Page 11 of Treasured By Them
“Ooh!” Ghyslaine spins away to search for my mother in the crowd of people.
I shake my head. “Did you just lie to Ghyslaine?”
“Guilty.” His dark blue eyes crinkle in humor.
When I was really little, I used to think I’d marry Malcolm, in that weird, grade-schooler sort of way. I outgrew it long before I hit puberty, although I wonder why. He’s still handsome, charismatic, successful. Maybe I figured out my dad’s best friend should be off-limits.
“Well.” I clear my throat. “Thanks for the rescue. I’m going to head out soon. I’ve made my obligatory appearance and now I can leave.”
“You don’t want to hang out with the olds?” He gives me a wounded expression. “I didn’t think we were that boring.”
“Edmund and—Edmund’s waiting for me.” Shit, I nearly said Edmund and Troy are waiting for me. That would invite awkward questions.
“Well, it was good to see you.” He takes a sip from his beer bottle. “Make sure you say a quick hello to Zora before you go—she loves talking about weddings. If you’re pressed for time, maybe you could show her a picture of your dress?”
“Uh...” I grimace. “I’m still working on that detail.”
“Your wedding is weeks away, isn’t it?” He laughs. “I hope you find something soon.”
“I will,” I promise. Tomorrow. I’ll skip out of work and go dress-shopping. Dress-shopping doesn’t need to be a big event. And the dress doesn’t need to be perfect, either. Perfection is the enemy of done, or whatever the saying is. I’ll pick a gown that fits, be finished with the whole thing. No more stress, no more procrastination.
I hug Malcolm goodbye and get my phone out of my pocket as I make my way to the tiny, spare bedroom. I send a quick text to Isabelle, letting her know I have to take tomorrow off for wedding stuff. She’s been very understanding of my chaotic schedule lately. Sure enough, she texts back immediately to wish me good luck.
In my room, I go straight to a little bookshelf next to the bed. It’s full of random stuff I wanted to keep, but wasn’t important enough to haul off to college or to my rented house with Elias, Wallace, and Rita.
My old scrapbook is next to some notebooks that I probably don’t need. I snag them just in case. I’m looking for pictures from my summer camp at Danish Lake. If I can find some, maybe it’ll help jog my memory and I can unlock whatever happened to Britney.
The cover of my scrapbook used to have a photograph on it, but it’s been ripped away. Only the edge of water is visible, along with a pair of pink and black tennis shoes—that was probably me, posing in front of the lake. I must have torn the rest of the photo by accident.
Or on purpose? Already, I can feel my throat closing up with panic. If seeing just the edge of the photo causes this feeling, I imagine I would have gotten rid of the whole thing.
I wish I could remember. Britney’s killer has been out there for over a decade, living their life, and she’s been dead. Robbed of her adulthood.
I snag the album and notebooks, then nearly run into Mom on my way out of the room.
“You’re leaving already?” She frowns.
“Yeah, sorry. Early morning tomorrow.”
Her silver-blue eyes, so like my own, fill with sympathy. “Is it terrible, living with him?”
“With...Edmund?” I want to laugh. Now she’s concerned? “No, it’s not terrible. It’s actually…well, I like living with him. I like him.”
She wrinkles her nose. “You can be honest with me, Danica. You don’t need to spare my feelings. He’s a Layton. I know what they’re like.”
“First, he’s a good guy. A week ago, you were telling me he’s a good boy from a good family. Second, if you thought he was a bad guy, why marry me off to him?”
“I’m trying to make the most of it. We didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Don’t talk back to me—” Loud laughter echoes from the other part of the house. Mom pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s trying to summon patience from her sinuses. “Now isn’t the time for this discussion.”
I shrug, indifferent. She’s the one who brought it up. “I have to go. See you later, Mom. Say bye to Dad, and tell Zora I can talk to her all about the wedding some other time, okay?”
“Sure.”
“And watch out for Ghyslaine. I think she drank all the rosé.”
