Eventually, I dial for help because I can’t stay on the floor forever. While this feels like the end of the world, it isn’t. I have to go on.
The police come half an hour later. People ask me questions and they take pictures.
Hours later, county officials take my father’s body away and ask if there’s anyone I can call. Normally they’d probably send a social worker, but the police have already notified my father’s next of kin—obnoxious cousins, who live an hour away and arrive sooner than I want. It’s one in the morning and family is still pouring in, people I haven’t seen since I was twelve.
The women hug and pat me too much and say things like, “Of course we don’t mind packing up to take care of you. Just say the word and we’ll stay as long as you need.”
But in their eyes I can see them appraising the value of the house, the land, the furniture. They have no interest in me; they just want to live here. I’m the mistress of this place, but I don’t want that either. Once the technical work is done and the authorities leave, I retreat to my room and lock the door. None of this seems real. But I pinch myself and it hurts, so I’m not dreaming. He’s really gone.
I think about his girlfriend and how she’ll feel when news reaches her. But she can’t know, she can’t possibly know that she’s a substitute—like Creepy Jack, my father was obsessed with a dead woman for more than ten years. Maybe now Lucy Ellis-Frost can finally rest in peace.
Someone taps at my door, but I ignore it. Finally one of the cousins says, “I’ll just leave this macaroni and cheese outside. Have it when you’re hungry.”
Dumbass. I can’t eat that. Plus, it’s two in the morning. These are the people who want to take care of me. Probably they’re hoping that I’ll die of grief, then they can start legal proceedings on the estate. I doubt any of these relations figure in the will; they’re just vultures hoping for a chance to chew some tender meat off this carcass.
Sitting on my bed, numb, it occurs to me that Morgan finally got the answers she wanted. If it wasn’t for her involvement with Creepy Jack, her father probably wouldn’t have cracked. It was like she found the perfect lever for his psyche without even realizing it. I wonder if she would’ve pushed forward, though, if she’d known how it would end.
Maybe for her, it feels like poetic justice.
Me? I’m just exhausted and confused.
Eventually I pass out in my clothes and wake up at eleven the next morning. School is a distant dream. Between the Lolita Peach thing and my father’s suicide, the administrators probably expect me to take some time off.
Showering takes all my energy the next day. Mrs. Rhodes lets herself in with a key, and God, I’m glad to see her. Even if she’s only here because I pay her, I’ll gladly double it if she can clear the idiots out of my house. She perches on my bed and puts a hand on my arm.
“I won’t ask if you’re okay.” Her common sense feels like pure oxygen after breathing carbon monoxide until I nearly died of it. “What can I do?”
“Get rid of everyone.”
“Already did. One of your awful cousins was already fingering the china.”
It’s good to know I’m not the only one repulsed by my distant relations. My mom had a brother but he died young and my dad was an only child, so I’ve only got great aunts and uncles, plus their offspring. I’m so relieved that Mrs. Rhodes shooed them out. At this point I should probably think of her as Wanda, but it seems more respectful this way.
“Thanks.”
“I made your favorite this morning … oatcakes and honey, Silk yogurt, fresh fruit.”
“That sounds really good. I’ll get dressed and come down.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
“Not really. I just have to ride it out.”
This will add fuel to the flames, making the story even juicier. I can see the headlines now: “Tech Magnate Driven to Suicide by Sex Scandal.” But there’s no way any reporter could ever discover what I know. My father told me, only me, before shooting himself in the head. I hear the gunshot again and it makes me flinch. Soon, the numbness and shock will wear off, and then … I don’t know how I’ll feel.
I was a little surprised to wake up this morning, still alive, still remembering what it was like to be Liv, but remembering more of Morgan’s life, too. The scientist in me wanted concrete answers, but I don’t think there are any, at least nothing provable.
Mrs. Rhodes is watching me, worry creasing her brow. “Morgan?”
“I’ll be down soon.”
“All right, I’ll set the table.”
Breakfast is a quiet meal, but it would be worse if she filled the kitchen with nervous chatter. Finally I say, “You must be wondering about your job.”
“A little,” she admits.
“I don’t know what provisions my father made in his will. After ten years, I hope he left you something.”
She shrugs like that’s not her immediate concern. “I can always find work. Do you have any idea who he picked as your guardian?”
I shake my head. “He didn’t talk to me about it. I just hope it’s not any of the cousins.”
“You’ll find out soon enough, I suppose. The lawyer called. He’ll be reading the will tomorrow. And I notified the same funeral home who handled your mother’s services, I hope that’s all right. They’re taking care of things, but they may have questions about your preferences.”
“Whatever we did for my mom is fine,” I say, because I just can’t deal with this.
I want to run away.
This can’t be my new reality; it can’t.
As I’m finishing breakfast, someone rings the bell from the front gate. I peer at the intercom screen and see a cluster of reporters banging at a familiar car. Liv’s mom is yelling at the camera crew blocking her way while several deputies fail to wrangle the crowd. I definitely want her, but I don’t understand why she’s here.
“She saw the news,” Mrs. Rhodes explains. “And she called earlier. I said she was welcome. She’s like a second mother to you, right? Or … am I wrong?”
Bless you, Wanda Rhodes.
My eyes tear up. “No, that’s exactly right. Thank you.”
“You’re saying that a lot lately.” But she smiles at me, more kindness than I’ve ever had in this house.
I watch the screen as my mother inches her car forward until we can shut the gate behind her. The reporters shout in frustration, but she’s already driving toward the house. Before I can stop myself, I run to meet her like she’s the one coming home after a long absence.
“Morgan,” she says, climbing out of the car.
Spoken with such tenderness, the name turns my heart over like a key in a lock, and the tears I’ve been collecting stream down my cheeks. She’s not even as tall as I am now, but her arms still feel perfectly right when she pulls me into them. For endless moments we stand before the fountain and she just rocks me without asking anything at all.
Eventually I stop crying and she shepherds me back inside. I’m not sure what I expect, but when I sit down, she takes both my hands. “This may come as a shock, but a few years back, your father had us sign some documents. He was worried about you if something happened to him and he thought you’d be happiest with Liv.” Her smile dims a little. “Nobody could’ve imagined it would happen like this.”
“Are you saying that you agreed to be my guardians?”
She nods. “It’s one of those events you plan for, just in case.”
For a moment, I’m so bright and hopeful. Does this mean I can live with Mom, Dad, and Jason? It won’t be exactly the same but we can be a family again. Sort of. But something in her expression tells me it won’t be that simple.
“But…” I prompt.
“We’re not equipped to look after you, given the current situation. There are no gates at our house to protect you from the media, and after everything you’ve been through in the last few months, I don’t think you can continue without help. It’s not reasonable.”
I still. “What do you mean by ‘help’?”
As she produces a brochure for a posh, private facility, she registers my resistance. “Morgan, honey, it’s not a judgment. There’s no shame in therapy. But you need to talk to someone about how you feel … and you should do it in a place where they can keep you safe.”