Eileen placed the journals on the dresser, found her tote, and dug her phone out from the bottom. Three missed calls, two from Eric and one from Paige. Eileen lowered herself onto the bed and tried to imagine speaking with Eric right now.

Should she lay it all out, confront him about Lauren, the affair; tell him about the photos Dave sent? She couldn’t. She had no idea what she’d say or how he would react. And the kids? It was too soon. She needed to think, but she also couldn’t imagine pretending like nothing was wrong either. She pulled up a group text with her whole family instead.

Arrived safe. There is a lot to manage, and I’m exhausted. I’ll call tomorrow. Good night.

She hesitated a moment, then finished, Love you, Mom, before hitting send. It was for her kids. Eric could go fuck himself, even if she couldn’t say as much right now. Eileen put her phone facedown on the bed beside her and stared at the stack of journals in front of her. She was exhausted—that was no lie—but she pushed herself up off the bed anyway and grabbed one of the books off the top stack. She pressed the button that controlled the sliding glass door to the balcony. As the wall opened, a rush of cold sea air blew in off the ocean. It made her eyes water and swept her hair back off her shoulders. The briny scent filled her senses and the room behind her, blowing open several of the journal covers and rustling the pages.

It was early evening; the light was fading and the temperature dropping, so she turned on the balcony light and started up the outside gas heater. She remembered that Clare and Simon kept a small wine rack and a mini fridge with other drinks and snacks in the closet for their guests. She placed the journal on one of the outdoor loungers and went back inside, pulled opened the cabinet, and grabbed a bottle of sparkling water, a bottle of red wine, and a small bag of mixed nuts before settling in on the balcony with the blanket from the bottom of the bed.

Until she started reading, there was no way of knowing when in Clare’s lifetime this was created. Was this one from her childhood? Her life after she moved to New York? Or here in California? If Clare had kept them on the shelf in chronological order, this was likely one of the earlier journals, but there was no way of knowing until she dove in.

She pressed open the spine with her palm and read her sister’s words.

Chapter 12

Clare

Twenty-two years before her death