Chapters (59)
- COVER
- About the Author
- DEDICATION
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- Acknowledgments
- THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
I grabbed my purse from where I’d tossed it on the nightstand and dug for the Dermablend, which my mom had gotten me hooked on when acne was my biggest nemesis. As I dabbed it on, my cheek burned hot, skin vellum-delicate, and for a second, I was back in our apartment on Wednesday night, the room going off-kilter and beginning to spin as pain seared the side of my face …
Dusty whimpered, almost like he was sympathizing, but I knew he only wanted to go out. I surveyed my masterpiece – the bruise, scratch, and my light smattering of freckles disappearing behind the makeup, blurry as a generous Instagram filter, hazy and unblighted as the Mona Lisa. Beauty magazines never covered tips like these. Stuff like this, you had to figure out on your own.
I heard a crash, and jumped. Next to me, Dusty had pulled his leash from where I’d tossed it on the nightstand, and the metal hook had clanged against the hardwood floor. I inhaled deeply and knelt to scratch behind his ears. The warmth of his skin, the cotton-softness of his fur, calmed my pulse, my breaths coming slower – then my eyes landed on the floorboards, lit by the sun.
Quickly, I pushed the bed aside. The floorboard in question was propped up ever so slightly, as if it had been opened. I racked my brain. Had I, after a whiskey or three, lifted it to check? No. I would remember something like that. Had Dusty crawled underneath and scratched around, like he always used to do in Brooklyn? Most likely. Still, I checked the contents anyway, pulling everything out, running through my list again. All there. My stomach flip-flopped, but this time not from anything I’d had to drink.
I re-hammered the floorboard, repositioned the bed, and quickly searched the cottage. No sign of anyone here but me.
It wasn’t possible, I reassured myself as we headed out for our walk, and I locked the door behind us, checking several times to be sure. This time, I’d made damn sure he couldn’t find me.
After all, I’d learned a lot in the last few months.
This wasn’t going to be like before.
Light dappled the side of the road, and a breeze wove through the uneven grass of the meadow. Dusty hopped along, equally intrigued by the lack of dogs and the abundance of green. No park in Brooklyn could compare to the Walden-esque utopia before us.