Chapters (54)
- Cover
- Epigraph
- 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
- Epilogue
- A Note from the Author
- Discussion Questions
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Acclaim for David Rawlings
- Also by David Rawlings
“And stop talking like you’re an inspirational bumper sticker.”
The answer unfolded in front of him in frustrating simplicity. He’d buy some film and then test the camera on Kelly and Milly. If this camera was as special as Simon claimed, either he would find out what was happening with them or nothing would show up, giving him proof Simon was to blame. Fodder for the lawsuit to follow. Win-win.
He reached for his wallet. “I think I will buy some film from you this time.”
Twenty-Four
The gravel in his driveway crunched under Daniel’s feet as he strode to his front door. Cameras that took their own photos? He scoffed under his breath. Forty-four dollars to get his photos was cheap if it provided answers to either Kelly and Milly’s problems or the opening statement in a lawsuit against Simon.
“Kelly? Milly?”
An unexpected echo from Daniel’s footsteps rang throughout the house, pricking the growing bubble of indignation that had built on the drive home. He raced up the stairs before lightly tapping on his daughter’s bedroom door. “Mill?”
Nothing.
A harder rap. “Milly?”
Still nothing. He pushed on the door and stood on the threshold of invading his daughter’s privacy. As he eased his way into Milly’s sanctuary, the guilt kicked into gear but was dissuaded by the image of his princess teetering on the handrail of their deck. The image that appeared in Daniel’s vision every time he blinked. The last thought that crawled into his head as he dropped off to sleep and ambushed him at first light.
He had to know.
Her bedroom was immaculate. Social commentators who preached every teenager lived in a foot-deep squalid pile of discarded food and clothing had never met his daughter. Her creaseless quilt, cushions casually thrown but strategically placed. Pencils at ninety degrees in perfect alignment. Her laptop on her desk, a single photograph bouncing around the screen while it dozed. An eight-year-old Milly, her arms hooked around her parents’ shoulders, the glue in a happy family embrace.
Daniel woke the laptop with a tap and was confronted with a password window. He raised a finger but then stopped. The answers to Milly’s problems might lie behind that lock, but hacking into his daughter’s computer was a level of invasion he couldn’t stomach.
Her phone nestled in its charger, its only other home outside of her hand. It sat in the shadow of a happy family memory—a framed portrait. Daniel picked up Milly’s phone, and the sense of intrusion again pushed down on him.
Another flash of Milly on the railing. He had to know.