Page 32 of The Followers

For some reason this made her think about those birth certificates in the safe—Ella’s, and the one that wasn’t. Then she remembered his fist against the doorframe, the controlled force behind it. She’d only seen him get truly angry once, and she had no desire to experience that again, especially when she’d been looking forward to taking him to bed soon.

“I’m sorry I got into your boxes,” she said.

“No, I’m sorry—I overreacted. I’m not used to sharing my space.” He stepped forward, running his hands up her bare arms, spreading warmth along her skin. “But there isn’t anyone else I’d rather share it with. Forgive me?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “Are the girls asleep?”

“I’m sure they are.”

“Then come here, husband. I missed you.”

Later, Molly rolled into Scott’s warm body, relishing the way he pulled her toward him. This man, this moment, this life. She had never expected any of it, but she was grateful. His hands, his lips, his whispered adorations had erased the worries and frustrations of the day. She felt liquid and languid, listening to his soft, even breathing in their moonlit bedroom.

He stirred next to her. “Hey, Mol?”

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t happen to find a safe when you were moving my boxes, did you?”

She hesitated. “I did. Why?”

“Just wanted to make sure it didn’t get lost in the move.”

“It didn’t. It’s in the office closet.”

“Thanks.” He seemed to be almost asleep again, but then he said, “You didn’t open it, did you?”

Molly hated lying. She positively hated untruth in any form, especially after everything that had happened with Jake, but she didn’t want Scott to turn tense and angry again. All the tiny failures of the weekend seemed to layer together—the microtension with Ella, the subtle judgments at the party, and Scott’s reaction to the picture of Ella’s mom.

So she said something that wasn’t quite a lie. “There wasn’t a key with it.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Yeah. I’ll find it tomorrow. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

It was nothing, she told herself, but she couldn’t fall asleep for a long time.

sixteen

I’m not interested in perfection. Perfect is boring! You know what isn’t boring? Authenticity. Wouldn’t the world be an amazing place if we all accepted each other as the complicated, multifaceted, imperfect beings we are?

—An Invincible Summer: A Memoir

Liv sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop in front of her, FaceTime open, and waited for Oliver to receive the text message she’d just sent. She held her breath, watching as he looked at his phone. His messy black hair fell into his face, and the dark circles under his eyes made Liv worry he hadn’t been sleeping enough.

“You found this in Gabriela’s room?” His voice was a whisper.

“Yes.”

“And you saw her? You met her? What does she look like?”

“She’s beautiful.” Liv’s voice caught. “Not exactly like Kristina, but there are similarities.”

“You found her.” Oliver ran a hand over his face, wiping his eyes. “You actually found her, Livi. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

She rarely saw much emotion from her brother. It reminded her of the boy he had been before Kristina’s death: sweet, vulnerable.

“I took that picture of them on the hospital bed,” Liv said. “The original one.”