It was her fault. All of it. Everything. That night, twenty years ago, she remembered. She was so afraid of losing him, to school, another girl, his extraordinary life. Everything about Adam was so big, so bright, so seemingly beyond her. She was so afraid that what everyone thought was true; Adam was too good for her. Throwing away his life with a bit of white trash who had come from nothing and was going to be nothing. And then, seeing Adam with Heather, it was happening, had happened, her worst fear right there in front of her. She ran away, through the party, out the door, her whole world collapsing and the pain of it splitting her in half. She saw his truck. She was almost there.

“Clare!” Adam shouted. “Stop!”

She heard him. She could still hear him, years later, an echo in her head begging her to stop.

But she didn’t listen; she didn’t stop.

Her memory ran out right where it always did, like blank frames at the end of a movie reel. There was nothing again until those painful days in the hospital when she first woke up.

Only now, she knew the truth. Adam was dead because of her. She killed him, and her mother had covered it up.

Clare turned left on their road and saw something in the distance, right at the end of her driveway. It looked like an animal, a rabbit? She slowed down, pressing the Bentley’s brakes until her car stopped completely fifteen feet away.

No, she was wrong. Had to be. It was something else—anything else. “Please,” she begged. “Oh, please…no.”

Every second she stared at him, the more certain she became. Her vision blurred; she was dizzy and might pass out. Clare gripped her steering wheel, not wanting to move or breathe or think. “Please, not Charlie,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

Clare opened her door and walked to where he lay, her eyes taking in his bright white fur and blood and stillness. When she looked up her driveway, she saw her garage door was up and the door to the house gaping. The interior of her home was exposed. She could see right through to the naked white glare of the living room.

I didn’t close the doors.

Her legs buckled beneath her until she sat slumped at the edge of the road. She placed one hand on top of Charlie’s tiny head and the other over her own eyes as wave after wave of anguish and regret overwhelmed her.

It was all her fault.

Chapter 29

Eileen

Her flight home left in three hours and henry would be at the house in thirty minutes to pick her up. Her bags were packed and waiting in the foyer.