Deli—an epic business stratagem or catastrophe depending on the day, my cousin Nicole bemoaned due to “The loss of income this bakery sustains by the amount of begging, borrowing, and unofficial DoorDashing Genoa to Collyer!” She shouted at the family during my parents’ anniversary dinner.
Nik likes to joke if anyone ever wonders where the bakery’s profits went, they could either look down at the scale or at the receipts she saves from Genoa, given the number of times our family calls with an order from their favorite Italian deli to be brought home.
Since I planned on stopping by my parents after I spoke with Liam, it made sense to volunteer to pick up the “Amaryllis Special”—an order so huge it would take the guys at Geona over an hour to put it together.
The minute I pull open the wine-red door, I’m again struck immediately by the fact Nik was able to recreate the atmosphere of the mansion but making it friendly for families. Still, it’s the scents bombarding that bakery that sweep me immediately into memories spent lazing around Aunt Corinna’s kitchen. Where afternoons after school—and after homework—were wrapped in laughter and sneaking in bites of ganache.
I never quite appreciated it the same way I do right now. Amid all the ugliness in the world, Nik created a piece of home away from home. Walking up to the counter, I order a decaf mocha latte. “But can you double the amount of Colby’s caramel?”
“You got it, Laura,” Myla, one of Nik’s managers, punches in my order. “Do you want it for here or to go?”
Before I can answer, I hear a familiar voice behind me grumble, “Colby has his own caramel?”
I glance over my shoulder and meet Liam’s celadon green eyes. “More important, why hasn’t he shared with the rest of his poor, beleaguered co-workers?”
Not addressing Liam’s male dramatics, I turn and ask Maya, “Can you change my order to two, Maya?”
“Will do, Laura.” She rattles off my total.