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Chapters (82)
  1. Cover
  2. ALSO BY JAMIE BRENNER
  3. PART ONE
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. PART TWO
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. PART THREE
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. Acknowledgments
  81. About the Author
  82. What’s next onyour reading list?

Now, seated in the stifling, un-air-conditioned auditorium in the middle of Pennsylvania farm country, her stomach fluttered with anticipation at seeing Gemma in person for the first time in nearly a decade. All the images she’d seen on social media prepared her for the fact that Gemma could be Paulina’s twin. Still, Constance was thankful to have her eyes—excessively emotional even for a graduation ceremony—hidden behind sunglasses. Her impeccably bleached blond hair, still the color of churned butter, was concealed by an expertly knotted Hermès scarf.

After a lifetime of having the best of everything, it went against her instinct to take a seat in one of the last rows of the auditorium. But she couldn’t risk running into the Maybrooks. She didn’t have the energy to battle them. Not while she was facing a far more daunting adversary: stage four cancer.

The terminal diagnosis forced some soul-searching. What was her final wish in life? It was both simple and yet impossible: to see her remaining daughters and granddaughter reunited. She had no idea how to make this happen, especially since she didn’t want to use her illness to guilt them. Unlike her late husband, she didn’t believe in emotional manipulation. Besides, she didn’t want anything making its way into the press. Her image—glamour, beauty, power—was all that she had left. That, and control of Pavlin & Co.

The band began to play “Pomp and Circumstance,” bringing tears to her eyes. Just about thirty years earlier, she’d watched Paulina march into a very different auditorium to this same song. Oh, how excited her daughter had been to finish school, so eager to get out into the real world, to live her life.

Her all-too-brief life.

The students filed in, dressed in dark blue gowns and matching caps with gold tassels. Constance had relegated herself to the back, but at least she’d gotten an aisle seat—the aisle the graduates used to make their entrance. Constance’s heart began to beat fast; Gemma would be just inches away when she walked in. Would she see her in time?

She didn’t have to worry: The hairs on her arms stood on end and she felt her granddaughter’s presence seconds before she spotted the curtain of blond hair. As Gemma walked by, smiling and looking straight ahead, Constance reached out and touched the back of her robe, as softly as a butterfly landing.

No one noticed. But Constance knew she’d be reliving that moment until the day she died. And whatever time she had left between now and then, she’d find a way to use it to plant the seeds for her final wish to come true.

70

At midnight, the beach became a conversation between moon and tides, the stretch of sand untouched except for the sea birds and a stray coyote. Except for tonight, when the four women gathered at the water’s edge.