An hour later, I’m still wallowing in it. This defeated feeling. My daughter is gone. Her quirky laugh and her adorable sneeze. Her inquisitive nature. I’ve not experienced her warmth in years, a realization that leaves me hollow. And yet, Cooper Douglas continues not only living, but thriving. Taking over the family business (oh yeah, I noticed the recent inclusion of his name to the masthead). Getting married. I slam my drink against the table, as if the disruptive clack of glass on glass will make me feel better. It doesn’t. Nothing does.
Madison Sharpe. Thanks to the oversharing of her generation, it doesn’t take me long to uncover more about her. She has all the standard social platforms. With her white-blonde hair and edgy dark eyebrows, she looks every bit the city girl. Her petite frame is usually swathed in crop tops and rompers, a noticeable change from the cardigan and dress she wore in the engagement photo. She must already be conforming, molding herself to better fit the monster standing at her back.
Scrolling through her feed, I see she used to post pictures at brunch with friends, department store shopping and late nights in the back seats of taxis. That’s stopped; she hasn’t uploaded a photo in more than two months. Cooper must have a hold on her, already tightening his grip and forcing her to leave her life—her real life—behind. Now he’s further isolated her, moving her to that backwoods Tennessee town. Looks like she worked as a journalist for the Atlanta Chronicle, then abruptly stopped. Did she leave her job for him? Forfeit her life?
I inhale through my nose, exhale through my mouth, all the while repeating the positive mantras my grief counselor suggested I chant when on the verge of overwhelm. I imagine I’m in this protective bubble and no one can pierce it. Try as I might, all I see when I close my eyes is him. Cooper Douglas, with his wealth and privilege, never forced to be punished for all he’s done. Now all the ideas are returning, all the fantasies I’ve concocted over the years of ways I can punish him. They’re irrational, yes. But no one describes revenge as rational. They say revenge is sweet. Oh, so sweet.
I swore I wouldn’t return to Whisper Falls. My last visit accomplished little. If anything, it hurt my campaign to turn others against him. Gave the whole Douglas clan a reason to be on their guard about what I’d do next. That’s why I won’t target them this time, I decide; I’ll go after her. I pick up the paper and look at the picture again. Madison Sharpe. Does she know her fiancé is a murderer? Does she? If not, she needs to.
If only I could have given my daughter the same warning. Of course, I had no way of knowing what danger she was in. How could I when she seemed so happy? I think back to the last time I saw my sweet girl. Of course, I didn’t know it would be the last time. Maybe that’s why it was so perfect.
She jabbered on and on about the end of the school year, a healthy mix of annoyance and interest about her classes. Kids that age love to complain about their routine, but they’re a little afraid to try anything new. This time, she was different. She was in love.
“What’s his name?” I asked. We walked along the uncrowded streets during one of our day visits.
“Cooper Douglas.” She smiled wide and cracked her knuckles. “I don’t know, Mom. I think this guy is the real thing.”
The real thing. No words to describe it, really. Nothing adequate. The real thing makes you glow from within, ache with feeling. Man, did she glow that day.
“Tell me about him,” I said, panning my hand from her shoulder to her elbow. “How did you meet?”
“At school.” She tilted her head to the side and rolled her eyes, a tic that reminded me of my younger self.
“See, school can’t be that bad.”
“No, it’s not bad.” She grinned. “Nothing really seems bad anymore.”
The real thing makes you think that at first.
“How long has it been?” I asked.
“Several months.” She braced, like she was afraid I’d shoot her down. “I know we’re young, but he’s so understanding and supportive. He really listens. And he makes me laugh.” Then she was laughing, some recent memory appearing in her mind. “At the same time, he’s serious. He’s guarded. I think it’s because his family is loaded.”
“Wealthy doesn’t hurt,” I said, poking her ribs.
That’s what you do when talking about boys. Make fun and kid. But I could tell by the way she spoke this wasn’t just any boy. This boy might become a man she’d one day marry. The real thing. The intensity of it all made my head whirl.
“Don’t move too fast,” I said, afraid of a lot of things, but more than anything that my giddy, bright girl would end up hurt.
“We’re not. I mean, the feelings are there. We’re taking things slow, but I am spending more time with his family.”
“When do I get to meet him?” I hooked my arm into hers, leaning into her weight.
“Soon.”
We didn’t linger on the topic long. Thank goodness. It’d be that much harder to live with myself if our entire conversation that day revolved around Cooper Douglas. We kept talking about school and the latest season of The Bachelor and had a random debate over which was superior, cookies or brownies? That led to us getting ice cream, and we sat in the park until sunset.
Then, I hugged my vibrant, glowing girl goodbye. Never once did I think it would be the last time I’d see her. I’ve almost memorized every detail of that last embrace. Her vanilla smell and plush shirt and wet cheeks. Just because we didn’t see each other often didn’t mean we didn’t want to. She missed me when I was gone, and I missed her. I still do.
Even the happy memories hurt now. It’s unfair. All of this is so unfair. But I need to stop rehashing the past and focus on the present. On retribution. It’s time Cooper suffers for everything he has taken away.
Eight
Madison
Coop’s workload carries over into the weekend. His responsibilities as editor-in-chief are more taxing than his role at the Chronicle. Most people would take it easy, not let the pressure of running a newspaper get to them because their family calls the shots. Coop’s not like that. He wants to prove himself, probably because he’s a Douglas. He wants people to respect his first name as much as they do his last.
I’d wanted to go furniture shopping. The limited furniture we brought from Atlanta barely covers a quarter of our new space. I’m running out of storage, which puts the rest of the unpacking process on hold. Coop suggested I go shopping with Josephine instead. She’s got a better eye for decorating, he said. This first week, I’ve seen my in-laws more often than I’ve seen Coop. It’s a different dynamic here, though. Family plays a larger role because there’s little else to soak up the time.
I’m waiting on the front porch when a black SUV pulls into the driveway. The windows are tinted, but transparent enough for me to see Josephine in the passenger seat and Roman behind the wheel. It’s hard for me to put my finger on what Roman’s like exactly. He exudes Coop’s charm but lacks his responsibilities.
“Nice day,” he says as I slide into the back seat.
“It really is,” I say, my gaze turning to the lush woods surrounding our house. Each day, the view alters slightly, the leaves an ever-changing presence. “I’m surprised by how beautiful it is here.”