“She’s dead!”
Gabriel fell to his knees. When he did, Portia saw Ariel on the floor.
His roar filled the entire house as he pulled the girl into his arms. “What have you done?” he demanded.
“I didn’t do anything!” Miranda cried, hugging herself.
Portia felt an odd calm come over her. She pulled out her cell phone. “Has anyone called 9-1-1?”
“I already did,” Miranda managed, dropping down next to the girl and their father. “You have to fix her, Dad. Oh, God, it’s my fault! Ariel! Wake up!”
Gabriel started CPR.
Kids were still running, a boy pounding down the stairs, towing a half-dressed girl. The music was nearly deafening, so Portia turned it off.
Then there was silence except for Miranda’s sobs and Gabriel’s measured counting as he blew air into Ariel’s lungs and compressed her chest.
Portia sank onto her knees beside them. She took in the room, smelled the air. She turned back to Ariel. “Her lips are blue around the edges. It’s an asthma attack. Where’s her backpack?”
Gabriel and Miranda went stiff at the same time. Miranda leaped up. “It’s got to be here somewhere!”
But the kids had evaporated. Ariel’s backpack was nowhere in sight.
Gabriel raised his head, his hands compressing Ariel’s chest with gentle force. “The yard,” he ordered. “Someone dropped something in the yard.”
Portia flew back out of the house and spotted Ariel’s backpack lying in a forgotten heap in the dark. She careened back inside, ripping through its contents as she went until she found what she was looking for. She dropped down next to Gabriel, who grabbed the inhaler and put it into his daughter’s mouth. He shot it once, then twice, then clamped his mouth over hers and resumed CPR.
Forty-two
ARIEL SWAM in a murky place, where sound was muffled and light seemed overbright. But the worry, all the worry she had felt since the accident, was gone. She still felt the buzzing, but she was no longer a bee stuck in a jar.
She felt at peace.
This was where she wanted to be, a place where things were easier. This was what she had been moving toward ever since the accident, with all those horrible feelings slowly disappearing.
She had been right. She had disappeared, just like Mom.
For so long she had been afraid, but had refused to admit it. With the fear and worry suddenly gone, she felt herself expanding, as if she were flinging her arms wide and taking a deep breath.
But on the heels of that peace, she felt a tinge of panic trying to pry its way through the calm. Could she really leave her dad? Miranda? Even Portia? Would they be fine without her? Would they care?
“Ariel!”
The roar echoed in the quiet that surrounded her.
“No!”
She felt the vibration of the words against her body more than she heard them.
Dad?
“Ariel! Damn it, come back!”
For long seconds she felt the words, felt the way they surrounded her and pushed away the quiet. She felt torn between the peace and the wish to stop the pain she felt coming at her in a wave. The push, then the pull. The need to stay gone, the pull to go back.
Then all of a sudden, she saw her dad’s face in her mind with that look he had at Mom’s funeral when his mouth distorted and she knew he could have cried but wouldn’t. Of Dad sitting at the breakfast table reading The Wall Street Journal, the way he had lowered the paper and raised a brow when she inquired if he was interested in having cocktails that evening, only to go back to reading without a word. Her dad, who didn’t get ruffled by anything. Her dad, who she felt certain hovered over her now. Crying.
The world flooded back into her a startling gasp of breath, and she cried out in surprise. Air burned as it rushed into her lungs.
“Dad?” she managed, her tongue thick, her head light. She felt hot and cold all at once, and like she was going to be sick to her stomach.
Her father was leaning over her. “Ariel.”
Not a question. A statement. But with the world coming back into focus, she remembered everything that was wrong, the peace gone.
He wasn’t her dad at all.
Misery ripped through her as all the pieces jarred back into place. First her mom had been taken away. Now her dad. She wanted to go back to the quiet. She wanted to scream that it was all unfair. She wanted to tell him she would be the greatest daughter ever, that she’d do better this time at being perfect, that he’d be better off keeping her rather than giving her away.
But what if he didn’t want her? What if he didn’t want to deal with the trouble of always paying Anthony? How she wished he would never learn the truth.
She struggled to open her eyes. The minute she succeeded, her dad hugged her tight. “Oh, God,” he whispered, making her feel safe for the first time since the accident.
“Dad?”
“God, Ariel,” he said into her hair. “As soon as I get over the relief I feel right now, you’re going to be in a mountain of trouble for running away.”
“So you’ll ground me?” she managed, wanting nothing more than her dad’s infamous go-to form of punishment, anything to make her feel that their lives could be normal again.
He half laughed, half cursed, and held her tight.
Then Miranda came into view next to Dad’s shoulder. “Ariel, I’m sorry!” she said, her voice warped by a sob. “I was so stupid to come out here. And it was stupid that I didn’t come find you the minute I heard you were in the house. I—I almost killed you!”
Ariel shook her head, the effort making her senses spin. “No, you didn’t.”
Ambulance guys rushed in then, moving Miranda and her dad back.
That’s when she saw Portia just looking at her, a strange mix of relief and sadness on her face. “Hey, kiddo. Welcome back.”
