When we returned and pulled up to the house Marv was already waiting outside. He looked like he'd been waiting for a few minutes. I looked to Knix in confusion when he put his hand over mine as I went to unbuckle myself.

"I texted him," Knix said. "He's taking the SUV, go ahead and just stay here. I just need to talk to him for a moment."

"About what Alex said?" I asked.

Surely, he wasn't going to tell Marv about Grayson. Knix nodded and reached down for the box of diner leftovers before shooting me a smile and getting out. I released my seatbelt, leaving it buckled.

Marv and Knix only spoke for a few moments before they parted ways and Knix waved at me as he entered the house. Marv popped open the SUV's driver side door and smiled. "Hey, Princess." He grinned.

"Hey."

He climbed into the SUV and buckled his seatbelt. "You ready to go?" he asked. I gestured down to my buckled seatbelt and he smirked. "Alright then, let's go." I squeaked as he gunned the engine and my side slammed into the passenger side door.

"What the fuck?" He laughed as the curse slipped out. "Jesus, Marv. Are you trying to kill me?"

"Never, Sunshine." He chuckled. "Never." After that he settled down and drove at a more reasonable pace, but I continued to watch him out of the corner of my eye.

The further we drove, the more somber he became, until all of the teasing had escaped his expression. By the time Marv pulled between a set of arching, iron gates, his lips were set in a frown and his eyebrows squished slightly together, forming a few lines between them. When the car rolled to a stop and he turned off the engine, I finally glanced away. My mouth dropped. We were at a veritable mansion. It was even bigger than Marv's parents' house. Four stories high with symmetrical windows all along the front; it was something out of a country manor catalog.

Marv got out and walked around the front of the SUV as I moved to unbuckle my seatbelt. Marv opened my door and his serious expression cleared slightly at my slack-jawed look. He smirked before glancing back at the house over his shoulder. "Yea, it's big, isn't it?" he said.

"Big?" I repeated as I slid out of the car to the ground. "Your mom's house is big. This house is giant by comparison."

Marv released a low chuckle as he placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me towards the front door. I looked down at my jean shorts and tank top. The tank top was nice enough if I had been wearing a skirt with it. What were these people going to think of me? Before I could dwell on it too much, Marv rang the doorbell and a stuffy looking elderly woman answered. Marv spoke in low tones to the woman, whose eyes never glanced my way. She nodded and opened the door to let us into the foyer...which was bigger than the living room at our house. The woman hurried away after she let us in and I looked at Marv, confused.

"Just wait a moment," he whispered to me. I didn't say anything in response, but nodded. I knew I probably wouldn't talk very much during our visit. I was only here to offer Marv comfort if he needed it. I hoped he wouldn't need it, but I was more than willing to be there if he needed me like he had been there when I needed him.

My eyes trailed to the luxurious, wooden carvings along the interior of the doorways. There was also something else. The whole place smelled like potpourri – the thickness of it was intense – like someone had very recently removed a hundred-dozen dried flowers and plants from the entire house, but the building wasn't ready to let go of the scent. I looked to the intricately woven carpet under our feet and could even smell the scent coming up from there as well. It was all around us, and yet I couldn't figure out its source. I was so focused on trying to figure out where the smell was actually coming from that I didn't notice the pristine and well-dressed man enter the room and didn’t see him until he was right in front of us.

"Marvin Carter," the man said as he approached with an elegant hand raised to take Marv's.

"Sir," Marv nodded.

"It's good to see you, son," the man said.

"And you, Mr. Spencer."

"And who is this lovely young woman?" Mr. Spencer turned my way, catching me off guard.

I sucked in an embarrassingly loud breath and Marv put his hand on my back once more to calm me. "This is my friend, Harlow."

"Harlow," Mr. Spencer smiled and reached for my hand, "it's lovely to meet you."

"You too..." I replied.

Mr. Spencer released my hand and turned back to Marv. "Shall we head to the sitting room?"

We were led past the foyer and into yet another lasciviously set room. The fireplace and mantel on the furthest wall looked to be made out of pure marble. I shook as Marv gestured me over to a red cushioned settee that faced a pair of same colored wingback chairs. On the mantle there were glass figurines. Small winged angels and tiny white elephants. Vases on the side tables. I carefully took my seat, afraid that any sudden movements would cause one of the fragile knick knacks to fall and shatter. Once we were seated, though, the air seemed to change. Mr. Spencer's smile fell to a serious straight line as he sat across from us.

