Princess comes running over as Kimberly starts up the rope, using the technique Tad just demonstrated. “I’m up next,” she says breathlessly. “Finn wants you closer.”
We all shuffle until we’re as close as we can get without actually being on the mat. Finn raises inquiring eyebrows at me and I compress my mouth and shrug. He nods, and I take a second to appreciate how solid, how helpful he has been throughout this.
“Okay,” I say to Georgia. “Don’t get mad, but I’m trying to figure out if there are edges to your fear.”
“Edges.” Georgia wipes away a tear and folds her arms back over her chest. “This I gotta hear.”
“Limits, I mean. Like, my mom is a hoarder,” I say, hoping my mama would understand me oversharing in this instance. “And she gets panic attacks if anyone but her throws something out. But if she does it herself and has enough time, she can handle it.”
“Right,” Princess says to Georgia. “Are there any situations where you’re able to be up high? Any at all? Like, if you can’t see that you’re up high, do you still freak?”
Georgia’s mouth falls open.
“Like if you’re blindfolded,” I say gently, as the rope is lowered and Finn beckons to Princess. We have five of our eight up now, and the blue team is still working on their second person.
Princess clambers onto the cushion and within seconds is whizzing upward. Our upstairs team has developed a seriously efficient routine.
“With a blindfold, if you can’t see where you are, maybe you won’t be frightened,” I say.
“And you don’t think my dangling foot will be enough information?” Georgia says.
“But when it dangles, you can’t tell if you’re up one inch or one hundred,” I say. At Georgia’s glare, I say hastily, “Okay. Forget about the blindfold. Dumb idea.”
At this point, I have nothing else to offer and we are running out of time. Somehow, the blue team made major strides when I wasn’t looking. They now have three members up to our five, though Sam is obviously struggling as much as Georgia.
“Liv!” I hear. The rope is back now and Finn is signaling that it’s my turn.
“Go,” I tell him. At his anguished expression I say, “Warm body, remember? Go.”
As the rest of the white team calls to him from above, he grabs the rope and begins his ascent. But he’s not a happy man.
“Listen, honey,” Georgia says. She turns to me and grabs my arms at the elbows, gives me a quick shake. “I appreciate everything you’re trying to do for me, but it isn’t going to work. It’s hopeless. I’m hopeless. When that rope comes down, you go. You hear me?”
I bite my lip. I can’t make myself agree.
“You listen to me now.” She tilts her head forward to tell me she’s serious. “If we get seven up there out of eight, we’ll at least get the second-place prize.”
I shake my head. “I’m not leaving you,” I say. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“But I’ll feel worse if you stay. Go,” she says when I continue to hesitate. “I mean it. Shoo.” She flaps her hands like I’m a troublesome cat. “Honey, these contests are about more than a prize. At least show them you tried.”
At that moment, the empty rope lands on the mat, and six members of the white team begin calling my name.
“Go,” Georgia says, holding my gaze with determination, which she then undoes by bursting into tears.
I feel like I’m doing the wrong thing as I climb onto the mat. I’m nauseous and shaky as I insert my foot into the rope and grab the knot.
I’m not crazy about heights myself, so I put all my focus on what my free foot needs to do to ascend. The first and second stories go whizzing by, and all too soon the top of my head is level with the bottom frame of the window. Five beaming faces look out at me. Only Finn looks like he has mixed feelings about this whole enterprise.
I look down at Georgia’s upturned face, and all I can see is her sadness and regret. She is feeling ashamed. This so-called team-building exercise has left her feeling ashamed.
“You know,” I say to Tucker, whose outstretched hand is about to grasp mine, “this is some whacked-out bullshit.”
“It’s okay, Liv,” he says. “You’re almost here. Reach out your hand.”
“You don’t understand,” I say. “I’m not scared. I’m furious. This is total bullshit.”
“What do you mean?” Kimberly says, her smile fading as I fail to move.
“Why don’t you come in the room to discuss it?” Tucker says.
