If you get here before ten. I have lunch with Darin and I’m not going to be late.
I won’t screw up your date. There’s just some things . . .
Bring your baggage. We’ll sort your “things.”
Bitch.
Tramp.
Love you.
Love you.
“What are you doing this morning?” she asked, stopping in the dining room on the way out.
Eric looked up from his laptop, a spoonful of granola paused between the bowl and his mouth. “I’m going to sit by the window, pining for your return.”
“After that.”
“Heading down to Mom and Dad’s. Haven’t seen them in a few weeks. I’ll hit the farmers market on the way back for dinner.”
“Sounds good. Give them my love.”
“The farmers?”
She bent and kissed him. “Smart-ass.” On the way to the door she paused, a remnant of disquiet from last night clinging to her. “Be careful today, okay?”
He gave her a smile. “I will, honey. Don’t worry about me.”
She nodded, ducking out to the front entry to don her jacket and shoes before the alien dread could stop her from leaving altogether.
The city of Bayview where Lia had her practice was true to its name. Thirty minutes south of Capeside, an inlet protected by a long peninsula stretched out below a smattering of businesses and homes built into tiers, which never failed to remind Clare of rice terraces in the Philippines. The bay itself was calm in the morning sun, the few scudding clouds overhead cottony reflections on the water’s surface.
She’d passed the quiet drive replaying the occurrences of the night before. From the discovery of the ring box to the nightmare of her sister to whoever—
whatever—
had been lurking around their house. She knew none of it was connected, the only link being her stress, but despite the continued reassurances, she wasn’t convinced. The sinking feeling of something impending hadn’t receded. If anything it had grown stronger on the drive. It was as if an unknowable weight was descending from overhead, coming steadily downward even though she couldn’t see it. The sensation had become so palpable she’d taken an extra dose of Buspirone before leaving the house, but so far the drug hadn’t helped dispel the feeling.
Clare guided the SUV into the first exit and wound her way up through the tiered streets, stopping before a large two-story brick home that doubled as Lia’s office and residence.
The front door was unlocked, as she knew it would be, and she let herself in to the spacious foyer. The air smelled of the lavender Lia kept in several diffusers around the house.
“Go ahead into the den, I’m just mixing a drink,” Lia called from the kitchen down the hallway. Clare glanced at the time on her phone and suppressed a laugh before making her way to the next room.
Lia’s den was spartan yet welcoming. A candle burned on an antique end table and a ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. Clare settled into the corner of a long leather couch as Lia entered the room from the other doorway.
She drank deeply from a large mug filled with vermilion liquid. “Tequila sunrises are my favorite sunrises,” she said, setting the drink on a coaster atop a narrow desk near the far wall. “Want me to whip you up one?”
“It’s barely eight o’clock.”
Lia stared blankly at her. “So do you want one?”
“No thanks.”
“Each to their own.” Lia sat in an overstuffed chair matching the couch and crossed her legs. She was a year younger than Clare but looked slightly older. It might’ve been the way she carried herself, confident and direct while exuding an air of worldliness. Or it could’ve been the smart suits and dresses she wore even while at home relaxing. Either way the hint of maturity seemed to add to Lia’s mystique instead of draw away from it.
“Sorry I kinda barged in this morning,” Clare said, settling further into her seat.
Lia waved her words away. “It’s fine, but full disclosure—Darin has abs you could wash clothes on and a double-jointed tongue, so if we’re not done here by ten thirty, I’m walking out.”
Clare laughed. “This won’t take long.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
She started by detailing the meeting with the women after the lecture, following up with the discovery she’d made in Eric’s bedside table, while leaving out the strange events of the early morning hours.
Lia sat back in her chair. “Holy shit. A ring? Are you sure?”
“I mean, I didn’t look at it, but what else could it be?”
“Wow. That’s . . . amazing, right?”
“It is. And I was so happy when I found it. Thrilled he would want to . . . that he thought I was—” She grimaced. “But I’m a little terrified too.”
“Totally natural.”
“How can I be sure I won’t screw this up and hurt him?”
“You’ve been together for years and haven’t hurt him.”
“I’m late a lot. And I know I get too wrapped up in work sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say those are relationship-ending offenses.” Lia paused, looking at her, into her. “You’re afraid you’re not worth it. You’re worried Eric will eventually see that and he’ll walk away.”
Clare sighed, glancing out the single window overlooking the street. “I’m afraid I’ll run away again. I’m terrified that I’ll leave him when he really needs me, that I won’t be strong enough.”
“Clare, it wasn’t your fault.”
“Then why did I live and everyone else die? Why am I still here? Why can’t I—” She was going to say remember. But she already knew the answer to that question. Even if portions of her memory weren’t blanketed in banks of fog, she would be terrified to see them clearly. To know exactly what happened the night her family died.
“Do you think knowing anything involving over forty people killing themselves and burning their entire camp to the ground will absolve you of the guilt and regret you carry around? Because I know it won’t. It was a sickness, Clare. All the beliefs your father tried forcing on you, the rules, the seclusion, all of it was a sickness. It stemmed from him. He was mentally ill and it led him to do terrible things to everyone in that cult. And none of it was your fault.”
Clare’s throat was closing. She clasped her hands together, trying to hold on to the here and now even as she felt the past trying to intercede. “I dreamed about Shanna last night, and that can’t be a coincidence.” Lia waited while she gathered herself. “I walked outside our house and everything was quiet and still. Like the whole world was empty. And there was this presence, something bad I couldn’t see but knew was there. I couldn’t find Eric and then Shanna was in the road. She . . . she was on fire and I couldn’t . . .” Clare’s voice faltered.
Lia left her chair and knelt beside her, grasping one of her hands. “Look at me. You loved your sister, right? Still do?” Clare nodded. “You did not fail her. She was just as much a victim as you were, and the fact you survived and she didn’t wasn’t your choice. Do not feel guilty for being alive.” There was a box of tissues on the floor beside the bag and Lia tore two free, handing them to her before returning to her seat. “You have to remember that what you endured would’ve broken most people, but you persevered. The reason you do what you do today is proof positive you’re a survivor. There are two ways to deal with trauma: you either avoid it or confront it. You’ve been confronting your fears since I met you in that half-assed support group fifteen years ago.”