As if Portia actually understood that she had gone, might not have returned.
Ariel smiled at her, feeling sort of shy, wanting to reach out, realizing that the one person she could have talked to all this time was Portia. She would have understood. Portia got all those things that weren’t ordinary, like food that meant stuff, and how people could disappear.
But then her thoughts circled back to what she had found. As much as she didn’t want to tell her dad about it, she couldn’t be like her mother. No more secrets.
She pushed at the ambulance guy. “Dad?”
“What is it, Ariel?”
“I found a box Mom hid. It had a key and some letters in it.”
Dad didn’t seem to care. “Sweetheart, let the paramedics finish checking you over. We can talk about it later.”
They started in on her—blood pressure, checking her eyes, temperature—then had her hooked up to an IV in record time.
“Quick onset, quick recovery. But to be on the safe side,” one of them said, “she should be observed for twenty-four hours. We’ll take her to Overlook.”
“What?” Ariel said, her throat still burning. “Overlook, like the hospital? I can’t go there. I have bigger problems. I found letters from Mom. And a key,” she repeated.
The paramedics and Dad looked at one an other, and the paramedics fell back.
“What letters, Ariel? What key?”
“So,” she began, hesitant, nervous, though her voice was getting stronger, the itch less intense, “you see, Mom told me I had to find the box.”
Her dad got an even weirder look on his face.
“I don’t mean she told me anything after she died. In the car, after we wrecked, before the police got there, she told me to find the box in her study.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice pained.
“I didn’t want to know.” Ariel tried to feel less stupid than she did right then. “But mostly, I guess, I didn’t want Mom to be dead, and not finding the box made it less real.”
“Who are the letters for, Ariel?”
She bit her lip, trying t
o push herself up to sit cross-legged, but her dad didn’t let her.
“Fine,” she exhaled. “Technically, one’s for you. The other’s for a lawyer.” Then she rushed out the rest with a heave of breath. “But she told me to find the box, so I figured—”
“Ariel,” he said, cutting her off, “let me have the letters.”
As reluctantly as she had done anything in her life, she told him they were in her backpack. Once the pack was retrieved, he pulled the folded envelopes out. He read all of it. He swallowed hard, his throat working. Then he read the one to him again, and looked at her.
She told herself to have a little pride. Raising her chin, she said, “I guess I should call you Mr. Kane.” She choked on the words, her voice clogged and raspy. “Too formal? How about Uncle Gabriel?”
“Oh, God,” he whispered, pulling her back to him before setting her just far enough way that he could look her in the eye. “I’m your dad, Ariel. Always your dad.”
Tears burned even hotter. “But the letter—”
“No buts. I raised you. I loved you from the second you were born.”
“But Uncle Anthony—”
“Forget my brother, Ariel. You’re my daughter, in every way that matters. And I keep what is mine. Always.”
The words were fierce. “Really?”
“Really.” He pulled her close. “You’re mine, A.”
It was sick possessive, but she had never liked her dad’s whack-job bossy thing more than she did right then. She would have done her best to throw herself at him, despite the IV tube, but she couldn’t. Not until the whole truth was out there. She couldn’t leave it half done.
“Dad,” Ariel whispered, not wanting to tell him the even bigger secret that she had tried to tuck away and forget, the last bit of poison she had refused to tell the Shrink, had refused to write in her journal. “Mom wrecked because of me.”
His whole body went stiff. “What are you talking about, Ariel?”
She glanced over to where Portia was talking to Miranda, who was still crying. “I found Mom with, um, Anthony.”
Her dad went completely still, and she felt the panic creep up again.
“Please explain.” Short, clipped words, but her words spilled out in a rush.
“Miranda had gone into the city on a school trip. Mom forgot I only had a half day at school, then a Mathlete competition, so I walked home. And I, um, saw them, together.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m going to kill him.”
“I waited outside for him to leave, so he wouldn’t see me. When he left, I told Mom I knew. That I saw. That I was going to tell you.”
Tears started streaming down her cheeks before she realized she was crying. “I was mad. I gave her the car keys and said—” The words stuck in her throat.
“What did you say, sweetheart?”
He looked at her with his craggy face, so fierce, but in that way he had that made her feel like he could do anything in the whole world.
“I told her if she was finished screwing Uncle Anthony”—she shuddered at the words—“that maybe she could find a few minutes to take me to the Mathlete competition.” Ariel did her best to keep her voice steady, truthful. “Mom slammed into the car, mad.”
Ariel had gotten in the backseat, just as angry. But her mom had acted like she wasn’t even in the car, like she was invisible. Mom hadn’t said a word about Anthony. No explanation, no promise that Ariel shouldn’t worry, or that they would talk about it later. “She was really mad, her hands clenching on the wheel.” She hesitated. “I might have been sort of mad, so … I asked her if she wanted me to tell you before I competed or after. Mom jerked her head back to look at me then. She turned away from the road, Dad, and started to say something to me.” Ariel drew in a deep breath. “You know the rest.”
