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SAWYER

T he first two nights of the trip are better than expected. Except at meals when we can’t, Brad and I avoid each other. Most of my free time is spent in solitude, where I’m either in my room reading, beach-combing for pretty seashells, or swimming in the heated pool.

I don’t bring up the Briar Club, but when Grandmother Liz asks, it’s nice to be able to tell her I’ve been accepted. We’re alone in the sitting room, safely away from Brad, so he’s not around to undermine the achievement with snide comments about my near failure to get in. Even if he had been there, I’m not sure whether I would’ve cared. What would it matter now when I’m planning to skip all future family holidays? I’ll probably never see Liz Allendale again.

Ironically, upon hearing the news, Liz’s small smile is warmer than any I can remember.

Sitting with her bony hands resting in her lap, she inclines her head. “That’s excellent, Sawyer. Well done.” As she leans forward, the strand of glowing white pearls around her throat sways. “All members are invited to the Induction Ceremony. I may attend. I would enjoy seeing my granddaughter get her bracelet.”

I stare at her. She’s never called me her granddaughter before. It’s both satisfying and crushing. Just when I’ve finally made progress, it’s become pointless.

“There will be a lot of photographs taken.” She raises a small blue and white cup and takes a sip of coffee. “I can think of two I’d like to have. One of your receiving your bracelet. And another of the two of us together in front of the club’s seal.” After setting the cup down on its saucer, she taps a fingernail against the handle. “I’ll hang the latter next to the one of Bobby and Brad at the golf classic.”

I’m speechless. Is this some kind of cruel joke? Did Brad hint that I’ll be gone from their lives soon? And Liz decided putting me on the family photo wall will be my parting gift?

I can’t see that, though. If she’s trying to erase me, why put up a reminder? The confusion on my face may be evident, but I try to cover it.

“I’m sorry Celine won’t be with us.” She sighs. “A picture of the three of us at the club would’ve made her very happy. And this is her triumph, too, isn’t it?”

Tears burn my eyes, but I blink them away. Allendale women don’t get weepy.

“May I ask you to consider something, dear?” Folding her hands in her lap again, she leans forward.

“Sure.”

“Your hair.” Her lips purse for a second. “The contrast is striking—even attractive—with your skin tone. But this moment in your life will be preserved in photographs forever, and I wonder if you’ll be happy to have this style immortalized? You’re an adult woman now who is just beginning to build her legacy.”

At any other time, I would resent her trying to dictate my personal style, but at the moment, she sounds genuinely concerned that I’ll be the one who has regrets. And it’s not like I haven’t had the same thoughts. I’ve already tried to gradually tone down the color, which was fun for high school when all the senior girls in my circle were doing bright colors. But it’s not a popular look at GU. Plus, it’s what caused Jamie to call me Cranberry Sauce, and I don’t want reminders of that.

“Honestly, I have been thinking of changing my hair,” I admit. “Do you know which salons in town are the best? Mom always said that for a big style change it’s important to go to a great salon.”

Liz clasps her hands around her trouser-clad knee. I always like when she takes this posture when talking with me. It feels casual and intimate. “The salon where I get my blowouts should suffice. They have quite a few young stylists and more importantly, clients your age. What change are you thinking of making?”

I finger the end of a strand. “Something more subtle and sophisticated. My natural color is that flat brown I don’t really like.”

Her lips press together. “Is that true, dear? Because I disagree. It’s a rich shade of brown. Very lovely.”

My brows rise. She has never complimented anything about my appearance. Ever.

“Well, thank you.” Taken by surprise, I’m silent for a moment. “I thought I might go back to my natural color for the base with some light brown highlights. I might cut it quite short, too.”

“A short cut can be very sophisticated.” Her own silver hair is short and sleek. “My appointment is Tuesday. Would you like to join me?”

“I would. Yes, thank you.” After a moment’s consideration, I realize the problem with this plan. Brad will take note, and it might set him off. I’ll need to backtrack, at least while he and I are both in Palm Beach.

I wonder if I could forge a new relationship with Liz privately. Maybe when she’s at Granthorpe for the ceremony, we could have dinner. If he found out though… And it’s not like I could ever confide in her about him. Allendale blood and his being the male heir would always win out.

Forcing a polite smile, I tilt my head. “You know what? I think I’d rather go to a Boston salon, so I can find a regular stylist. I need to go to the city for an Induction Ceremony outfit anyway. And it would be nice to surprise you with my new look on the day of the ceremony.”

She smiles, and it may be the most genuine one I’ve seen from her yet. “I think that would be lovely. I look forward to it.” When she rises, I do, too.

