When I return, Everly is waiting at my locker. I grab my bag and we leave the building together. She chatters about a couple of boys that have snagged her attention on the ride home. Twenty minutes later, she’s pulling into my drive and dropping me off.
For a moment, I stare at the arched windows and stone facade of the sprawling mansion. How ironic is it that this is the only place where I can breathe?
With a shake of my head, I slip through the front door and drop my backpack in the entryway. As I do, an avalanche of emotion crashes over me. Dad’s loss is more pronounced here. I can’t imagine the pain of his death ever diminishing. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut in an effort to find my bearings. Once under control, I force myself to the staircase to check on mom. As I reach for the banister, a noise from the kitchen draws my attention and has me swinging around.
What the hell was that?
My heart thumps a painful rhythm as I peek down the hallway toward the back of the house. Other than Mom, no one else should be here. Austin is at football practice. And if he wasn’t, I would have seen the G-wagon parked in the drive.
When there’s another noise, I realize it wasn’t my imagination at all. Someone is definitely in the kitchen. I search the surrounding vicinity for a weapon. The only viable option is a vase filled with colorful blooms that was delivered late last week. I suppose if it becomes necessary, I can always hurtle the crystal container before making a mad dash for the door. I tiptoe to the grand piano and pick up the heavy vase before creeping down the hallway.
As I reach the arched doorway to the kitchen, the refrigerator slams shut.
A hungry thief?
Well, they picked the wrong house. There’s not much in the way of food here. With both hands, I hoist the vase over my head, ready to inflict serious damage.
“Ouch!” a female voice hisses.
I step into the sun-drenched space and find Mom near the stove with her thumb shoved between her lips. When she sees me, her brows pinch together, and I realize that the vase is still hoisted over my head.
She pulls her thumb from her mouth before pointing. “What’s going on?”
“Oh.” I lower the heavy crystal before setting it on the long stretch of granite counter. “I, ah...thought someone might have broken in.”
Her lips lift. It’s the first smile I’ve seen from her since Dad died. “And your plan was to bludgeon them to death?”
I shrug, feeling foolish. “I was going for a distraction.”
“You would have definitely created one.” Mom grabs the teakettle from the stove before pouring the steaming liquid into a floral-colored mug.
With her attention preoccupied, I’m able to study her. She’s wearing a sweatshirt and black yoga pants. Her dark hair looks freshly washed and has been pulled up into a smooth ponytail.
Not only is it nice to see the change in her demeanor and appearance, it’s a relief to hear her joke around. It’s a small glimpse into the mother she once was and not the woman she morphed into after her husband’s death. For the first time in two weeks, the vise that has been gripping my heart loosens. Not by much, but enough to suck in a full breath.
Her eyes widen when she glances at me, and I realize there are tears clouding my vision.
“Oh, sweetie,” she rasps, emotion thickening her voice as she steps around the island and pulls me into the comforting circle of her arms.
With her body pressed to mine, I realize how fragile she has become. In less than two weeks, she’s lost a substantial amount of weight. We cling for what feels like an eternity before reluctantly separating.
Tears stream down her cheeks before she swipes at the wetness. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this.”
“It’s all right, Mom.”
“It’s really not.” She exhales a shaky breath in an attempt to regain her composure. “I was making a cup of tea. Would you like one?”
“Sure, that sounds good.”
She grabs another mug from the cherry wood cabinet and fills it with boiling water before adding an Earl Grey tea bag to steep. There’s something about the ritual that seems to calm her nerves. With her emotions back in check, Mom holds a cup in each hand before moving around the island and settling on a stool.
“So,” she clears her throat, “how is it over there?”
We both know the place she’s alluding to.
Rothchild Mansion.
When I remain silent, her voice dips. “Are you doing all right?”
Nope, not at all. But I can’t tell her that. I can’t admit to anything that might propel her backward into the quagmire of grief. “It’s been fine.”
“Has it?” Her eyes narrow as she searches mine for the truth I’m reluctant to share.
“Yeah.” Unable to hold her probing gaze, I look away. “Has there been any word from the lawyer?” It’s a glimmer of hope in the darkness and, at this point, all I have to cling to.
Kingsley is so intent on punishing me for my betrayal. I’m not sure how much more I can endure without coming unhinged. Everyday he forces me closer to the edge.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
Sexually.
She jerks her head into a tight nod. “I spoke with him this morning. He’s still looking into our options.” Mom reaches over and grabs my hand before squeezing it. “One way or another, we’ll get you out of this. I promise.”
“Okay.” Even though nothing has changed, her words fill me with optimism. And right now, I need that more than anything.
A rare slice of peace falls over me as we sit at the kitchen island and sip our tea. We’ve done this hundreds of times before, and there’s something comforting about the routine of it. And yet, I can’t help but nervously eye the digital clock on the microwave. Every minute that ticks by brings me closer to six o’clock. I dread being in the same house as Kingsley. I dread the way he touches me, breaking down every barrier until I’m nothing more than a mass of quivering hormones to do with what he pleases. There was a time when we were so much more.
“Honey?”
Her voice has me blinking out of those disturbing thoughts. “Yeah?”
