Page 71 of The Locked Ward

On the night of Annabelle’s birthday party, the weather was so perfect it was as if Honey had made Stephen pay extra for it.

A light breeze stirred the clear, pleasantly warm air as the setting sun splashed the sky with shades of tangerine and rose.

Honey had gone all out to celebrate Annabelle, as usual, hiring a top caterer to stock a lavish buffet and a local celebrity DJ to keep the music flowing.

Hundreds of votive candles scattered throughout the house and backyard tent bathed everyone in a golden light.

You were adept at gauging the cost of celebrations, and you put this one at sixty grand—and that was before Annabelle opened her gift of sapphire-and-diamond earrings.

You’d made a last-minute decision to attend when your relationship with Annabelle turned around. You didn’t have much time to shop for a gift, but one thing you’d discovered you and Annabelle had in common was a love of reading.

After you dropped off your bride Caroline’s family Bible at the specialty bookbinder to repair the tear in the cover, you popped into the boutique next door and found a pair of heavy silver bookends in the shape of her initials.

After a stop at your apartment so you could file away the receipt in Caroline’s white binder and change into your backless silver dress, you headed to the party at your parents’ estate, the place that had never truly been your home.

“Good evening,” David the butler said stiffly as he opened the door to you. Clearly he still thought you were the enemy.

You greeted him and entered the house, nodding to Dee Dee Dawson, who was holding court in the living room with a group of sycophants. She pretended not to notice you.

Dee Dee looked like a woman on the verge.

Her voice was too loud; her affect was brittle.

A lock of hair had freed itself from her chignon and snaked down the back of her neck.

For the first time, you felt a twinge of pity for her.

She’d sold her soul a long time ago in exchange for a privileged lifestyle.

Then you saw Annabelle. Never before had you and she greeted each other with any warmth. This time, she ran to you and wrapped her arms around you tightly.

“Happy birthday,” you said, putting her gift down on the dining room buffet with the others.

At that moment, you heard someone calling your name. You turned and saw Honey and Stephen approaching.

“Georgia, perfect timing. We need a photo!” Honey cried. This was a surprise. Honey wanted to include you?

Then Honey handed you her iPhone. Of course. You were the photographer, not the family member.

But this time, Annabelle spoke up. “What are you doing, Mom? I want Georgia in the picture.”

“Well, who’s going to take it then?”

Honey’s voice was syrupy, but her expression was steel.

“We have plenty of the three of us.” Annabelle took the phone from your hand and gave it to Honey. Then she walked over and put her arm around your waist. She’d just crossed enemy lines, you thought.

When Honey grudgingly snapped the picture, your smile was genuine. You thought you caught Stephen’s lips curve up, too.

The arrival of another set of guests distracted everyone, and you slipped away to get a much-needed glass of Sancerre.

Snippets from that evening are seared into your mind, like a video montage: The senator twirling Annabelle on the dance floor to the Bruno Mars song “Just the Way You Are” while Dee Dee stared at them and rapidly emptied her glass of gin and tonic.

Colby was watching, too, his expression darkening.

Dee Dee stepping forward—maybe to cut in?

—as Honey hurried over to Dee Dee’s side, distracting her by whispering into her ear.

You’d give anything to know what Honey said.

You were mentally coming up with possibilities when you felt a tap on your shoulder. It was Alden, the son of the chief of police, whom you’d dated a while back.

“For old times’ sake?” He held out his hand in an invitation for a dance.

You felt the warmth of his strong body close to yours, and listened to him singing along to the music. Alden had a good voice, deep and tender.

When the song ended and you broke apart, you lifted your hand to his cheek and looked into his eyes. Maybe it was the recent softening of your heart, or perhaps it was just the wine that made you so unfiltered.

“You deserve someone really great,” you whispered. “It was never you… It’s me. I don’t know how to love someone.” Maybe that part of you had been broken long ago when your family taught you that you were unlovable.

You pulled away before he could respond and stepped off the dance floor, planning to head home.

But Annabelle intercepted you.

“Don’t leave yet. I need to talk to you.”

She glanced behind her. Senator Dawson had rejoined his family. He was standing next to Dee Dee. Colby was with them, too. So was Kyle. They all seemed to be watching the senator stare at Annabelle.

The way he was looking at her sent a chill sweeping down your spine. It was a proprietary stare, as if, despite all the friends and family here to celebrate her, Annabelle was his and his alone.

Annabelle turned her head and caught sight of the Dawsons, too.

“Not here,” she murmured, squeezing your arm so hard it hurt. “Let’s go inside.”