I heard the glass door that led to the back patio slide shut, and I rushed into the kids’ bedroom where I could view the backyard. Elise and Jackson sat in one corner, Elise building a fort out of patio chair cushions while Jackson watched. Near the pool, Candace tossed her clothes into a pile on the lounger, about to begin her afternoon swim. She dipped a toe in, then slipped into the water. This would give me about thirty minutes to do a little digging.
Slipping past the kids’ bed, my stride was stopped by what I saw in the middle of the bedspread. Scattered photographs, each of them cut apart into scraps of faces and backgrounds. Picking up the metal scissors, I wondered where they’d found them. I had never allowed the kids to use grownup scissors after I caught Jackson running in the house with a pair, point facing out.
I picked up a photo, its edge burned and curled, holes roughly punched out where the eyes should have been. I realized it was Candace, with Noah’s arm around her. It looked familiar, but why?
The memory congealed. The day I found Jackson burning up our family picture, I had seen this in the wastebasket, amid the pile of photos that Jackson was about to set on fire. That’s where I recognized Noah from; that’s why he looked so familiar to me when Candace showed me her old pictures. I had thought that Jackson aimed all his pent-up anger against me, but this pile of chopped-up pictures were mostly of Candace. The eyes were poked out in every single one. He hated her, probably more than I did.
But why?
It didn’t make any sense.
Maybe Jackson knew something I didn’t. Maybe I’d find an answer in her bedroom.
Taking the scissors with me, I headed down the hallway. I didn’t know what I was looking for exactly, but whatever it was, I’d know it when I found it. Something in my gut led me, directed me, urged me on. Her dresser was cluttered with magazines, makeup, and food remnants. I set the scissors beside an empty chips bag surrounded by a few tufts of hair clippings from when she had mutilated herself. I had a shot in hell of finding anything amid the junk.
Her dresser mirror was scribbled with lipstick messages. I only have eyes for you, with a heart beside it. You’re mine forever, with a lip print. So that bathroom message that had shaken Jackson so bad was a message from Candace to Lane. It would have been sweet if it wasn’t so psycho.
I opened drawers, flipped through papers, dug in her closet while minute after minute ticked by. On her bed lay a self-help book, which was odd, considering I never saw Candace read anything but the tabloids or something to do with Meghan Markle. I flipped through the pages, stopping to read an underlined passage she had made a note about:
The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.
Beside this in the margin Candace had scribbled:
Meaning: The blood shed in battle bonds soldiers deeper than family. Our marital vows are our covenant. If Lane’s family is against us, I must fight to push them out.
So she had been plotting against me. I wasn’t overreacting after all. Glancing outside the window, I saw Candace had stepped out of the pool. I had a couple minutes of her drying off, maybe a few to spare if she laid out for a bit before she headed upstairs to change. As I turned from the window, I noticed her jewelry box, a gorgeous, antique, white piece with five drawers in the front, a mirrored top that opened up to a velvet-lined compartment, and two sides that swung open to hang necklaces. Not sure what I hoped to find, I lifted the lid, the mirror catching the light, and picked up a handful of bangled bracelets. So here’s where she kept all her noisy boho jewelry.
Drawer by drawer, I opened one after the other, looking at rings and necklaces and bracelets. So much jewelry for one set of wrists. At the last drawer I almost didn’t bother, but my fingertip hooked on the curve in the tray and slid it open.
That’s when I saw it. A charm bracelet. At first it seemed so ordinary, until the shine of gold caught the sun, and I read the words crossing the metal band:
True love waits
The letters crashed against my trembling fingers as I dropped it back onto the velvet pad.
Why did that phrase sound so familiar? There was some sort of malfunction going on with how fast the earth was spinning. Minutes went by as quick as seconds once did. And then I remembered—
‘What are you doing going through my stuff?’ If my skin wasn’t attached, I would have jumped out of it as I caught Candace’s dripping reflection in the jewelry box mirror, standing right behind me. I turned to find her half-naked and burning with anger – or too much sun exposure – with her hands on her bony, bikini-clad hips.
The floor creaked as she stepped toward me, almost into me. She was too close. I was scared. My skin told on me, erupting in embarrassed red splotches.
‘Why. Are. You. In. My. Room?’ She punctuated each word, growing more severe with each syllable.
All I needed to think about was the bracelet to fuel my fire. ‘Where did you get this?’ I picked the bracelet back up and dangled it in front of her.
‘I found it.’
No explanation. No excuse. No getting caught. She was a gifted liar.
‘Don’t lie to me, Candace, not after all we’ve been through. I know where this came from. I just want to hear it from you.’
‘Hear what? That I found it at a pawn shop? You have no idea what
