I shake my head, swallowing hard against the fury strangled in my throat. What is with everyone calling me a victim in that dismissive tone lately? As though I’d tattooed the word “victim” underneath my eyeballs in curlicue letters like Post Malone and asked to legally change my name to Vic-Tim.

I’m exhausted. Twenty-seven years of piled-on and largely unmet expectations have worn me down. “There’s nothing wrong with being a victim, Mom. I didn’t do anything to deserve that title. If I’m a victim, it’s you who made me this way. I’m not responsible for the way you treated me, neglected me, and took advantage of me, making money off your lies about me. You need to leave.”

Ada Mae opens her mouth, but I’ll never know what she was going to say. Instead, my dad cuts her off. “No more. She asked you to leave.”

I stare, unfocused, at my untouched plate and listen as my mother’s heels clack across my wood floors, the door slamming behind her. Her rental-car tires skid on the gravel of my drive and she’s gone.

She’s gone.

I breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. “Not really, no.”

“You’re not a victim, Shelby. You’re a survivor.”

I look up. My dad’s eyes are piercing blue and shiny with unshed tears. “You are the best part of me and the only redeemable part of her. I don’t tell you that enough, but it’s the truth.”

I manage a small nod. “Thanks, Dad. I’m okay.” Or at least I will be after I read Lyle the riot act later tonight. Siccing Ada Mae on me. For fuck’s sake.

“Good. Should I text Jazz that the coast is clear?”

“Yes, please. This is disgusting.” I shove the plate away from me. “I could use some pie and maybe one of her hugs, too.”

My dad chuckles. “Me, too, kid.”

13

CAMERON

HOT IN HERRE

After Ada-gate, Shelby announced she was headed to the Upper Peninsula for a long weekend to check out some enormous flea market outside Munising and asked me to come along.

“If you want,” she hedged. “It can be a little overwhelming, and definitely features equal parts garbage to gems, but it’s a nice change of scenery and there’s this super cute B&B where I always stay, and it serves a Scandinavian menu and has an outside sauna and there’s, like, zero Wi-Fi and…”

“I’m in. When do we leave?”

She smiled, relieved. “Tomorrow?”

I was concerned about the time away from shooting, but it turns out Steve has plenty of residual guilt from Ada Mae’s surprise visit and he waved me off. “I could use a day or five in the editing room, anyway.”