When he and Tad lunge for my hand, I shuffle it one knot lower and glare at them. “Touch me before I’m ready and I let go.”
Tad puts up his hands in a gesture of surrender and backs away, his eyes widened. “Okay, then.”
“Look at her.” I gesture to Georgia on the ground, her acute misery visible from two stories below. “The only reason we’re here is because she worked harder yesterday than all of us put together. And now she can’t do this one task and we’re all going to abandon her? I don’t call that team-building.”
“She’s not your mom,” Tucker says, clearly annoyed. “You’re not required to make her feel wonderful.”
I glare at Tucker. “Screw you and your Cracker Jack box psych diploma.”
Now a chorus of protests erupts from the other white-team members.
“But the instructions were clear. We’re supposed to get into the room.”
“Think of it like serving a client. You might not hit the deadline, but you get as close as you can.”
“And it’s Paris. I’ve wanted to go to Paris my entire life.”
“Me, too.”
Into the medley of angry and imploring voices, I hear Princess insert her calm tones. “Liv has a point. I mean, how do you know this isn’t a test to see if we’ll abandon a team member? If we all go down together and stay with Georgia, I bet we’ll win.”
“I don’t care about the stupid contest,” I say in exasperation. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“Well, that’s great to hear,” Tad says, “because the blue team has figured out their process. Things are about to get real.”
I try to articulate why I’m so troubled. “What if I was older or pregnant? What if one of us was in a wheelchair? What would you do then?”
“So lodge a complaint or start a petition,” Tucker says. “After we win. Just get your crusader butt in here.”
“Finn, say something,” I plead. “I don’t get why you’d let Yolanda create a situation like this. This isn’t like you.”
His eyes are unhappy but he shakes his head. “You know I can’t comment, Liv.”
Another wrong thing about this setup. Our team has been handicapped from the first by a player who’d be brilliant at strategy, but who can’t fully participate.
“This shouldn’t be your decision,” Tad says. “You don’t get to choose for us all.”
“I agree,” Tucker says. “Get in here before your arms give out. We’ll take a vote together.”
As if I’d fall for that. Since the blue team doesn’t appear to be any more successful in getting Sam up the rope than we have been with Georgia, if Yolanda picks a winner, the outcome is going to be decided by what the other seven members do. If I go into the room, we might “win” by being the quickest to abandon our teammate.
The bottom line is, I don’t think I have it in me to do that to Georgia. Not for something she honestly can’t help.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I really am.”
“So that’s it, then?” Kimberly says. “You’re going to forfeit for all of us?”
Over on the blue team, the sixth person has drawn level with me.
I think back to the biggest regret in my life—the one time I went with the flow because I thought it would be too hard and too lonely to buck the current. I knew then what I was doing was wrong, just like I know that going into that room now would be wrong—maybe not for anyone else, but definitely wrong for me.
“I
’m sorry,” I say, knowing what I have to do, knowing it’s going to cost me. “My conscience isn’t a democracy.”
I lean back and release the rope.
PRINCESS FOLLOWS IMMEDIATELY. She stands, poised within the window frame before jumping, and lands and rolls in one efficient step, coming neatly to her feet on the lawn. When she sits beside me, she pats my knee and squeezes Georgia’s shoulder.
The other white-team members follow in rapid succession. Their expressions range from the carefully neutral, like Finn’s, to the downright hostile, like Tad’s.
It’s close, and the watching audience is agitated and loud as they debate my decision. But simple physics is on our side. Because descent can be accomplished more quickly than ascent, the white team is united on the ground—with Georgia—seconds before the blue team—minus Sam—is united two stories above.
“WELL, THAT WAS AN INTERESTING ROUND,” Yolanda says ten minutes later, when the blue team has taken the stairs to reunite with Sam, and we have all taken seats on the lawn, facing the platform. “We have two teams and two very different choices. Before I declare the winner, let’s get a representative up from each side to explain their thinking process.”
