I shut the door behind me. The only other place she’d be was the turret, which had been locked, forbidden to her for the last couple of weeks. Max had planned to wait until after the wedding to let her back up there, with instructions to finally sort through Rebekah’s things, choose what to keep, and get rid of the rest.
On the third floor, the gallery walls were still pocked with the shadows of the pictures that had once hung there. I wondered if the workers could paint this week, white for the wedding, anything but this lurid red. As I suspected, the turret door was still locked. But when I pressed my ear against the dense oak, I heard her, faint at first and then louder, her voice guttural with upset.
“Don’t lie to me, Claire. It’s not funny!”
I hesitated, afraid of wading into a volatile mood, or a fight between two teenage girls I was already afraid of. When I didn’t hear Claire reply, I realized Dani was on her phone.
“Well then, who is doing it, bitch?”
I waited for a bout of silence before I bucked up and knocked. This is what it is to parent. Nothing. I called her name, once, twice. Still nothing. Too afraid to press any further, I headed to our bedroom, where my phone was charging next to the bed. I could call her, I thought, or text. Instead, my fingers unwittingly routed me to her Instagram.
I’d been checking it less and less since our relationship seemed to have found better footing. But I thought it might give me some insight into her whereabouts these past few days. There were new posts, mostly of her and Claire wearing their customary seductive pouts, sometimes cartoon ears and noses, always their breasts out, their backs arched, lips puckered. Some were taken in her bedroom, some in what I assumed was Claire’s—more evidence of Max’s ineffectual grounding. She’d posted a lovely shot of Isabel pasturing out near the barn, and a stylish one of Asherley crowned by a stormy sky, a filter lending the house a terrific ominousness. There was a jarring selfie out at the shooting range behind the stone ruins of the old barn, Dani provocatively blowing on the end of a gun, Gus miserable in the background with his rifle pointed down. Her most recent post was a moody black-and-white, taken in front of the Eiffel Tower. She was holding a cigarette, hair blurring across her face. How many takes had there been, how many filters applied, before this one was deemed perfect enough to post? The caption read, “miss u #Paris #tbt.” Below that a few comments from friends, including Claire, who wrote “my reine” next to a crown emoji. The second-last comment stood out. It was right below Claire’s and it read, “And I miss you, my darling daughter,” below which Dani replied, “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!! FUCKING STOP DOING THIS!” It came from an account called @rwinterforever.
I tapped the handle. It was a private account. There were dozens of posts and the account was following only one person. Though I was unable to see any of the pictures, just the name, @rwinterforever, gave me chills. I flicked back to the comments in Dani’s other recent posts, the one of the horse, of the house, the gun range, and found more comments from this account, a compliment here (“Gorgeous shot!”), an endearment there (“Our lovely Asherley”), always followed with a reply from an alarmed Dani: “WHO ARE YOU? WHO IS DOING THIS? PLEASE STOP DOING THIS.”
I dropped my phone as though it were hot, feeling winded by this particular bout of snooping. Was this the reason she was yelling at Claire? If so, it was an appalling prank. If this was just a random fan account, I couldn’t think of a more malicious way to show appreciation for the late Rebekah Winter than to harass her daughter like this. I wanted to help. We were getting closer, weren’t we? She might appreciate my concern. Or I might open myself up to more ridicule and a fresh bout of antagonism, so close to the wedding. You’re a lurker, so creepy! Yet I was going to be her stepmother. I had to stop being afraid of her. Besides, I could broach the topic by asking gentle questions. You seem down, Dani, I could say. You don’t seem yourself. Is anything the matter? Anything you’d like to talk to me about? I’m here for you.
I texted Max. He would know what to do.
Hey you, Dani skipped school again, Adele’s worried. So am I. She’s up in the turret, door locked. Seems to be fighting with Claire. Not sure what to do.
I stared at my screen for a few minutes, waiting for the pulsing ellipsis to alert me to an incoming text. When none came, I went downstairs to check on the progress in the greenhouse, constantly glancing at my phone while saying goodbye to the workers for the day. Alone at the island eating dinner, I kept my phone perched in front of me, the way Dani always did. Finally, while I was heading upstairs to bed, a message dinged in my pocket, and I realized I had passed an entire day waiting for a text from Max.
Sorry love, back-to-back meetings. Can we deal with Dani tomorrow night? Will be home by dinner. Love M.
That’s it? I thought, conjuring all sorts of angry responses to his reply. Your daughter is distressed and I am not equipped to handle it, and I wait all day and THIS is your reply?
Out of fear and inexperience, and yes, out of selfishness, I simply replied: Ok. Safe flight, x. And then I went to bed.
* * *
• • •
Louisa invited herself to dinner the next night, since Jonah had come back with Max from Albany. By then Dani’s mood was noticeable to everyone at the table. She was present, but her mind miles away, her food mostly untouched. She was even immune to the charms of Maggie, boxing the tablecloth’s tassels by her ankles.
