Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
42
Norah
Sunday, September 19th
I check the time on my phone—2:03 a.m.
On a huff, I drop it back down on the nightstand and turn over, pulling the comforter over my head and forcing my eyes to close.
But when I find myself turning over to check the time again—2:06 a.m.—I crawl out of bed and tiptoe down the hallway and into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
Tonight was rough. Truthfully, the last few nights have been rough. Like clockwork, Clay calls at a little after midnight, and Josie and I go get a drunk Bennett from the bar and bring him home.
His grief over Summer’s death has him in a choke hold, and I want so badly to be the salve for his pain, want so badly to be there for him, but he won’t let me. I call and text him every day, but he never responds. And now that Breezy has gone back to New York, he’s alone in that big farmhouse. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his sadness.
Tears prick my eyes, and I pinch the bridge of my nose to keep them at bay. Desperate for a distraction, I unlock the screen of my phone with the intention of browsing social media, but a missed text notification from Lillian pulls my attention.
It must’ve come in when Josie and I were getting Bennett home.
Lillian: Have you talked to Bennett’s lawyer? Something big is going on with Thomas and Eleanor…
Below the message sits two links. I click on the first, and an online gossip magazine reveals that my stepdad Carlton Prescott Has Filed for Divorce from Eleanor Ellis-Prescott. And when I click on the second link, an article from a major national newspaper pops onto the screen.
Thomas King Spends Day in Questioning
NEW YORK, September 18 – King Financial wonderboy Thomas King and Eleanor Ellis-Prescott, wife of wealthy businessman Carlton Prescott, were escorted into the New York City police station to answer questions under oath on Friday. The District Attorney’s office is not giving any details regarding what they are being questioned about at this time, but they state information will be released to the public at a later date.
It’s a shock to see my mother’s name in the paper and have it not be about some event she’s attended or charity function she’s hosted. Both she and Thomas are being questioned by the police, and it makes me wonder how much they’ve found on them—and just how bad it really is.
After they left Red Bridge, I gave Bennett and Breezy’s lawyer everything I had—Alexis’s letter, along with the proof inside. Last I heard, they had turned everything over to the New York DA, and it was being investigated.
I can only assume my suspicions of there being more girls are correct, and it doesn’t make me feel good, that’s for damn sure. It only makes me feel really sad. Sad that I was so naïve about them. But mostly, sad that it’s possible they ruined other people’s lives. Sad that there could be another girl like Alexis who was forced into an impossible situation and fear made her follow through with something she didn’t want to do.
Without even thinking, I tap out of the article and head to my contacts to call Bennett. But just as my finger hovers over his name, I realize it’s after two in the morning, and while he’s the one person I want to talk to about this, he’s the last person who wants to talk to me.
God, I miss him.
Thoughts of him and Summer swirl inside my head like a tornado. A hundred different memories flash behind my eyes. Bennett’s smile. Bennett’s laugh. Giggling with Summer in his studio about Kim and Kourtney and Khloe while he painted. Turning Summer’s nails sparkly pink before the fake Josie and Clay wedding. Eating sandwiches surrounded by grass and butterflies while Bennett fielded business calls with his sister. Looking for shooting stars with them in the yard.
Before I know it, tears are dripping down my cheeks and I’m peeking inside Josie’s bedroom to see if she’s still asleep.
When I confirm I’m the only one awake, I head back into my bedroom and slide on a pair of sandals, grab my phone and the keys to Josie’s Civic, and walk out the front door in only my pajamas as quietly as I can manage.
I get in the car, start the engine, and silently pray the sounds of the Civic roaring to life don’t wake up my sister. I don’t know why I don’t want Josie to know what I’m doing. Maybe I’m afraid she’ll judge me. Maybe I fear she’ll derail my plans.
Or maybe I’m unable to really face what I’m about to do.
The sky is dark, and the road is only illuminated by my headlights as I drive over the gravel driveway and take a left onto the main road.