I jump when a firm finger is planted between my shoulder blades in a not particularly gentle fashion.
“Go,” Tucker says. “You made the call, you defend it.”
I look around at my team. Finn would almost certainly be sympathetic, but I heard his cell ring a moment ago. And now he is heading in the direction of his villa with ground-eating strides. Except for Princess, who is of the opinion my strategy will prove to be the winning one, the others won’t look at me. Not even Georgia.
I climb to my feet and walk to the platform, acutely aware of the larger crowd’s silence, too. So much for team spirit, I think. So much for flying under the radar. I’ve really done it this time.
I shiver in the breeze, wishing I had a sweater or pockets in my shorts. I need a place to bury my hands.
“All right,” Yolanda says brightly, and turns to me. “Why don’t you go first, Olivia.”
It seemed so simple up on the rope—in a team-building exercise, don’t leave a teammate behind. But everyone else obviously sees it differently; they believe I abandoned six.
I open my mouth, unsure what I’m going to say, when Yolanda’s cell phone rings. Whatever she sees on the call display has her expression abruptly shifting to one of concern.
“Excuse me,” she says, and steps away to take the call, just as several other phones ring in the crowd.
After a few terse questions, Yolanda pulls the phone from her ear but cradles it against her chest without hanging up. “I’m very sorry, everyone. We have an ongoing incident at a Wakefield worksite. This debriefing is adjourned until tomorrow morning, when we’ll meet first thing in the ballroom.” And she’s off, speaking rapidly into the phone as she moves.
When I descend the stairs, it is to find the white-team members are going out for drinks. They don’t say as much, but it’s clear I haven’t been invited.
Princess remains behind long enough to pat my back and whisper a message. “‘The righteous and upright man is a laughingstock.’Job 12:4.”
I imagine she thinks that’s a comfort.
CHAPTER 15
FINN
By dinnertime, the refinery fire in Corpus Christi is out. No one was injured, thank goodness. An investigation has been launched to determine the cause and extent of the damage, and to determine if anything Wakefield did as major onsite contractor contributed to the incident.
As there’s nothing more I need to do tonight, my first thought is to go to Liv. She took a brave and unpopular stand this afternoon. I’m not sure she’ll be rewarded for her personal integrity with a trip to Paris—Yolanda makes all those determinations—but I want to make sure she’s okay.
Also, we probably need to have a conversation about last night. Though I have no regrets, I’m not sure she feels the same.
But Darcy has been trying to reach me for hours, and there is that little matter of the past stalking to resolve, so I take the stairs to the villa rooftop and call him.
“Am I buying you a steak dinner?” I ask when he picks up. When Darcy solves a thorny case for Wakefield, our tradition is that I buy him a porterhouse.
“Better hear the full story before you decide.”
I sink onto the rattan love seat. “Okay, shoot.”
“So, I’m in Stonybrook. I drove down right after we hung up yesterday, which is why you haven’t got any photos. There’s too much glare when I try to make a copy with my phone and I haven’t had time to locate a scanner. Can probably rectify that tonight.”
“Okay.” Truthfully, it’s been so busy since we talked, I’d forgotten about my request.
“Took me almost thirteen hours to get here. Boy, whoever was vandalizing your property, they were sure committed. That’s some major premeditation.”
One of the reasons it felt so personal. “You said ‘whoever.’ Does that mean you still don’t know who did it?” I hope not, because I really need this wrapped up.
“I’m getting there, I promise. So I had a two-pronged plan: see if I could establish an alibi for Ms. Prosser on any of those dates, and identify the mystery woman. The logical person to help with both angles was Ada Prosser. Unfortunately, you said I’m on a tight timeline and I couldn’t come up with a believable cover story. I made the executive decision to take her into my confidence. Just to warn ya, Ada knows Ms. Prosser is in Jamaica right now. Think you can expect Ms. Prosser will get a phone call as soon as she lands.”
