“Where is he?” Bender asks.
“I don’t know. He told us he was going camping. He hasn’t answered his phone. The police think he took another woman. I wish I knew where he is. I want to…talk to him. Before they do.”
Talk. Advise. Beg. She has no idea what she wants to say, but damn it, she needs to talk to her boy.
“He’s in Nashville, I know that much,” Bender says. “My wife was in an accident. We think he brought flowers to the hospital, lilies. And left a vase of them at our house. But it’s not the first time. He’s been breaking into my house for weeks. We just discovered someone—I’m assuming Peyton—called my security company and changed all the codes. The entire system was corrupted.”
Horrified fear shoots through her. “What?”
“He has the code to my house. We have him on video coming and going over the past several weeks. Olivia—that’s my wife—thinks he’s stolen from her. Little things that she hasn’t missed until now.”
Darby is awash in horror. Peyton always has had a penchant for stealing, but she’d written it off as a child’s magpie tendencies to see something pretty or interesting and want it for themselves. She can’t count the times she did laundry and found something unusual in his pockets. Normally little inconsequential things, but once, it was a diamond and pearl earring, and she had to track down the owner, one of the mothers at school. The woman hadn’t been cool about it, had threatened to call the police. On an eight-year-old. Embarrassing, and Darby had laid into the kid, tried to make enough of an impression that he never did it again. Clearly, her attempts failed.
Thief. Rapist. Killer. Does she know her son at all?
Scarlett butts in. “Mr. Bender, I would very much like to meet you. I run a group for all the siblings who’ve matched together—we call ourselves the Halves. I know everyone would like to meet you, too, but maybe it would be easier if it was just the two of us, to start?”
“I’d like to meet you as well. I have a confession. When the police told me about you, I got access to your address. I drove by your house. I’m afraid I chickened out at the last second, though. Before I left, I saw you, in the drive. You’re so beautiful. You look just like my mother.”
Bender is still talking, gushing out the words, really. He’s anxious, she can tell. “Her dad—my grandfather—had fire-engine-red hair. They called him Red, as a matter of fact. But that’s only half the picture. Maybe you get it from your mom’s side, too?”
Not from my family, Darby thinks. That red hair is all Bender. What other pieces of this stranger make up her daughter? She’s beginning to wonder if anything they know is true, and curses Winterborn. How dare they cheat like this?
“No one on Mom’s side has it. We always figured it came from you,” Scarlett says, shyly pleased. “Could we come over to your house? Now?” she manages to jam in. Darby shakes her head and gives her a what the hell? look.
The pause this time is genuine, and Darby rushes to fill the void. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bender, that was inappropriate—”
“Park. Please. Call me Park. Yes, of course you can. Normally I’d suggest someplace more neutral, considering, but I’m waiting on the man from the security company to show, and my wife is hurt. I can’t leave her alone.” He rattles off the address, a tony street in Forest Hills, right on the edge of Belle Meade. So they’ve got money. Darby is annoyed at herself for the thought.
“Thank you. I’m looking forward to it,” Scarlett says, and Darby is again struck by her daughter’s maturity, her sudden shift from child to adult.
“We’ll see you shortly,” Darby says, and hangs up.
Scarlett is already bustling around the kitchen, grabbing purses and thermoses of water—ubiquitous to any house departure. As if they’re going to the desert instead of across town.
“You’re sure?” Darby asks, and her daughter nods, glowing with excitement.
“All I’ve ever wanted is to meet my father. It’s not a knock on you, Mom. You’re the best. I’m happy. I love you, and I love the life you’ve made for me. I’ve just always wanted a dad.”
“Listen to me, honey. I can’t promise you he’ll want to fulfill that role. He might want to meet you, but you might only be a curiosity to him. We don’t know what kind of person he is. Clearly, he has a history, a background, that’s murky. We don’t want to go in there assuming he’s a choirboy and he’s going to accept you into the fold like you’re his own.”
Don’t steal her away from me. She’s all I have left.
“He’s a good person. I can tell. I can hear it in his voice. And it’s only fair, Mom. I mean, he’ll want to know more about Peyton.”
Finally, her baby is back, the petulant naivete, the innocent belief that nothing bad can happen if you’re loved, that at their heart, people are good, and don’t mean harm. It’s what gets children in trouble in the world, and especially online. Anyone can be charming if they choose, especially a predator.
She follows an ebullient Scarlett out the door to the car, biting back the words.
We’ll see.
The Benders’ house is a lovely, modern French country, the brick painted a creamy white with black accents, shutters and downspouts, and a large wood-and-glass door. Darby knows more about them now, knows the background especially of Olivia Bender, the designer, thanks to a quick bit of googling in the car on the way over. Scarlett drove with exaggerated care, the cautious motions of a girl about to do something life-changing, while Darby gleaned as much information as she could from the ether.
Sitting in the drive, Darby is more than a little intimidated by the sheer size of the place, the casual charm of the fa?ade and landscaping. It succeeds in looking cozy and welcoming, and Darby knows it must have cost a fortune. She thinks ruefully about the two plastic pots filled with barely budded chrysanthemums from Home Depot flanking her front door, burning in the southern-facing sun because she always forgets to water them. Nothing about the Benders’ house and grounds screams I’m too busy to take care of my place. Quite the opposite, it is somehow both summer lush and autumnal in spirit, everything placed just so, like something she’s seen on the cover of Southern Living.
Maybe Olivia Bender could help rework a few things at their place.
Banish the thought, lady. You can’t afford those luxuries, not without a job.
“Wow,” Scarlett breathes.
“Yes, it’s a very nice place.”
Scarlett shoots her a look. “Oh, yeah. Pretty. I just meant…wow, I’m about to meet my father.”
“You’re about to meet your donor, honey. A lucky sperm doesn’t make him your father.”
“You know what I mean,” she shoots back, getting out of the car.
Park Bender opens the front door, the smile on his face welcoming, but cautious. He is handsome, tall, and looks less than delighted to see them.
Scarlett takes one look and loses her head entirely. She rushes to him and throws her arms around his waist. Darby is shocked to see him wrap his arms around her daughter and lift her bodily off the ground in a huge bear hug.