Finally, Max snapped his fingers in front of his daughter’s blank face. “Hey. Hello. Hi. Remember us? The people you live with? What is up with you, sweetheart?”
She shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, checking her phone again. Maggie jumped onto her lap. Dani’s eyes remained dead as she robotically pet her.
Max stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. She glared back at him.
“What? What is it, Daddy?”
“You tell me, doll. You’re sitting there like a barely animated corpse. I’m worried about you.”
“We’re worried about you,” I added.
“Oh my God, I’m fine,” she said, turning to me as though her head were on a swivel. “The dress should arrive any day now. I’ll keep it in my room. We don’t want Dad peeking.”
“That would be great,” I said.
She carefully sliced off a section of her meat. Her teeth clanged against her fork. She chewed slowly, swallowed with some effort. I stole a look at Louisa, whose eyes had widened with bafflement.
“Oh and thank you for the flowers, Dad. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Of course I did.”
“I think I’ll go upstairs now. I’m tired.”
“All right,” Max said. “Feel better soon.”
“I told you, Dad, I’m fine.”
She left without kissing him, uncharacteristically leaving Maggie behind as well. I scooped her up.
“See what I mean?” I whispered.
Max shrugged. “She’s allowed to be a little moody before the wedding.”
“But she never speaks to you like that,” I said. “Don’t you think something’s going on?”
“A lot of things are bound to be going through her mind. I wouldn’t worry.”
He continued to eat. I had barbecued steak that night, with some success.
“You’re looking at me like you have a theory,” he said.
The three of them blinked at me like owls.
“You think it’s the greenhouse?” Louisa said.
“No, it’s not that.” I gathered Maggie and rose to shut the dining room door.
“Now you’re worrying me,” said Louisa, her eyes following me back to my chair.
I hesitated, having never faced such a rapt audience in my life. “This is embarrassing, but . . . for a while now I’ve— Well, there’s no other way to put this. I’ve been snooping on Dani’s Instagram. I only do it now and again, not every day. And I onl
y do it to keep an eye on her.” I winced, waiting for the response.
“I do that,” Louisa said matter-of-factly. “Not since Paris. But I do.”
“So do I,” said Max.
“You do?” I looked at one, then the other.
“She’s fifteen,” he said. “Of course I do. Or I should.”
Louisa smiled at me. “If I see something I don’t like, I rat her out to her Luddite father.”
“Yes, and then I tell her to take things down and she has a meltdown, switching to private mode so we can’t see anything, after which I take her phone away, then she gets another one with a new number she won’t give me, and on and on it goes. I need to do a better job of monitoring, for sure. Rebekah used to, but she was only twelve when she first got on there. It was all unicorns and best friends forever, but now . . .” He gave a shudder.
“You have to snoop,” Louisa said. “That’s what all the books say.”
I could have cried. Of course they would monitor her social media.
“Now I’m doubly embarrassed. I was supposed to be doing this.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Max said. “You’re not a parent. At least you weren’t until now. I, for one, am glad you’re doing it. Has it been bad?”
“Well, it’s not that her pictures are that bad, really. It’s that there are these very odd comments, from one account in particular, a private one, and then her reaction to them.”
Max rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”
Louisa took out her phone and reading glasses. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” She tapped the app on her phone, instead of going through a browser, as I did.
“You have an account?” I was genuinely surprised; she didn’t seem the type.
“Oh good God, no, I’m too old. It’s just a dummy account for snooping. And not just on Dani, by the way. My friends are complete idiots. Grown women doing duck-face selfies. Using puppy-ear filters. Imagine. What am I looking for?” she asked, peering down her nose through her tiny glasses.
I puffed up like an expert. “Here. I’ll show you.” I took Louisa’s phone from her and scanned through Dani’s last few postings. “See? Here. The greenhouse one. Just below. Read that comment.”
Louisa took her phone back. Her lips moving as she read the words. Then she honed in on the account’s name. “At R . . . Winter forever. R Winter. That’s . . . Is someone commenting as Rebekah?”
“I don’t know. It’s weird, though, isn’t it?”
“What the—” Max snatched the phone, squinting to read the comments. Louisa handed him her glasses. “You talked to her about this?”
“No. I didn’t have the courage,” I admitted. “I’d never hear the end of it from her. But when the comments started popping up, that’s when she started acting strange, disappearing, turning sullen, wandering the greenhouse in a daze. You know how she’s been, Max. I tried to tell you about this yesterday.”
He poked through her other posts.
“Who would do this?” I asked, looking at all three of them.
“Let’s see.” Max put down the phone. “Her friends, or rather her ex-friends. They’re all little shits.”
“Claire especially,” Louisa said.
“Yes, she’s a particular piece of work,” Jonah said. “From a whole family of assholes, to be honest. Wasn’t the father nabbed for insider trading or something?”
“Embezzlement,” Max said.
“Right.”
