Willow beams. “Okay. I love it. Do you think Billy will?”
Jenna thinks of the shaggy-haired boy she first met behind the 7-Eleven. He’s been a fixture at their house, since. And despite how they met—the kids skipping school and drinking behind a convenience store—he’s a sweet boy. He complements Willow. He knows when to give her space, knows when to draw close. And most important, Willow’s crazy about him. A little too crazy, so Jenna and Simon are constantly on guard, listening for when it gets too quiet while the kids are watching television alone in the basement.
“He’s going to love it.”
“He better, or I’m calling Timothée for you,” Blue Flowers chimes in.
Jenna pays the tab while Willow’s in the changing room. If the stylist notices that Jenna is using a different name than before, or that she’d previously claimed to be from out of town, the salesperson says nothing.
Handing Jenna the credit card, she says, “So, was the man you were excited to see at the party last time you were here Willow’s father?”
Jenna smiles. “Yes,” she lies, deciding that it wouldn’t be a great idea to say that the person she went to see at the party was a Frenchwoman who recruited her to work for a shadow organization when she was fifteen years old.
“You did rock that gown.”
Jenna smiles.
“And your stepdaughter is gorg.”
A text causes Jenna’s heart to jump a beat. It’s from an unfamiliar number. It says: Your dry cleaning is ready.
That’s The Corporation’s code to contact home base.
She considers clicking on the number that sent the text, but Willow appears from the dressing room beaming.
On the car ride home, Jenna’s mind is on the text. What could they possibly want? She’ll get Willow home and find out.
“Can I ask you something?” Willow says, pulling Jenna from the thought.
Jenna looks at her stepdaughter.
Willow’s face reddens a shade. She hesitates but continues, “A lot of the couples are staying
overnight at a hotel after prom.”
Jenna says nothing, lets her talk.
“Billy said he’ll, like, wait as long as I need—wait until I’m ready—before we…” Willow trails off.
Jenna realizes that her stepdaughter’s confiding in her about sex. Her chest swells, but she knows she can’t show the emotion. She needs to play it cool.
“As he should,” she says, trying not to sound judgmental.
“But it’s prom, you know? It’s romantic and…” Again she doesn’t finish the sentence.
Jenna smiles. “I understand. You’ll all be dressed up, taking limos downtown, getting photographed at the monuments at sunset, the last time you’ll all be together.…”
“So, how do I know if I’m ready?”
Jenna blows out a breath. She never attended prom. Never had a normal high school experience, a sweet teenage boyfriend. Her thoughts go to Sabine forcing Jenna to take dance lessons, etiquette training, so that she could look like she belonged at any ball in the world. The text gnaws at her again.
“I think you need to trust your intuition. Don’t do something because you think you should.
Sometimes the most romantic things are the mundane, the unexpected.” She thinks about falling for Simon on their second date when he took her bowling.
“You’re smart,” she adds. “Smarter than I ever was at your age. And I think you’ll know if it’s time.”
Willow nods. There’s a long pause. “Can we get sushi for dinner?”
And with that, Jenna’s first bit of parental advice comes to an end. She nods, determined not to cry.
At home, they find Simon in the dining room. It’s odd because he never goes in the dining room.
He thinks it’s too formal. Lulu’s in the corner, playing with her dolls, also unusual.
“What are you doing in here?” Jenna asks, smiling.
Simon gives a tight smile in return. “Oh, I just wanted a change of scenery. How was shopping?”
“I found the perfect dress,” Willow says.
Simon smiles again. Something’s wrong. He’d normally ask to see the dress, ask Willow to try it on, make a bigger deal out of it.
“Everything okay?” Jenna asks.
Before Simon answers, Willow says, “Dad, we were thinking of ordering from Raku. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” he says.
Something is definitely wrong; Jenna can see it in his face.
“You want the usual?” Willow’s already scrolling the DoorDash app.
“Yes, but also get me this new roll I’ve been hearing about.”
“What’s it called?” Willow says, scrolling the menu.
Simon’s glance fixes on the door leading to the kitchen. “I think it’s called ‘Alas Babylon.’”
Adrenaline courses through Jenna. She looks at Lulu, who’s still playing dolls on the floor, to Willow, still distracted ordering dinner on her phone.
Simon isn’t visibly restrained, so there’s a reason he’s not doing anything. He’d fight to the death
for his family. Yet his hands are folded calmly on the table. He looks down and makes a mushroom-cloud-explosion gesture with his hands.
Now Jenna understands. There’s an explosive device. If he does anything. If she does anything …
boom.
He looks again to the kitchen. Jenna stealthily pads over and pushes the swinging doors in.
She thought both twins were dead, but one stands here. She holds a device in her hand. It’s not the cattle killer. It’s a detonator.
“I’ll come with you,” Jenna says. “Just don’t hurt them.”
“Oh, I’d love to kill each and every one of them in front of you. But that would be bad for business.” She gestures to the back door.
Jenna wants to go back to the dining room, say her goodbyes, get one last look at them, but she needs to get this woman as far away from her family as possible. Jenna makes her way outside, the woman following behind. It’s then Jenna notices the limp. She flashes back to the woods, her foot connecting with the woman’s knee, collapsing the joint in the wrong direction. Is this one Casey or Haley? She can’t remember. It doesn’t matter.
“One move and I will blow this house sky-high.”
Jenna raises her hands. “I told you, you can do whatever you want to me.” She means it. Her heart is breaking. She’ll never see her family again, she knows. But at least she had this last, perfect day.
The surviving twin leads her to Jenna’s car in the garage. With one hand still gripping the detonator, she uses the other to give Jenna a pair of handcuffs. Jenna takes them and clicks them on.
Her only goal now is to get this wretched woman away from here.
She gestures for Jenna to take the driver’s seat.
Jenna has never felt so powerless in her life. She wonders how far the detonator can transmit.
As if reading her thoughts, the woman says, “It has a ten-mile radius. Don’t worry, we’re going less than five. I told your husband that if he calls anyone or leaves the house, you’re dead and he and his girls will be in a million little pieces scattered across the neighborhood. He doesn’t seem to get that you’re already dead.”