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
There it is. That’s what he’s really getting at.
“Cora told you.”
“Cora told me.”
“It’s not the same thing,” I say, hearing the outer edge of panic in my voice. The doubt. The second-guessing. “It’s different. Different circumstances. It’s fiction.”
I can see his pulse pounding in the veins of his temple. Though his voice doesn’t waver in tone or volume, I know him well enough to hear the brewing anger beneath his words. “And what do you say when fans ask you how you get your ideas? What do you tell them, Rosie?”
“I think you’re overestimating my readership.”
“Once it’s out there, it’s out there. Forever. Is that the risk you want to take? You do understand there’s no statute of limitations, right?”
I rise to refill my drink, not because I need it but because I don’t want my father looking at my face. I don’t want him reading my fear.
“Have you even read the book?” I ask.
“Not yet,” he admits. “But I will. Your sister filled in the details for me.”
“She’s overreacting.” My hand quivers as I fill my glass.
I don’t hear him rise from his chair, and when I suddenly hear his voice at the back of my neck, I nearly scream.
“The name Caleb Benner is still well known around here,” he whispers. “You might have left, but the mystery of what happened to that boy hasn’t. People still talk about it, time to time, like they would about a local boogeyman. Once in a while, there’s still an article written about his case. How the police vow to never give up figuring out what happened, despite no new leads for nearly twenty years. Your sister was interviewed back then, if you remember.”
I don’t turn around. “A lot of high-schoolers were interviewed.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that the Yates name is still part of the public police record.”
“It’s different,” I say. “You just… You need to read the book. It’s a very small part of the story.”
He’s closer now. I don’t see him but I can sense it. “You used the name Corey Brownstein. The same initials.”
“Dad, I—”
“The same fucking initials, Rose. How stupid are you?”
Finally, I turn. My father is inches away, and despite his stillness, I picture a thousand springs coiled inside him, ready to release at a breath of a trigger.
“Change it,” he says. “Change the book.”
I’m a little girl again, facing my father’s anger whenever I displeased him. It never took much, sometimes as little as an eye roll when he told me to finish eating my dinner, but I could always feel the instant shift in energy as I do now, that heaviness in the air, an invisible wave washing over me. Logan Yates is an accommodating father as long as you do everything on his terms. The second you draw a line in the sand, the man no one wishes to face emerges.
“I can’t just change it, Dad. The book is coming out in January. The final edits are done. The book is being printed.”