“Well, the girls are fighting right now,” I said. “I overheard Dani yelling at Claire on the phone, accusing her, I think, of doing this.” I left out the part where I had my ear pressed to the door.
“Dani’s been a very talented bully over the years. Especially online,” Max said ruefully. “It could be Claire, or someone else she’s pissed off giving her a taste of her own medicine.”
Louisa took her phone back and continued to scan the posts. “I hate to say this, but . . . this . . . this might also be Dani,” she said. She placed her phone down on the table as if she had solved the mystery, case closed.
I looked towards the door, suddenly worried Dani would walk in on four grown-ups analyzing her social media. I lowered my voice. “You think she did this and she’s faking anxiety over it? To what end?”
“Does she know you snoop?” Jonah asked.
“No. Yes, maybe.” I remembered how she had laughed at me at the restaurant, said that she’d made a bet with Claire.
“This is classic Dani,” Louisa said, tapping her phone with an index finger to punctuate her point. “Dramatic. Weird. Puts her at the center of attention.”
“Look at us all talking about her right now,” Jonah added, with a laugh.
“And she likes to rub Rebekah in your face,” Louisa said to me. “You know it’s true. Plus, she knows how to play a long game.”
There was a collective groan. Louisa continued.
“Remember, Max, when she wanted everyone to hate the Waterston girl for some mysterious reason? She planted a few of her belongings at their house and then later accused the kid of stealing them. She was eight. When she finally told Rebekah the truth, what did Rebekah do? She laughed. She thought Dani was so clever.”
“I can’t believe she’d do this on the off chance that I’d see it. We’ve been getting along so well. She’s been such a help.” I turned to Max. “What if one of her friends is taunting her? What if it is Claire? We have to do something. We have to help her.”
“Are you always like this?” Jonah asked.
“Like what?”
“Kind and lovely and perfectly sane?”
“Oh, look, Joe’s got a crush on the second Mrs. Winter, too,” Louisa said. Jonah shot her a look and shifted in his seat.
Max covered my hand, ignoring them. “I’ll talk to her,” he said. “I promise.”
My shoulders dropped, relieved he was going to take it on and not me. “Thank you, Max.”
“No. Thank you. For your big, good heart. For caring about Dani. It’s having an effect on her. Or maybe it’s that damn kitten.” He reached over and scratched Maggie’s ruff.
“You mean this sweet little thing that you told me to get rid of?”
He smiled. “This kitten was your wedding gift. But that’s all you’re getting,” he said, touching my cheek, confirming he could no more get rid of Maggie than he could Dani or me.
TWENTY-THREE
There wasn’t much left to do for the wedding, so Dani mostly stayed in her room those last few days, watching endless amounts of TV and playing with Maggie, only dragging herself out of her hole to help Gus load the horses heading to their new stables in Montauk. I watched her from the kitchen window, laughing with Gus as they made several attempts to back the trailer up to the barn. She calmly walked each horse up the plank and into a long trailer, Isabel and then Dorian, stopping to whisper into their flickering ears. She seemed happy, comfortable, like her old self. Max came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and we watched them for a moment.
“I talked to Dani this morning,” he said, kissing the side of my head.
I turned around to face him. “And? Did she mention the account?”
“No. But she was flinty and defensive when I asked about Claire. They are fighting, so I think we have our culprit.”
“Did you ask her about those weird messages?”
“Not outright. I just opened a channel of communication, as they say. Good God, teenage girls terrify me. They hate each other today, but they’ll be best friends tomorrow. Besides, the pranking seems to have stopped.”
“You checked?”
“Nothing in the past couple days. Let’s let it go for now. Okay?”
I turned back around just as Dani climbed into the truck beside Gus.
“Jesus Christ, she’s not supposed to go with h
im,” Max said, taking out his phone.
I covered it with my hand. “Max, just . . . let her.”
I was trying to keep what I felt was a precarious peace. The wedding was only days away. I still had the naive belief that afterwards I’d be imbued with powers I lacked before marrying Max, making me better equipped to tackle any demons that might arise, hers, mine, or ours.
* * *
• • •
I was down in the boathouse, laying the last coat of varnish over the stencil, when Dani texted me to say the dress had finally arrived from the seamstress, and not a day to spare. Without replying, I threw my brush down and sprinted to the house, completely forgetting the force field Dani had erected around her. I ran past the party-rental people rolling tables and carting chairs out of their truck, skidded across the foyer, and raced up the stairs. I entered Dani’s room without knocking, without waiting for an invitation, just as she was hanging the long white garment bag in her closet, the dress still zipped inside.
“Um, hello,” she said.
“Let’s have a look!” I said, lunging for the bag.
Dani yelped, slapping at my hands. “Whoa! What have you been doing with those?”
I looked down at my fingers. Brown varnish coated my nail beds and settled deep into the creases of my knuckles.
“Go and soak those gross paws and don’t come near me until they’re absolutely fucking clean.”
The Winters Page 20