Page 21

21

Connor lied to me about the night we met, but he isn’t the only one. Harper arranged that meeting, and she never told me. I want to know why.

My injured hand gets me out of family time at the lodge. I charge my phone for a few minutes, long enough for a few calls, and dress for the cold. Connor told me there’s signal down by the gate, so that’s where I’m heading.

The whole walk, I’m waiting for someone to stop me. But in the brightly lit lodge I can see people moving about, wandering past the giant windows; they’re all occupied with more important things than me.

I take my phone out as I approach the gate. Nothing. I have to haul myself over it and go another fifty feet down the road before my phone finally connects to the network. It offers up a scattering of alerts—emails, texts, nothing urgent. I dial Harper’s number. She answers immediately.

“Theo!” she says. “Thank god. I was starting to worry you’d been eaten by wolves. So how is it going? Do you have them all wrapped around your finger yet?”

Harper speaks with rapid cheer. She’s always like this. So much energy it’s constantly overflowing. She’s my oldest friend—the first person I met at UCLA when I showed up clutching a single ancient suitcase, with forty dollars to my name. It took her three seconds to decide to make a project out of me. She was fascinated by my upbringing. Protective. Warned me Brandon was bad news, for one thing, and nursed me through the aftermath of him without ever saying I told you so.

It doesn’t make sense, Harper lying to me.

“Harper. Sorry to bother you,” I say, my voice strained. I’ve never had trouble talking to Harper before, but now I have to force the words out.

“You’re never a bother,” she tells me. “What’s up, babe? You sound dreadful. Don’t tell me you’re ready to flee in terror from the one percent already.”

A sound escapes me—a horrid, animal whimper like a wounded dog.

“Theo?” she says, startled. “What’s wrong? Did Connor do something? Do I have to murder him for you? Because you know I will.”

My back teeth clench. Yes, Connor did something. But so did she. “Harper, Connor asked you about me, didn’t he? Before the party. He asked you to invite me. To introduce us.”

“What’s this about?” Harper asks carefully.

“It’s about you lying to me,” I snap. “I’m right, aren’t I? He asked you to introduce us. And for some reason you never told me.”

“He asked me not to,” Harper says with a nervous little laugh. “He said it was, you know, the Dalton thing? He didn’t want you looking him up before he actually got to make a first impression. Apparently there have been a lot of girls over the years—guys, too, even the ones who didn’t want to sleep with him—who got all weird when they found out how much money he had. He’s sensitive about it. Then, I don’t know. It got awkward to bring up. I wasn’t—it wasn’t really a lie . I wasn’t hiding something. You liked him. I thought…”

I suck in a breath, anger washing through me, followed by the faintest edge of relief, because this sounds exactly like Harper. She’s never been known for thinking things all the way through, and she wants more than anything for people to be happy. This is exactly the sort of thing that she would convince herself was an innocent omission.

But that doesn’t let Connor off the hook.

“Harper, the thing is, I think he knew who I was,” I say.

“Right. Because I told him. He saw that photo of you. The one where you’re a total smokeshow? He is not the only one who asked for your number, let me tell you. Just the only one I thought was worth my baby girl’s time.”

I shake my head, even though I know she can’t see it. “No. I mean before that. Way before. I know this sounds crazy, but when I got here, it all felt familiar. And there’s this cabin that no one uses anymore, and I was just looking around and I found—”

I stop. I’m talking so fast I’m not making much sense, words running into each other.

“There was a photo of me,” I say, slow and deliberate. “As a child. Before the Scotts. It’s a photo of me with Connor’s father.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Harper says, baffled.

“Except it does. Because I was here,” I say. “I’ve started to remember things. Find out things. My mother—her name was Mallory. She was having an affair with Connor’s father.”

“What? Ew, wait, does that mean—”

“No,” I say quickly. “No, I was already around. But he stashed her up here, apparently. And then he died, and she just dropped off the map completely and no one can explain where she or her daughter went. Me. Where I went.”

“Theo,” she says. She’s worried. “That’s a pretty wild story.”

“I know, but I promise you it’s true,” I say.

“Okay.” She’s skeptical but trying not to show it. She’s doing a shitty job.

“Something happened up here—something they’re not telling people. My mother wouldn’t have just abandoned me. I think—I think something happened to her.”

I see the image again—her feet, sticking out from behind the car door. The scarf fluttering free of my hands.

I was so afraid.

Liam Dalton died here. His death was an accident, Connor says, but I’m beginning to doubt that. Liam Dalton is the monster from my dream. He did something to her. To us.

Or did she do something to him?

“You know that based on what? A photo?” Harper is asking.

“It’s more than a photo. I’m starting to remember things. From before.”

“And you’re sure.”

Doubt creeps through me, a scuttle of tiny insect feet.

“I… I don’t know,” I say, and it feels like a betrayal. Of myself, of my mother. Like I’m denying her existence. “Harper, I don’t know what to do.”

“Theo, we’re talking about very rich, very powerful people,” Harper says. “If you break up, whatever—they won’t care. But if you start making accusations, make them look bad…” She trails off.

“What do you think they’d do to me? They’re good people, aren’t they?” I ask with an edge of irony. “They’re respectable people.”

“I’ve heard things,” Harper says. “The Daltons don’t like to be challenged. And rich people are ruthless.”

“So what are you saying? What am I supposed to do?”

Harper takes a breath, lets it out in a rush. “I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, you’re obviously in trouble, and you’re not safe there. You need to come home.”

“I can’t.”

“Theo…”

“How well do you know Connor, Harper?” I ask her. “Tell me he isn’t like this. Tell me I can trust him one hundred percent, and I’ll let it all go.”

She’s quiet for too long. “Theo,” she says softly, singsong. “Baby… I met Connor at my show. When he bought those prints.”

“You said you were friends.”

“You know me. I call the lady next to me on the bus my friend because she gave me a stick of gum,” Harper says with a little laugh. “I’d only met Connor that one time when he came to the party.” There’s another pause, because I have no idea what to say. “You should come home.”

“Thank you, Harper. I’ll talk to you later,” I say mechanically, and end the call, cutting off whatever she tries to say next.

I stare down the road. Wheel ruts rake through the snow. Crows quarrel in the distance. I can almost imagine I am completely alone up here.

My phone buzzes. I look down, expecting Harper. Instead, it’s an unknown number.

Dora, it’s Joseph. We need to talk.

I blink at it, expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something that makes more sense. Joseph is not supposed to contact me; I’m not supposed to contact him. That’s the deal. It’s the agreement we came to, after everything with Peter, after the way I left.

There’s only one reason I can think of for him to break that agreement.

Those anonymous text messages weren’t a bluff or a guess.

Someone else knows.