“Are you feeling all right?” Her hand drifts to my forehead and then to my cheek. I’m tempted to sink into her comforting touch. It seems like forever since someone has taken care of me. “You look pale.”
She doesn’t have to tell me that I look like shit, I’m well aware of it.
“It’s probably stress,” I say offhandedly, not wanting to discuss my appearance.
Her lips sink into a frown. “Do they feed you?”
The protein bar Kingsley forces on me every morning comes to mind. “Yeah, I can have whatever I want.”
“Good.” There’s a pause. “You’re thinner than what I’m used to.”
The same could be said for her. I guess this is what grief does. It ravages the people left behind until they become unrecognizable.
“I know.” I give her a thin smile. “Sometimes I forget to eat, I’ll work on that.”
Nervous energy careens through me. I busy my hands by lifting my cup and bringing it to my lips. There’s something intrinsically comforting about hot tea. The way it coats my throat in warmth, soothing me from the inside out. “Have you thought about the next step?”
“What do you mean?” Her brows knit together as she takes another drink.
I shrug, groping for the right words. “With the company. What will happen to it? What will happen to us?” A month ago, our futures seemed so set. Now, everything is in freefall. It’s a disconcerting sensation.
“I don’t know.” Uncertainty swims in her eyes as her voice softens. “I’ve been trying to get through this...loss. Sometimes it’s all I can do to get through each day. There are times when an hour feels like too much to handle.”
I nod, unable to imagine how difficult all this must be for her. Mom is only forty-four years old, and now she’s a widow. “I’m
sorry. Maybe it’s too soon to have this conversation.”
“No, it’s not.” She shakes her head as some of the sadness and grief fades. “The only thing I’m certain of is that we can’t stay here. I have no idea what will happen with the company. That’s something I need to figure out with the lawyer.”
Relief pumps through me at the knowledge that we’re on the same page. The sooner we get the hell out of Hawthorne, the better off we’ll all be.
She releases a measured breath as her voice grows steadier. “The first thing we need to do is figure out what options we have regarding the contract. If this Roland Donahue is worth the money he’s being paid, he’ll find a way to get rid of the affidavit without Keaton coming after us.” Bitterness flashes across her face. “I’d give him the damn company if I could. We’ve already lost too much.” Tears gather in her eyes as she reaches out and takes hold of my hand. “I won’t lose you, too.”
I swallow down the emotion that swells in my throat. “You’re not going to lose me.”
She nods before swiping at a stray tear. “I’m sorry for forcing you into this situation.”
There’s little point in rehashing the past. It won’t do us a damn bit of good. “It’s okay.”
“I really hate that you’re over there.” Before I can respond, she asks, “They’ve given you your own room, right?”
“Yup.”
“Good.” Her shoulders collapse as relief fills every line of tension in her face. The last two weeks have aged her by a decade. Maybe more. “I was afraid you were still sleeping with him.”
Guilt rushes through me as I bite my lip and glance away. This isn’t a conversation I want to get into with her.
“Summer?” Her voice turns sharp with disbelief. “Please tell me you’re not having sex with that boy!”
“Mom,” I groan, face flooding with heat, “please, I can’t talk about this right now. I really can’t.”
“Oh, Summer...” Shock and dismay settle over her features. It’s so reminiscent of the last look Dad gave me that I’m barely able to hold her gaze. I want to melt into the floor and disappear. “Please, please, please tell me that you’re using condoms.”
Last night crashes through my head. I don’t know if Kingsley used one. Protection, unfortunately, was the last thing on my mind. Although I sure as hell won’t be admitting that to her. The conversation that would follow is enough to make me spontaneously combust on the spot.
“Yeah,” I mumble, “we do.”
“I asked you before, but now the situation is different.” There’s a pause as she examines my eyes, searching them carefully for the truth. “Is he forcing you to have sex?”
My attention gets snagged by the dark liquid at the bottom of my cup. It’s so much easier to focus on that rather than meet her probing gaze. “Can we just drop this?”
“Please, I need to know he’s not hurting you.”
“He’s not.” I glance up. “Kingsley isn’t forcing me to do anything.” Images from hours ago tease and taunt me.
Push me away, Summer, or I’ll take you right here.
The sound of Mom’s voice dispels the memories, and for that I’m grateful.
“I found an OB-GYN in town. I was going to schedule an appointment before your dad died. I’ll call tomorrow. No matter what is happening, it’s important that your protected.”
She’s right. If the last couple of days have taught me anything, it’s that I have no willpower where Kingsley is concerned.
“After I set up the appointment, I’ll text you the information and we’ll get this taken care of.”
“Thanks.” As uncomfortable as this conversation has been, it was necessary. Mom’s right, I need to be on the pill. The idea of an unexpected pregnancy is terrifying. If there’s anything that could make this situation worse, that would be it.
A topic change seems to be in order. “Did you want help cooking dinner before I leave?”
A smile lifts her lips as the concern pinching her expression gradually fades. She looks more like herself than she has in a while, and it’s a relief to see. “Sure, that would be great.”
