Page 47 of The Moment You Know

It seemed clear, just by looking at the pictures of herself with Carter, compared to pictures with her father, that something was wrong. The average person might have attributed it to her father’s passing—if it weren’t for Carter’s possessive and forced hold on her and the proprietary expression on his face. Paige was also a little surprised at how many pictures there were of the two of them, which meant her mother was the one taking the pictures. Had it never seemed odd to Claire, that Carter was usually the one in the pictures, while she was the one behind the camera, instead of the other way around?

Halfway through the second book, Paige stopped at a picture that made the hair on her body stand on end and knew she’d found the cover of her book. In the picture, according to the date written underneath in Claire’s perfect penmanship, Paige was six years old. She and Carter were at a beach, on a perfect, sunny day. He was wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts and sitting on the sand with a lopsided sandcastle in the foreground, with Paige perched sideways on his lap in a pink, floral patterned, one-piece bathing suit with a ruffled skirt. Carter was holding her close to his hairy, bare chest, smiling broadly at the camera, while she was looking … blank.

She wasn’t even looking at the camera. She appeared to be looking out at the water, but her expression was such that it didn’t look like she was really seeing it.

With cold, shaking fingers, Paige carefully removed the picture and set it aside.

Then she looked through the rest of her books. As she got older, pictures were taken less frequently and were dated farther and farther apart, but still featured Carter prominently in most of them. She also noticed that as Carter’s expression always remained pleased, hers became even more lifeless, like a doll. Paige felt nauseated at the pictures of herself as a teenager with a fully developed body, being held by Carter like she was his girlfriend.

The picture of them during what was apparently her ‘Sweet Sixteen’ birthday dinner, actually made her cry. A birthday cake with lit candles was on the table in front of her, ready to be blown out and Carter was holding her face and kissing her—not exactly on her mouth, but just enough to see that he wasn’tjustkissing her cheek, either.

After looking at all the pictures, she realized that she had very few memories of what was happening in any of them. It was like the pictures were fake, or photoshopped. She didn’t remember being at the beach, or learning how to ride her bike, or her Sweet Sixteenth birthday dinner.

She went through them again, this time removing pictures, starting with a family picture of Paige, Claire, and Douglas, just before he had died. She then added about twenty or so pictures of herself and Carter—ones that had given her a visceral reaction and attached sticky notes with salient details on the backs before putting them in an envelope. She also put in a few with her mother as well, one showing Paige young and happy and then in her teens, looking decidedlyunhappy.

Paige shook her head, unable to comprehend how Claire hadn’t noticed anything, especially when her daughter looked like a freaking zombie. Paige didn’t think it was possible to have your head that far up your ass to not notice your child was in distress, but in her mother’s case, apparently it was.

The next day, Paige took the pictures to Carole’s office, who looked through them. When she was done, she murmured, “These tell a story all on their own, don’t they?”

Paige then showed her a quote that she wanted to use in the beginning of the book, followed by the blurb she had written for the cover and Carole smiled after reading it. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

Chapter 17

Six months ago

“I’m going to email David about the book,” Paige said. “And I know what you’re going to say, but—”

“You do? Does it rhyme with ‘Fuck him’?” Jules asked bluntly.

Paige and Jules were having dinner in Macaroni’s, their favorite Italian restaurant, and Jules was on her second gimlet. Paige had waited until they were half done with their meal to bring up the subject of telling David about the book and was now thinking she should’ve just started when they sat down. Unlike most people, Jules didn’t get easier with alcohol.

“I actually thought you were going to just say ‘no’,” Paige said drily.

“Are you kidding? ‘No’ isn’t strong enough. Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve the courtesy.” Jules leaned forward, her expression on fire. “He never acknowledged what you went through with Spook and couldn’t be bothered to call you back. That was so shitty.”

“I agree. That was shitty. But he has responded to my emails.”

Jules took a large bite of her eggplant Parmesan and then talked as she chewed. “I know, but those responses were also shitty. Remember when you told him you were selling the house—the house he adamantly wanted you to have in the divorce—and he didn’t even care? That didn’t make any sense.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“And what about the money? I understand why he didn’t want any of the furniture, but who turns down twenty large?”

“Twenty ‘large’?”

“Twenty grand.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Someone needs to quit watching gangster movies.”

Jules ignored that. “I don’t think you should contact him about the book.”

“The book is set to publish in two months. I think he needs to know. There’s personal stuff in there.”

Jules pushed her plate away in frustration. “Fuck him.”

“‘Fuck him’ can’t be your answer to everything.”

“Sure it can. It can work in almost any situation.” Jules gave Paige a long look. “Look, if you tell him, you might be drawing his attention to something he would never have found out about anyway. I mean, what are the chances he’d ever come across your book and know it was yours? You went back to your maiden name and it’s being published under that.”

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