Her dad’s jaw worked, it seemed, like for a century. Finally he said, “Ariel, listen to me, and listen good. None of this, I mean none of it, is your fault. It’s my fault, and your mother’s fault. And Anthony’s fault. But never yours. Do you understand me?”
Her eyes burned, relief washing through her, and she managed a nod, even if she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it.
Portia must have thought they were finished talking, and she walked over. “You go with Ariel to the hospital,” she said. “I’ll drive Miranda back to the city and stay with her until you and Ariel are done.”
Dad looked up. “Portia—”
“Gabriel, give me the keys,” she said, stepping back.
Ariel watched as he stared at Portia, then nodded. “You’re right. You and Miranda should go back. As soon as Ariel and I finish at the hospital, I’ll call a car service.”
He glanced at Miranda with a ferocious look, but at the same moment he stood and extended his arm. Miranda ran to him, and he pulled her into his chest.
“This isn’t over,” he said. “But we’ll fix it. We’ll fix whatever’s wrong. Okay?”
Miranda hiccupped another sob, and nodded against his shirt.
Dad looked over her head at Portia and started to say something.
But Portia turned away, and Ariel saw a bunch of emotions race across his face. Anger? Frustration? Whatever it was, he definitely wasn’t happy.
“Come on, Miranda,” Portia said. “We’d better hurry.” She took Dad’s keys, then leaned over to Ariel. “Glad you’re okay, kiddo.”
Then she was out the door, Miranda in tow, Dad staring after her and looking like he wanted to punch the wall.
* * *
It took hours, but after another IV solution of some kind, and getting checked on every five seconds, eventually Ariel got the okay from the emergency room doctors to leave. But once they did, she and her dad didn’t go home. It was somewhere around four in the morning. They went to a hotel near the hospital, just in case she had to go back in.
Which she wouldn’t, but it made her feel better to have her dad fussing over her so much. Maybe he really did mean to keep her.
She took a long bath in a tub that was like a small pool while Dad went downstairs and managed to get someone to find them something to eat.
Finally, clean and fed, wrapped in one of the hotel’s giant robes, Ariel curled into her dad’s arms and looked up at him. He was sitting on the bed, his head back against the headboard. He seemed really tired, and it made her worry.
“Dad,” she whispered.
He didn’t open his eyes. “Hmmm?”
“I’m sorry I was the one who told you about the Uncle Anthony thing.”
He didn’t answer at first. “I already knew.”
She jerked in his arms. “You already knew? For how long?”
“He told me six months after the funeral.”
Exactly when they’d moved into the city. She took the information in, processing. “Is that why we left Montclair?”
“Yes. I wanted to be closer to you and Miranda.”
“So he couldn’t show up and take me while you were working in Manhattan?”
“Ariel, nothing like that is going to happen.”
“But what if … what if Uncle Anthony fights for me? You know, because of money, or something.”
He looked at her then, and that ferocious power thing he did so well was back. It didn’t scare her at all, only made her feel weak with relief.
“There is no amount of money that will get in the way of you always being my daughter, Ariel.”
“Is that what you two keep talking about? Is that what you want him to sign? Something that says I’m … not his?”
He pulled her closer. “Like I said, no matter what, you are my daughter. Don’t ever forget that, Ariel. But, yes, I intend to make it legal.”
“And that’s how Uncle Anthony keeps getting money out of you? Like blackmail? Like he was doing to Mom?”
She felt him tense. “Let me worry about my brother. I will always take care of you. Can you trust me? Will you stop running around town trying to solve mysteries and let me do it for you?”
“Yep, I know all about your adventures.”
“Are you mad?”
“I’m only angry at myself for not having gotten this dealt with sooner.”
Ariel felt the vise around her chest ease. And just like the night she had fallen asleep in his study back in Manhattan, Ariel tucked herself even closer. She felt so tired, like all the energy she had used to keep things together had seeped out of her, in a good way, and she thought that finally she would really sleep.
“I bet you’re going to rethink the whole no–cell phone thing now,” she whispered as she drifted off.
She was almost sure she heard him laugh.
* * *
They headed out of the hotel in the morning and a car was waiting in the front drive. But instead of giving their address in Manhattan, her dad gave an address in Montclair.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To the bank.” He held up the key she had found. “It’s for a lockbox.”
“How can you tell?”
“I used to have one just like it at a bank here in town. I never knew your mother had her own.”
They walked into the bank and were ushered into a private area, a box pulled out and waiting on a table.
“Are you ready?” her dad asked.
Biting her lip, Ariel nodded.
Her dad took the key and opened the box. Ariel let out her breath in a rush.
“It’s just papers!”
“Documents,” he said as he began to read. When he finally set them down, he looked sort of angry, but also relieved.
“Your uncle Anthony signed over guardianship to me years ago. Though it cost Victoria to keep him quiet. She obviously intended to get it all to a lawyer so that if anything happened to her, there wouldn’t be any confusion, but she didn’t get it done in time.” For half a second, intense anger flushed out everything else on her dad’s face, but he swallowed it back. “After Victoria died, Anthony must have realized that no one knew about the documents, including me, so he started on me.” He cut himself off after he seemed to remember Ariel was sitting there.
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