and slid into the chair. ‘She’s getting confused with her lies.’
‘And this girl, Kendall. She has green eyes too?’
‘Yeah. And this same chin dimple.’ I pointed at the cleft in my chin. ‘I Googled it. It’s genetic. But my mom doesn’t have it.’
‘So Kendall looks a lot like you, she has a chin dimple, she has the same color eyes as you, and now your mom lied about what color your dad’s eyes were – and you think, what? That you’re related to this girl?’
‘Well, yeah.’ Saying it that way made it sound really stupid.
‘It seems a bit, you know, Hollywood.’
‘I know,’ I admitted. ‘But my mom lied to me. We never lie to each other. . .’
I chewed my lip.
‘At least, I thought we didn’t,’ I amended. ‘But now I’m wondering what else she’s lied about. And . . .’ I pulled the piece of white card out of my back pocket. ‘I found this in her room. It was in a shoebox in her closet.’
I held it out to Derek, and he read the text. ‘Sorry. Sorry for what?’
‘I don’t know. But it was with my birth certificate. It must have something to do with me.’
‘Have you looked her up on Facebook?’
‘My mom?’
‘No. Kendall.’
I shook my head. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.
‘Well, did you ask her who her father is? Find out his name?’
‘I didn’t think of any of that stuff when I met her.’
Derek grabbed a shiny silver MacBook from his bedside table. He brought it back to the chair, flipped the lid up, and opened Facebook.
‘Do you want to look?’ Derek asked.
Madison said I was a doormat. Mom said I let Madison walk all over me. Maybe they were both right. Maybe it was time I stood up and did something for myself.
I nodded. ‘Yeah, okay.’
I leaned over his shoulder and typed in my log-in details, aware of how close we were. He smelled just faintly of pine trees and the clean, soapy smell of shaving cream.
Kendall Montgomery’s page popped up right away. In her profile picture she was pouting, her eyes creased as if she was about to smile. I didn’t want to know her. And yet I did.
‘Holy shit.’ Derek’s eyes popped open wide. ‘She does look just like you.’
‘I know. It’s creepy. What should I do?’
‘What do you want to do?’
I was surprised. People never asked me what I wanted. I usually just went along for the ride.
I looked into Derek’s midnight-blue eyes. Something in them made me feel safe enough to find out things I should probably leave alone.
I leaned over him and pressed Add Friend.
‘I want to talk to her,’ I said.
ABI
october
The sound of Tyler’s feet thumping down the front steps jolted me out of my stunned trance.
‘Wait!’ I flung myself out the open front door and into the rain, crashing into the driver’s door of his Jeep as the engine vroomed to life.
A flash went off from my front yard, but I ignored it.
‘Wait!’ I smacked my open palm against Tyler’s door.
Tyler rolled the window down, his eyebrows drawn together. His eyes flicked up to the reporters watching our exchange.
‘What do you mean?’ I hissed so only he could hear. ‘Saved her from everything?’
He glared at me, but kept his voice down also. ‘You had all these rules. You controlled her. She said you were writing the script for her life and she was sick of it. If you weren’t trying to run her life, maybe she wouldn’t have done stupid things.’
My fingers slipped off the edge of the window, and I stumbled backward, propelled by the vitriol of his words. Tyler reversed out of the driveway quickly, his wheels skidding in the gravel.
Another flash went off near me. I turned my face to my shoulder and raised my hand as if I could ward it off.
God only knew what the reporters would write about this. I looked like a lunatic, my blonde hair a nest of damp tangles sticking up in every direction, the scent of alcohol on my breath.
I looked up as I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel. Two police detectives, badges clipped to their belts, got out of the car.
‘All right, guys, get out of here. You know the rules. Get off her property now,’ the male detective said.
He was squarely built with short legs and a squat body. Dark circles were etched beneath watery blue eyes that appraised me from under thick eyebrows. His wrinkled black suit covered an equally wrinkled blue shirt and tie. His thinning hair was a mess, as if he’d only just woken.
Just behind him, the female detective waved a reporter edging closer to my house back to the road. She was a complete contrast to him: crisp black business suit, starched white collar. She was tall as an Amazon with cropped, pale blonde hair, a chiseled jaw, and ice-blue eyes. Her face was completely blank: the picture of professional detachment.
Once the reporters were a safe distance away, they crossed the grass to me.
‘Abigail Knight?’ the man said, extending his hand to shake mine.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m Detective Phillip McNally, and this is Detective Jane Samson.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Samson gave me a brief, firm handshake. Her hands were warm and large, making mine feel small and childish in comparison.
‘We’d like to speak with you about your daughter’s accident. Can we come inside?’ McNally asked.
I stared at them, blinking. Accident? Why did they think they were here if it was an accident?
‘Yes . . . come in.’
I led them inside and shut the door, then stood awkwardly in the living room for a minute. I couldn’t immediately recall what I was supposed to do.
‘Would you like a drink?’ I finally asked.
‘No, we’re good,’ Detective McNally said. ‘Can we sit?’
‘Of
