Cover

PROLOGUE

TEN YEARS AGO…

Catie stared out the rain-washed window.

The deluge was so heavy that it blurred the outside world, turned it into a scene from a Renaissance painting she’d seen in a textbook, all soft and out of focus, but one thing was clear: it was bad out. The increasingly violent winds had half bent the trees in the yard and water was starting to collect on the lower part of the driveway.

Her heart thudded, her muscles all tight. “Dad’s fine,” she muttered, reminding herself that the last time she’d freaked out about her father, Clive, he’d been having a great time gambling it up at a casino in Sydney, Australia. It just hadn’t occurred to him to tell his teenage daughter that he was leaving the country. He’d been too excited to “meet up with an old buddy and hit the blackjack table while his luck was running hot.”

Still, her hand clenched on the phone.

The weather was worse than awful—complete with a dangerous gale-force-wind warning from the national meteorological agency—and Clive had left for his trip yesterday morning. It was now past four in the afternoon, the storm turning the world dark at the edges.

Dad, she messaged, can you message back so I know you’re okay?

No response. Not then, and not for the two hours that followed. Not even to her multiple calls. She knew he wouldn’t mind. Her father never minded anything—mostly because he just ignored stuff he didn’t want to handle.

“Catie, dear.” Martha poked her head into Catie’s room. “Come on, it’s time for dinner.” Her face was warm with love, her brown skin aglow and her black hair in loose curls that held the shine of her favored leave-in conditioner. “I made spaghetti with meatballs.”

One of Catie’s favorites. Poor Martha. Having to pick up the pieces once again—and stuck with a silent Catie. She flushed, immediately ashamed of her stressed preoccupation. “I’m sorry, Martha. I should’ve helped.”

The near-to-fifty-year-old woman deserved all of Catie’s respect. Not only because Martha had been Catie’s caregiver since the day Catie was finally discharged from the rehabilitation center two years ago, but also because she was kind and had done everything in her power to help Catie on her path to independence.

At fourteen, Catie no longer needed Martha as she had back then, but since neither Catie’s big sister nor her mother were about to chance Catie ending up alone when Clive pulled a disappearing act, Martha stayed.

Truth was, Catie would miss her so much if she left.

“You can do the dishes.” Martha walked over to ruffle Catie’s messy hair, her dark eyes heavy with worry she tried to keep from her voice. “Trust me, you’ll definitely earn your dinner scrubbing the pot.”