I go to the fridge and open the doors before peering inside. Austin picked up a few groceries last night, but not nearly enough to stock it. She stands beside me as we rifle through the contents.
It’s slim pickings.
“Hmmm.” Her brows furrow. “What would you say to ordering a pizza?”
That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard in a long time. When my belly growls, I realize I’ve barely eaten anything all day. And just like that, I’m famished. It feels like I could easily wolf down three pizzas by myself. “Sure, I could get onboard with that.”
“Perfect. I’ll grab my phone and make the call.”
A few hours later, I pull the door to our house closed before heading over to the Rothchild Mansion. For the first time in days, I’m hopeful we’ll find a way out of this mess. I just have to hang on a bit longer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Thanks for coming with me,” I whisper, filling out a ream of paperwork at the physician’s office. Usually Mom completes all the forms, but I told her I could take care of it myself. It’s like they want to document my entire life story. I’m ten minutes away from a carpal tunnel diagnosis.
“No problem.” Everly says, scrolling through her Insta. “It’s not like I had anything else to do. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I don’t exactly have a social life here in Hawthorne.”
“Do you miss New York?” I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit that I haven’t even thought to ask. It wasn’t all that long ago I was in her shoes. The town of Hawthorne isn’t an easy place to fit in. And the prep school is even less so.
“Kind of.” She shrugs, eyes growing distant. “We lived on the Upper East Side, so there was always a ton of stuff going on.”
I know what she means. It was the same in Chicago. There were museums, malls, movie theaters, major league sporting events, and concerts. We were constantly on the go. I have no idea what people do in Hawthorne for fun.
Tip cows?
Party in a cornfield?
It remains a mystery.
By the time I sign the last page, my hand is cramping up. I shake it out before taking the clipboard to the front desk.
The receptionist shifts the sliding glass partition and gives the documents a cursory glance before flashing a smile. “Great. They’ll call you back shortly.”
With a nod, I return to the chair I’ve been camped out in. After ten minutes of fidgeting, a door opens to the inner sanctum and a woman in scrubs glances at the chart in her hand before calling out my name.
I pop to my feet, more than ready to get this over with. “Hi.”
“Good afternoon, Summer. I’m Colleen, one of the doctor’s nurses. I’ll get you started.”
She holds the door open for me before stopping at a scale. “Let’s check your weight.”
I step on the metal contraption and am surprised to discover that I’ve lost ten pounds since I moved to Hawthorne. I had suspected it would be a few, but that seems excessive. The nurse jots down the number and then we’re moving through a long narrow hallway dotted with college and medical school diplomas.
“We’ll be going to room eight,” she says as we pass by a cluster of desks.
Once inside the compact space, she takes my blood pressure and temperature. So far, everything is normal. She settles at a tiny desk with a laptop and types in the information before glancing at me. “So, tell me what brings you in today.”
“Um,” my gaze skitters away as embarrassment licks at my cheeks, “I’m interested in birth control. Maybe the pill?”
“All right.” She types in a few more things. “The doctor will go over all of your options after the exam.”
I jerk my head and blow out a steady breath. I’ve never been to an OB-GYN. There was never a reason. Now there is. I’m not exactly sure wh
at to expect, and that sends anxiety spiraling through me.
“What was the first day of your last menstruation?”
Hmmm, good question. I should probably know the answer to that. My brow creases as I mentally trip over the previous month. The days and weeks have blended together to become more of a blur. A prickle of unease grows in the pit of my belly. My periods have always been unpredictable. From what I’ve read online, the pill can help regulate that.
“Um, I’m not sure.”
“Give me your best guess.”
I shake my head and throw out a number that seems plausible. “Maybe five weeks ago.”
“Okay. The first thing we’ll do is a urinalysis. There’s a bathroom across the hall. The sample bottles are already in the room. Use the Sharpie to write your first and last name on the label. After you’ve collected the sample, set the container in the small door on the wall and lock it.” She rises from the stool and pulls open a drawer from the cabinet before grabbing a pale-yellow paper gown. “Then you can change into this. Take off all of your clothing, even your bra and underwear. The flaps of the gown go in front.” She pauses for a beat as I process all the information that’s been hurtled at me. “Any questions?”
I shake my head, trying to remember each step. Mom had offered to come with me, and I’d turned her down flat. As I sit on the exam table, I kind of wish she were here. I feel alone and a little scared.
“All right,” the nurse smiles gently as if she can sense my apprehension, “Dr. Davis will be in shortly.”
“Thank you.”
She bustles out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
First order of business...the urine sample.
A few years ago, Mom had broached the subject of a gynecologist and I’d nixed the idea. It’s not like I was sexually active. Who wants to go to the doctor and have a pelvic exam for shits and giggles?
But now...
It’s completely necessary, and I’m kicking myself for not doing it sooner.
Once in the bathroom, I scrawl my name on the plastic container and do my best to collect a sample. Ironically, now that I need to pee, I can’t force myself to go. It takes at least five minutes to finish up. As soon as I return to the examination room, I strip off my skirt, shirt, and undergarments before wrapping the gown around my body. Then I grab my phone and settle on the paper-covered table to wait for the doctor.
Queen of Hawthorne Prep Page 18