I close my eyes. I can’t see what else Darcy could have done, but the cat’s out of the bag now. I just hope we have this all resolved before Liv hears about it. “How did Ada take it?”
“Once she got over her shock, she was helpful.”
I straighten. “How so?”
“For starters, she confirmed that Ms. Prosser kept using the backyard shed for her clothing after you left.”
Making it easy for someone with a devious mind to borrow from Liv’s wardrobe.
“Do you remember March twenty-fourth?” Darcy asks. “I’ve taken to calling it The Day of the Lawn Chair.”
“Sure do,” I say dryly. That was the day Liv—or Liv’s impersonator—showed up with a pack of dogs and a pair of yellow kitchen gloves. She had the dogs take a dump on my lawn, then used their shit to finger-paint all my outdoor furniture, plus my patio doors.
“Well, the still from that day is the best one we have of our mystery woman, so I showed it to Ada. Right away, she recognized the dogs. Started telling me their names, their adopted owners. Even what they liked to eat. Course, she could have been fibbing—”
“She isn’t.” Liv got her memory from her mother.
“Okay. Point is, she was willing to claim the dogs, but unwilling to say the woman was her daughter.”
I feel obliged to play devil’s advocate. “That won’t mean much. She’d protect Liv.”
“Sure. But here’s where things got interesting. The photo had a date and time stamp from the CCTV footage.”
“And?”
“Ada noticed it and this look comes over her face. Boy,” he says, his tone shifting subtly, “that’s quite the place she has there, isn’t it?”
“Meaning?” I put an edge in my voice. Ada had her issues, but she worked hard to contain them, and she was there for me at a time when I needed refuge. On top of that, though I doubt Darcy can understand, there were times when the chaos of her place felt more welcoming than the sterility of the Old Man’s home.
Darcy clears his throat. “Meaning, uh, she’s real big on keeping paperwork, which in our case turned out to be a help. Took a couple of hours, and I’m expensing you for my suit and tie, but it was worth it.” His voice is thick with satisfaction. “Got your girl an alibi for the dog-shit attack.”
I stand abruptly. “You what?”
“Ms. Prosser couldn’t be behind the Ma
rch twenty-fourth incident.”
“How—”
“Both women were at a funeral in Portland. Went by plane, which I guess is a big deal for Ada. But some special aunt of Olivia’s passed.”
I wrack my brain for a name. “Maisey? Maisey Prosser?”
“That’s the one. Saw the obituary leaflet with my own eyes. Plus the receipt for their plane tickets. Also, I talked to a cousin on the phone and confirmed their attendance.”
“Give me a minute,” I say, because I’m hardly hearing him at this point. I sink onto the love seat and set my phone down with shaking hands before doubling over at the waist.
On the day Liv was burying her only aunt—her last living connection to her father, who had died of pneumonia when Liv was a baby—someone was doing everything they could to harden my heart against her. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.
All along I’ve been feeling like I was the victim of the attacks, when the truth is, Liv was the bigger target. It was her reputation being destroyed in my eyes. It was her being deprived of someone who swore to love her and who promised to return. Because without the vandalism, I would have eventually gone to her. I can’t count how many times I had been about to beg her forgiveness when I’d come home to a new disaster and my pride and hurt would flare all over again.
Whoever did this, they are responsible for us being apart. They are fucking responsible.
I stay in that position for a while, until I’m calm, and when I’m sure I’ve got myself in hand, I sit up and I pick up the phone.
“Okay, I’m back,” I say in a frayed voice. “Keep going. I need to hear it all.”
“So…I asked Ada who was taking care of their property while they were gone. She said it was—”
“Tucker Acheson,” I say, because who else could it be?
“Uh-huh. There’s more. The night your headlights were taken out—”
“I remember.” I had gone for a run by the river and returned to find the Beemer surrounded by broken glass. Bert had retrieved CCTV footage from the surgeon who owned the mansion across the road. It had shown Liv’s rust-heap of a car driving past. Then a woman dressed like Liv returning to the scene with a crowbar.
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