“Grandmother?” It’s been a long time since I’ve used that word. It doesn’t sound completely natural to my ears, but it’s not totally awkward either.

“Yes, dear?”

“Are you planning to take a swim?” It’s one of her daily rituals, and something she’s always encouraged us to do. I used to bring my suit to placate her, but over the years, I’ve come to enjoy swimming each night.

“Unfortunately, I have an evening conference call for a fundraiser, so I’ll have to see when that concludes. But you must go ahead, Sawyer. I insist. And I’ll join you if I’m able.”

“Of course.”

After we leave the room, I watch her stride down the hall. I still don’t know whether to trust that we’ve turned a corner in our relationship. Or whether I even care anymore. A part of me feels oddly numb.

While our conversation was pleasant enough, it pales in comparison to the connections I formed with Ash and Jamie in a tiny fraction of the time. The thing with Jamie wasn’t real, of course, but while it lasted, it was still far better than anything I’ve had with my extended Allendale family.

Upstairs, I change out of my expensive navy trousers, silk blouse, and Mom’s pearls. A staple of the holiday wardrobe. At least this time, I think Liz appreciated it.

Once I’m in my black one-piece swimsuit, I head downstairs and grab a robe and towel from the tiled entry area that has a door directly to the pool.

This trip, I’ve been swimming for exercise rather than just floating to relax. I’m up to twenty-five laps in thirty minutes and want to see if I can push to thirty. That thought makes me think of Jamie’s training regimen, which causes a pang of regret. Not only had I been looking forward to a lot of great sex with him, I wanted to watch him row for Granthorpe this spring. That won’t happen now.

Because my mind’s occupied as I exit the house, I don’t realize Brad is in the pool until I’m halfway to it.

He spots me.

“Oh.” I stop walking. “Didn’t realize anyone was out here.”

Although he seems in control of himself, I’d never willingly enter the pool while he’s in it. The water in the deep end is well over my head, and he pulled me under a lot when we were kids, sometimes holding me underwater until I panicked.

Hard pass on ever getting within arm’s reach of him again.

Brad, however, doesn’t spare me a second glance as he walks toward the shallow end. “I’m done.”

Interesting. Normally, he’d linger just to drive me away. His feeling that he’ll soon be rid of me is making him unusually generous. He wouldn’t be if he’d heard me calling Liz Allendale grandmother just now.

As he stops to grab his goggles from the ledge, my thoughts turn toward revenge. And to getting leverage over him so he can’t force me out of my own family. Unfortunately, video of him beating me is probably the only evidence that would force him to back off. Would I be willing to risk serious injury just to obtain proof of his abuse? After all, if I actually had to use it to get him in trouble, the Allendale grandparents might end up blaming me for setting him up.

No, I’m not willing to risk getting hurt. They’re not worth it. The only thing I care about now is maintaining a relationship with my dad, and that much I can do while also avoiding Brad. My dad and I often have dinner on our own when Dad visits Granthorpe.

Remaining still in the shadows, I wait for Brad to leave. Once he’s been inside the house for several minutes, I’ll get in the water. But not before.

A popping sound causes me to gaze up at the sky. One of the party boats has been shooting off fireworks at the end of their tours. My eyes strain looking for colors, but it’s dark over the ocean tonight. A smacking sound to my right draws my attention.

Brad’s tripped coming out of the pool and is sprawled with his legs still in the water and his head and chest on the cement. His body twitches twice and then goes still.

“Brad?” My voice is low, and I’m not sure he hears me.

His face is turned away, so I don’t know if he’s playing or what. Did he really hit his head hard enough to knock himself out?

My general unease keeps me from approaching him. I don’t want to be within arms’ reach. What if this is some kind of trick to get at me?

“Bradley?” I repeat.

For several beats, I don’t move.

Finally, I walk along the edge of the enclosure, keeping many feet away from him as I move to a position where I can see his face better.

As I start to circle him, goosebumps rise on my arms. Something isn’t right.

Startled, I realize there’s a dark liquid crescent spreading over the cement. Outward from beneath his head.

I’m frozen for a moment, uncomprehending and confused.

“Brad?”

He’s utterly still.

Moving closer, I stare at the crimson liquid dripping from the back of his hair. Blood? He must have hit his head really hard. Except he’s prone, so the place he struck when he fell is his right cheek, which is still against the pavement. Why is his scalp bleeding?

I move around him, so I can see his face.

Glassy eyes stare blankly out of his skull mere inches from a black hole between his brows.

Is that…?

Yes, he’s been shot. In the head.

And he looks…

Dead.