"I take it after the conversation we had over the phone, you're here about Sarah." Mr. Spencer sat back against the red cushions.

Marv nodded. "I am, Mr. Spencer. I completely understand if you are uncomfortable answering any of my questions–"

"No, no, that's quite alright," Mr. Spencer interrupted. "I can't fathom how my..." He paused to look towards the open doorway. "How Sarah has changed so much over the last few months. I want to help her, I truly do. If answering a few questions might shed even a little light on what's going on, I'll answer them."

"We appreciate it," Marv replied. "Would you mind if Harlow took notes for me?"

My head jerked up and I glanced over at him as he retrieved a small notepad from one of his inside jacket pockets and a short pen. I hadn't even realized he was carrying it.

Mr. Spencer shook his head. "I don't mind at all."

I blinked as Marv handed me the notepad and pen and returned his gaze to Mr. Spencer. Looking between the two of them, I noticed a lot of similarities. Both had distinctly dark brown hair, cut short to their scalps, but not buzzed. The sides of Mr. Spencer's were tinged in gray, and there were lines around his lips and between his eyebrows that I was sure Marv would soon have as he grew older. They were both dressed similarly and, to top it off, both were seated in much the same position.

"When did you first notice a difference in Sarah?" Marv began.

Mr. Spencer frowned and then with a sigh, he leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. "It wasn't long ago for me, actually," he said with no hidden amount of shame. "Sarah and I don't spend time together. We never really have since I'm not her biological father; I'm just the stepfather, the stand in, I guess. Her mother on the other hand, Marion knew almost immediately that something was wrong. They've always been close. Since Sarah changed though, she hasn't talked to Marion very much."

"Do you know if Sarah does talk to anyone?" Marv prompted as I scribbled down their names and their relationships.

"She goes out a lot," Mr. Spencer replied. "We've tried stopping her, but she went from sneaking out to blatantly ignoring us. We've threatened to take her phone away, her credit cards, her car. She doesn't care anymore. If we take away her phone, she'll still leave – she has these friends, friends Marion and I don't like very much. They aren't the sort of people a young lady her age should be hanging around with."

"How old is Sarah?" I found myself asking. I hadn't realized that I said it out loud until Mr. Spencer turned his face to look at me.

"She's sixteen," he answered. "Sixteen years old and drinking like a war veteran. She drinks all the time. She's come home completely drunk multiple times and our maids find bottles in her room. She doesn't even try to hide it."

"Did she hide it to begin with?" Marv asked, sitting forward on the edge of the settee.

Mr. Spencer nodded. "I guess when she first started acting out, she did try to hide it a bit. Once we confronted her about it, she stopped trying altogether."

"You confronted her," Marv repeated. "How did she react to that?" I scribbled furiously, trying to write everything down that was said.

"She was nervous, I suppose," Mr. Spencer admitted. "Marion is actually the one who confronted her first. I walked in on the two of them having a discussion about Sarah's new habits."

"She acted nervous?" Marv asked, glancing down at my writing before returning his attention to the man sitting across from us.

"Yes, Marion said she was quiet when she first talked to her, but she changed when I came in. She shut down completely. Marion could have sworn that Sarah was trying to tell her something. I'm sure it was an excuse of some kind, but it still rankles that she would act so...so..."

"So what, Mr. Spencer?" Marv's tone was gentle as he prodded the man.

"So scared," he finally said. "She's terrified of me."

My hand paused over the notepad as I looked up. Marv kept his gaze trained on Mr. Spencer. He didn't seem like the kind of man that would evoke fear in someone. Sure, he was taller than me, but of average height for a man. I knew that looks could be deceiving, though, so I didn't comment. I stayed quiet as I waited for the conversation to continue. Something inside of me told me that he was genuine; he truly cared for this Sarah girl and he didn't want to see her hurt.

"I could see it in her eyes," he went on, "when I walked in, she completely closed herself off. She backed away even. I haven't been alone in the same room as her for months. She drinks. She goes out where I'm sure she drinks some more. She comes home. Some nights she doesn't even do that." He shook his head, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. "I don't know how much longer we can keep this up."

