Contents ( 85)
- Contents
- Part I
- 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
- Part II
- 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
- Part III
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- One
- Two
- Reading Group Guide
- A Conversation with the Author
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
The acrid fumes bolt up my nostrils, making me jerk back.
“Took me all night.”
I scream. I can’t help it.
My father is standing in the doorway. He’s not in a suit. Jeans, polo shirt. Sneakers. As if he’s going out to watch the regatta.
He leans against the doorframe. Folds his arms and studies me.
“What…” I struggle to focus. “What happened? I don’t remember.”
“You were hysterical,” he says. “I gave you something to sleep.”
“You did?”
He nods. “Knocked you out. You needed it.”
Jesus. My father drugged me. Sleep meds and alcohol. The symbolism of it all.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“The less you know, the better.”
“I know a lot already.” I’m still on my knees and lean back to sit on my heels. “I didn’t want to do it.”
“I know. We went through this last night. You were inconsolable.” He sweeps his gaze along the floor where Cora died. “I’m not sure she would’ve felt the same way.”
The tears start to come again but I can’t. I just can’t. I’ve pushed through to some other side where crying doesn’t even provide relief.
Still on my knees, I lower my head for a moment, the weight of the last twelve hours overtaking me. Then I look to him. To Logan Yates, the man behind the curtain of everything.
“I didn’t want to kill her,” I say.
“I know, Rosie.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
This elicits a deeper squint, a flex of the arms.
“You work so hard to protect a family of poison,” I say. “I loved Cora, I think. In a weird way. A nostalgic way.” I stare into him, deep into him. I don’t dare look away. I don’t dare blink. “But I never loved you.”
He absorbs this, processes this in whatever way his soul is capable of doing such a thing.
And then he says, “Love is weak.”
“No, it’s not. You loved Mom. You must have loved her.”
“And look what that got me.”
I shake my head. “So you just go through the rest of your life like that? Emotionless?”
He unfolds his arms and walks into the room, then settles in his favorite chair. “I guess I’m more like your sister than you.” He looks over to the liquor bottles, considering but not moving. “You asked me last night about family.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“You asked how I could sit there and just let…let everything happen, when all I’ve ever talked about is protecting us.” He slouches down in his stuffed chair, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen my father slouch in his life. Logan Yates is a man who always sits up straight, an iron spine, always ready for action. Now he looks tired and beaten, finally appearing as old as he is. Maybe older. “I thought about that a lot last night. All through the night, through everything I had to do, I thought about family. And sometime this morning, around sunrise, I realized something.” He looks over at me. “Maybe she would’ve hurt you, but I think what happened…the outcome…is what she wanted. I think it’s what we all wanted. I never had the strength to do it, and you did. When I was standing there watching you two last night, all I wanted to do was keep you both safe. But then I saw there was this chance to finally solve the Yates family problem. The problem of Cora.”