I want to create new memories with Paige.
The best ones probably look like something out of a movie, or a children’s book. They probably look something like what we’re doing right now. I stand at the stove, oven mitt on one hand, watching the timer tick down. The scent of blueberry muffins fills the air. Outside, the world is green and fresh. I always loved summers at Eben Cape. The long days felt so full of possibility.
“Mom,” comes a voice. “Mom. Mom. Mom.”
That’s the way she calls me, repeatedly, and I love it. I’ll never get tired of hearing her voice. I put the tray into the oven and step outside.
The glare burns my eyes.
What could be more perfect than this moment? Paige, calling to me to show me something that delights her? I prayed for another moment like this when I was on the run. Now I have it.
“Look at that bird,” Paige says, pointing to the top of a tree. I squint.
There’s a mama bird feeding her babies, a little late in the season. Maybe she’s like me, late, but trying her best at motherhood. “She’s beautiful.”
“It’s so blue,” says Paige. The bird is intensely blue. Brilliant against the blue of the sky. A wisp of a cloud passes behind it, making it stand out even more.
It’s hard to take my eyes off Paige to look at the bird. She’s growing up so fast. It’s a cliché even to think it, but it’s true. Her hair is pulled back in a blonde ponytail and she looks gangly in her summer shorts and T-shirt. She’s so young, and yet it’s a shock to find that she’s seven years old and her baby roundness is mostly in my memory now.
“I love that color.”
“Me, too,” she agrees, tilting her head to the side. I wonder if she’s going to draw it later. Another memory. Sketching a bluebird while her mom cooks dinner.
The oven timer goes off, and I return to the kitchen. I grab a potholder and open the oven. But I’m rushing, halfway in a dream, and I touch the inside of my wrist to the 400-degrees-Fahrenheit metal.
It burns, and I jump, letting out a small sound of surprise and pain. I finish pulling out the muffins, set them on a counter, and go to run my hand under the sink. The water burns in a new way. There’s already a red mark on my skin, and I know it will leave a scar.
I have lots of scars in places no one sees, places no one will ever see. Those are the scars I didn’t give myself and, in a twisted way, that makes this one better. I can hurt myself, but no one will ever be able to hurt me again. That’s a promise I made to myself when Rhys died.
I turn around to check on Paige and see my phone blinking. I pick it up. Twenty missed calls? No one calls me. Jane and Beau have my number, but they come over every day, so we usually don’t have to call. The prosecutor talks to me, but this isn’t her number. These are numbers from all over Maine. There’s even one from LA.
I scroll through the missed calls, and then I check my texts.
There’s my agent, Amy Martin. She’s the one who got me a book deal based on the proposal.
She sent me a single message. It’s a link.
I click on it. My screen opens to a national news outlet. There’s a picture of me. I’m holding up my hand, trying to shield my face from the camera. It’s a little blurry. My hair is in motion, but you can feel my panic through the lens.
The headline is in all caps. MATEO GARZA’S HIDEAWAY BRIDE.
A knot forms in my chest. This is so much more than I thought it would be. National news? I thought we would be in the Eben Cape Herald, circulation a thousand. This is bigger and scarier. Are other people going to pick this up? Based on the missed calls, probably. This could be more than news in a crime column about a dirty cop in a small town in Maine. With Mateo Garza’s name attached, it could be massive. It could be an internet sensation. Worse than news, it could be gossip.
Fear squeezes my heart. I need to see Paige. I need to make sure she’s okay. To rest my hand on her silky curls. Maybe that feels like overkill—she’s not really in danger—but a mother’s instinct doesn’t listen to logic.
I run to the window and look out.
Panic squeezes my throat. There’s Paige standing by the tree, but she’s not alone anymore. The bird has flown away, leaving its nest of babies. The man wears a T-shirt and jeans. He could be anyone walking around Eben Cape. A local, though I don’t recognize him. A tourist. They love to hike, even though this is a private mountain.
Except he has a camera around his neck, a big, bulky camera with a big lens, the kind that reporters have. No, correction. The kind that paparazzi have.
Paige chatters to him, pointing up at where the bird used to be. She doesn’t know anything is wrong. She doesn’t know we’re under attack.
Then I’m running. Time moves so slowly. It feels like an eternity before I can actually reach her, even though it must be seconds. I’m breathless by the time I push him away from her. He got too close. He has his finger on the button of his camera. How dare he? How dare he speak to a seven-year-old girl? How dare he take a picture of her? How dare he do this just to get a tabloid story?
“Get away from my daughter!”
Paige jerks backward, her eyes wide. I don’t blame her. I sound scary, even to myself.
“Not far enough. Back up.” My pulse thunders at his audacity. How dare he come into my yard and talk to my daughter? How dare anyone? “Who are you?” I demand.
He doesn’t look concerned to see me. In fact, his eyes light up. “Emily Rochester. You’re the person I came to see. Would you care to comment on Mateo Garza?”
I step in front of Paige. “No goddamn comment,” I say, trembling with adrenaline. I faced my own brother when he wanted to kill me. I faced my husband a hundred times when he was angry, when he lashed out with his fists, when he held me down. I’m not afraid when I’m in danger, but I’m terrified when there’s a threat to my daughter. “Get the hell off my property.”
He doesn’t seem surprised by my animosity. He gives a smile that I think is supposed to be charming. “One little quote,” he says. “Have you seen his movies? I can see the appeal. Then again, maybe you’re hoping to use him to get your book made into a movie.”
I gasp, shocked by the idea, by the accusation, by the balls on this guy. “I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. What you’re doing is illegal, and I’ll see you in jail for it. You don’t come near my daughter. You don’t come on my property.” I left my phone in the house. Even if I wanted to call the police, I couldn’t do it. “Turn around and leave. Turn around right now.”
Paige shivers behind me. “Mama?”
“Go inside, sweetheart. Now.”
She runs away, and I can finally take a deep breath. At least she’s inside the house. But the door is open, and this guy is still on our property. I feel alone and small. No matter how hard I want to be strong, I’m still a woman in a world of angry men.
“I have no comment for you. Leave or I’m calling the cops.”
He smiles. “The cops? Are you sure they’d even come? After all, you’re Joe Causey’s sister, the woman who’s trying to put him in jail. And if he goes down, he’s definitely going to bring some of his dirty cop buddies with him.”