"Mr. Spencer," Marv said. "Did Sarah ever attend Ms. Enders’ Etiquette courses for Fine Young Ladies?"

Mr. Spencer looked up, confusion clear on his face. "Yea, she did. Marion sent her towards the end of her last summer break." Mr. Spencer paused for a moment, thinking. "You know, come to think of it, it wasn't long after she came back that she started acting strange."

"That's an entire year," I said, setting down my pen. Marv and Mr. Spencer both looked at me. "If it was towards the end of last summer, then it's been an entire year since she came back from that camp," I continued. "When did you say she started acting out?"

"A few months following?" When Mr. Spencer answered, it sounded like a question.

I pressed on. "And you said you didn't notice right away? That things escalated, first her trying to hide the alcohol and now she doesn't?" He nodded. "Okay," I said. "I just wanted to clarify for my notes."

I closed the notepad and clicked the pen closed, glancing over to Marv. I felt for Mr. Spencer, seeing how worried he was. Acting out, I thought. That's what normal teenagers do, right? I wouldn't exactly know, though. I hadn't been an average teenager. I'm sure other teenagers didn't work the long hours I had. Sure, there had been that one time I went out with Erika and we had gotten drunk on the beach. Most of the time, however, I had been too tired or too busy to act out. I almost envied Sarah, whoever she was. She lived in a nice house, with parents who were concerned about her welfare. As Mr. Spencer had said before, she had a phone, a car, money...all the things I never had before. Maybe that made her spoiled? Would Marv hate me if I said so? He was from the same world after all. Was it just jealousy speaking? I couldn't be sure exactly.

Marv stood and shook hands with Mr. Spencer, who in turn shook my hand as well when I offered it. "It truly was good to see you again, Marvin," Mr. Spencer said as we made our way to the front door.

"Yes, sir. Hopefully, when we speak again, it will be on better circumstances." Marv smiled tightly as Mr. Spencer inclined his head.

"Hopefully," the other man replied as he opened the front door. "Call if you need anything. I truly would have thought Sarah's activities were just her acting out if it hadn't been for that other girl, the one who..." He trailed off, his voice wavering and his eyes deeply sad.

"Yes, well, thank you for talking with us despite that," Marv replied

"If you're looking for more information," Mr. Spencer said as we stepped outside, causing the both of us to turn around, "try the Rutherford’s. I've heard Robert's had some of the same issues with his niece, Carly."

"We will, Mr. Spencer, thank you."

* * *

Marv drove in silence. I waited for him to say something about how I had ended our interview with Mr. Spencer but he didn't talk about that. When Marv next opened his mouth, he asked me something else.

"What do you think?" he began.

"What do I think of what?" I asked. "Of Sarah?"

He shifted in his seat, glancing my way for a split second before his attention returned to the road. "Yes."

I sighed and leaned my head back against the headrest. "Well," I started, "it could be rebellion. She's young. Teens tend to act out if there's something they don't like. Maybe she doesn't like Mr. Spencer being her stepdad."

Marv nodded. "He did say that she seemed to clam up around him."

"Do you think..." I began.

My thoughts started sprinting down long, dark corridors. There had been a girl I knew once, back when I was just starting out in gymnastics, who had been so sweet, but incredibly shy and reserved. I recalled seeing her bruises – no one had thought anything of them. Being in gymnastics, it was common to have bruises, but hers were different, and in odd places. I had noticed, but I was either too young or too unobservant. I hadn't realized, hadn't known, until much later that she was being...that her uncle had been...the thought hurt me deep down, even in my mind I didn't want to say it. The same issues Mr. Spencer described with his stepdaughter reminded me of that girl I knew. I took a breath and turned to Marv. He glanced at me curiously, waiting and patient.

"What if she was raped?" I asked.

Marv didn't even flinch. He nodded. "I came to the same conclusion," he replied. "It's a viable reason."

I stared at him. "You did?"

He slowed the SUV as we came to a red light before shifting his gaze back to mine. "I did," he replied. "I wanted to see if you would as well."

I frowned, crossing my arms. "Do you have other ideas that you're not sharing with me to see if I come up with them on my own?" I asked.

"It's part of your training, Sunshine." He pressed the gas as the light turned green. "Don't get upset now."

