Page 75 of The Next Mrs. Parrish

“We’re here,” I say.

She rouses her sister and the two of them follow me into the house, still half asleep.

“Where are we?” Bella asks.

“Tennessee. We’ll stay here overnight. I need to get back on a regular schedule so I’m going to push through and stay awake today and then hopefully I’ll sleep tonight.”

“Are we driving all the way to California?” Bella asks.

I shake my head. “No, sweetie. We’re just going to get some distance from Connecticut until my lawyers can straighten everything out. We can’t go home again until that happens. Are you guys hungry?”

“Yeah,” they answer in unison. Meredith had packed us a bag of protein bars and waters, but the girls need real food. The staff will have arrived at Jackson’s four hours ago, and by the time they find him and release him, he’ll need some time to get himself together. Plus he has no idea where we are, and he still needs to pick up Jax from Meredith’s. He’ll be there for a while, interrogating her, I’m sure. I think it’s safe to go out to lunch. The girls use the bathroom, and we all freshen up and are back out the door in fifteen minutes.

“How long do we have to do this?” Tallulah asks. “Aunt Meredith took our iPads and my phone. I can’t talk to any of my friends or see what’s going on. It’s not fair.”

I’m gratified to see her acting like a kid again and that last night’s self-recrimination seems to have fallen away. “I know it’shard, honey. But Dad could track us with your phone. We have to be really careful. It will be over soon. I promise.” In reality, I don’t know how long it will be or if I’ll be arrested. But at least my mother will be back from South America next week, so at the very least, the girls could be released into her custody while this all gets sorted out. Now that I have recorded proof that Jackson set everything up, his statement about her dementia won’t hold water. I’m confident Jackson won’t have a leg to stand on when that recording is shared with the authorities.

“I noticed a pancake house not too far from here. Sound good?”

“Yeah!” Bella answers enthusiastically.

“Fine” is all I get from Tallulah.

It’s a weekday and the restaurant is only half full. We take a seat in a booth by the window. The waitress brings waters and coffee, and we all order pancakes. I involuntarily flash back to the first time I defied Jackson and instead of eating fruit like he suggested, piled my plate with pancakes slathered in maple syrup. On that occasion, I was still reeling from earlier that morning when he’d presented me with a blank journal in which to keep track of my food intake and calories and record my daily weight. I was postpartum and not yet back to my prepregnancy weight. My little act of rebellion had cost me a visit from my mother and was the start of his cycle of abuse.

“Mom?” Bella’s voice is tinged with annoyance.

“Yes?”

“You’re not answering me.”

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Can I get a milkshake to go with the pancakes?”

I nod. “Yes. You can get whatever you like.”

Our food arrives and we all dig in. It’s been almost six weeks since I’ve been alone with the girls and away from Jackson’s watchful eye. It feels great, like I can get a full breath again. But then reality comes crashing back and I remember how tenuous our freedom is. I glance at my watch and start to get nervous. I flag thewaitress over to get our bill, my stomach suddenly churning. No one is paying us any attention, but I can’t help feeling paranoid. Finally, she returns with the bill, and I pull out some cash and leave it on the table.

“Let’s go.”

“I’m not finished with my milkshake,” Bella complains.

“Okay, hurry, please.”

My phone buzzes and I jump. No one should have this number and Meredith knows better than to call me on it. I pull it from my pocket and freeze. It’s an Amber Alert. Tallulah’s and Bella’s photos pop from the screen with their names and pertinent information. I’m filled with dread as I read the narrative:

THIS AMBER ALERT HAS BEEN ACTIVATED BY THE CONNECTICUT STATE POLICE DEPARTMENT. TALLULAH AND BELLA PARRISH LAST SEEN WITH THEIR MOTHER, DAPHNE PARRISH. DAPHNE PARRISH SHOULD BE CONSIDERED MENTALLY UNSTABLE AND DANGEROUS. IF SEEN CALL 9-1-1.

I lower my voice. “Girls, look at me.”

They look up, wide-eyed.

“We have to leave now. There’s an Amber Alert on you both. Don’t run, just follow me casually out the door.”

I slide from the booth, my head light and my heart pounding. The girls follow silently, and we make our way out the door and into the car. I’m about to shut the door when the waitress comes running out.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

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