The Girl from Widow Hills - Megan Miranda Page 0,61

hospital. It doesn’t involve you.”

“I should be there,” he said. “You shouldn’t be alone there right now. God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“No, you shouldn’t. I’m not alone, Jonah. Drop it.”

His eyes narrowed now, like a different path was presenting itself. “You’re seeing someone?” A condescending tilt to his head. “Tell me, is it Bennett? Of course you are. You always did like being taken care of.” He lowered his voice, his entire demeanor shifting. “This isn’t the right move, Liv.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think. You’re wrong about all of it.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Am I, now?”

I shifted my jaw; I hated getting drawn into his circular discussions, which would inevitably lead exactly where he intended them to end.

“Both options can’t exist at once, Liv.” Like he could apply his logic to life. Twist the data to fuel his own argument. “Are you seeing someone, or are you alone?”

“It’s none of your business.”

I could hear the ice in his glass. He took a sip before speaking. “Well, it’s after nine p.m., and you’re home, and no one else is there. So it seems to me we both know the answer.”

This was how Jonah worked, talking me in circles, doing the same in a meeting, in his class. So he always came out on top. And he was right—I did like being taken care of. Where he was wrong was in assuming he was ever the one to provide that stability.

Something had changed, in either him or me. But I could finally see him clearly for everything he was. A leech. Needing attention to thrive. Needing to feel superior and knowing he could get that only from someone younger, less established, less sure of herself.

I hadn’t formed strong connections with my classmates, didn’t like their questions about parent weekends, or visiting home, or summer plans. I dove into my studies, and took internships and jobs, and Jonah liked my drive, my maturity. The exterior shell I presented as a defense. An interior he could mold at his will.

Three seconds to escape. One step to extricate myself from this conversation.

“Jonah? Don’t call me again.”

And then I did what I should’ve done months ago, a year ago, before that, even—the first time he texted me personally: I’ve been thinking about what you said in class all day. Would love to discuss further. The thrill was the same, then and now, as I blocked his number.

———

I DIDN’T TAKE THE pill, and slept lightly. Later at night, I heard a car driving by, and I pictured Nathan Coleman, not sleeping, drawn back to the scene of his father’s death, over and over. How we were all being drawn back together. And how I could see myself clearly, finally, reflected in someone else. How grief and survival could coexist. How, despite what Jonah believed, you could hold two versions of the truth—and yourself—in your hand at the same time, and both could be completely real.

FINDING ARDEN

Copyright: Laurel Maynor, 2002

Excerpt, p.1

I knew she was gone before I woke. It was pure intuition.

I knew my daughter better than any other living being.

When Arden was little, I could tell if she’d be sick the next day. When she’d run down the hill out back, I could tell in the moment before when she was about to fall.

I woke up on the morning of October 17 earlier than usual. Something had woken me. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I started calling her name before I even got to her room.

My heart was racing before I got there, even though I couldn’t explain why.

And then I saw her empty bed. And I knew for sure. It was my worst nightmare.

People often ask me if I believed that Arden would be found alive, especially as one day turned to two, and two days turned to three. The answer is always yes, and that’s the truth. Because there were other things I knew about my daughter besides the fact that she was missing:

I knew she was a fighter. She came into this world kicking and screaming. I swear she could be heard clear across the county the day she was born.

I knew she wouldn’t go out of this world without a fight, either.

CHAPTER 16

Monday, 8 a.m.

I WAS RELIEVED TO WAKE and find my room exactly as I’d left it. Ladder tucked away in the closet, hook and eye securely latched, phone facedown beside me. I’d even locked the window, just to add