"I'm not upset." I sucked in a breath, realizing the lie as soon as it came out. "Okay," I said. "Maybe I am. Why didn't you just put it out there?"

"You had to come up with it for yourself," he said, focusing on the road. "I can't give you the answers and on jobs, you're going to have to continue to come up with your own answers. No one is going to just come right out and give you everything you need. If that were true, we would all be out of a job." He chuckled lightly as he said that last bit and glanced back at me. I sighed and leaned back in the seat, pressing the side of my face closer to the window. He was right. There was no reason for me to be upset. Maybe I just didn't like feeling like the newbie or like he was keeping things from me in an effort to teach me.

"It could be other things," I said. "Rape is only one option."

"You're right," he replied. "What else do you think it could be?"

"Well..." I thought of my mom. "When Mom was diagnosed, it wasn't until she was much older. The mood swings, the variations of manic states she went through – her bipolar disorder wasn't diagnosed until she was much older, though she had it her entire life. It's usually diagnosed with older children and teenagers. Mom was able to temper herself, I suppose, until she got older." I paused, thinking. "Actually," I said, "I think it was just assumed that she was crazy – bipolar is a mental illness that affects hormones and it affects emotions and energy levels."

"Was your mother often depressed when you were younger?" Marv asked.

I squinted down at my hands, trying to think. "Not exactly. I can't really remember that well, Michael would remember more. Up until he became a teenager, we were actually really close. He practically raised me. When I saw Mom, she was good – happy, fine. It wasn't until I was older that I realized she wasn't always like that."

"So, you think Sarah could be suffering from a mental illness?"

"I guess?" I turned my face towards him, though I wasn't focusing on him exactly.

My entire focus was on remembering the early days of my mom's diagnosis. She had been informed of the bipolar disorder, prescribed months of new medications, and things had stabilized – Michael had been fine, almost happy – then the new diagnosis not but a year or so later, and well...shit rolled downhill. Mom started to hate Michael – he was her son, her child, and yet, all of the sudden, he had become the adult. Before he left he taught me how to pay bills and survive, but then he was gone and there was nothing I could do about it. It hadn't felt right to beg him to stay when Mom had been screaming at him to leave.

I glanced down at my lap and pulled my phone out, brushing my fingers over the smooth screen. When Mom had gone into the nursing home, he had been informed. When I had moved out of the duplex, he had been informed. And both times, he had been cool and indifferent. He had thanked me for the information and hadn't called me since. It wasn't uncommon to go months without hearing from him and in the last two months I had talked to him a total of three times.

"You okay, Sunshine?" Marv asked. I could see him watching me in my peripheral vision and I nodded.

He pulled into the driveway of the house and I sighed, slipping my phone back into my pocket. When he drove straight into the garage and cut the engine, I unbuckled my seatbelt, noticing only after that he had left his on.

"Are you coming inside?" I asked.

His tornado gray eyes met my gaze. "I've got to go," he said. "Bell texted me and wanted me to drop you back off here.” I groaned, and he smirked. "I just want to make sure you're okay? Was the interview upsetting?"

"Upsetting?" I shook my head. "No. It wasn't upsetting. I liked going with you. I think I'm sad for Mr. Spencer – and Sarah, a bit, though we don't know what's wrong yet. She's definitely struggling with something. I'm not completely convinced that it's just teenage angst or whatever people call it."

His smile was tinted with something sad, but I didn't understand why. He leaned over and kissed my cheek, sparks dancing under my nerve endings where his lips met my skin. "I'll see you tonight, Sunshine," he promised.

I couldn’t do anything but nod, then opened the car door and got out. I watched as Marv backed out and headed back down the long driveway of our country house. His taillights disappeared around a copse of trees and still I remained staring after him with my hand pressed against my cheek until the door to the garage swung inward, hitting the wall and startling me. "Hey, Sweetheart," Bellamy said. "What’re you still doing out here?"

I shook my head, wondering the same thing. “Sorry,” I said. “I was just coming inside.”

He looked at me for a moment before smiling. “Do you want to finish your painting?”

I shrugged, glad that Marv had been wrong about more PT. Bellamy must have taken that as assent because he held out his hand to me and I took it, letting him lead me into the house and away from thoughts that the interview with Mr. Spencer had dredged up.