“What will you do next?” she asks, but it’s a detached interest, as if she’s watching someone else’s life play out on a screen.
“I don’t know, exactly, beyond the fact that I’m going to find this Peter. There’s something about him that nags at me . . .” He trails off. “About all of this, even you. It’s too familiar. Like we’ve met. Like we’ve all done this before.” He shakes his head as if to clear it. “I told you I have crazy dreams. Maybe it was there. But dream or not, this Peter is real. And somehow he has access to these boys. He could be a coach. A therapist. A teacher. I’m going to figure it out, and then he’s going to pay. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
“It’s a good start,” she says. “You’ll find him.” He stares at her. “I mean it.” There’s nothing she can say that will change his mind, so why bother? She’s negotiated enough deals to know when she has a chance and when she doesn’t, and right now she has nothing to offer that he wants. Nothing that she can tell him that will help.
She takes off her helmet, hands it back.
“Thanks for the ride.”
He nods but doesn’t answer. Still, he waits while she walks up the steps. At the top, it occurs to her that there is one last thing she wants to know.
“Christopher,” she calls. When he looks up, she asks, “What did you do in the war?”
He looks surprised, then smiles grimly. “Interrogator. I wasn’t even supposed to be on the road that day. I was filling in for a mate. Officer in charge told me to shag off, but the rules said one was supposed to be present, so off I went.”
“That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
He shrugs. “When my mate came to visit me in hospital, he was gutted. Turned out he hadn’t even been sick after all. He’d been off having fun and games with some of the local women. But I told him it could have been worse. The way I see it, the ones who feel sorry for themselves don’t survive. Not with any kind of life to speak of. So I could whinge, or I could get on and make the most of what I still had.” He raises his right hand—the one with the prosthetic—in a mock salute. “So that’s what I did.”
“Me too,” Holly says quietly, but Christopher doesn’t hear. He’s already riding away.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
And because it wouldn’t be Holly’s life if everything didn’t go to shit at the same time, within days of her ride with Christopher, Barry is demanding that she come back to work. He hints at first, texting about how much the office misses her. When Holly doesn’t bite, he follows up with a call to her cell, which she ignores.
At last he calls her on her mother’s home phone—a number that’s unlisted, although it might as well not be, given how many people seem able to find it. When Jane, with an eye roll, passes the phone to Holly, Barry doesn’t mince words.
“You need to come back,” he says. “You’re the head of Darling Skin Care—you need to show your face. People are starting to talk, and I can’t hold the questions off much longer.”
“This is why I never wanted to be the face of the brand in the first place,” Holly snaps.
“But you are, whether you want to be or not,” he says. “The Landers are saying that they signed the deal based on you being at the helm. They could pull out, Holly. And they’re questioning your commitment to the brand, which puts future deals in jeopardy.”
“Too bad for them. We’ll find someone else.”
Barry is quiet. “Look, I don’t understand,” he says at last. “You built this company. It’s been your baby from the beginning. I know it’s been a rough time for you, with your daughter, but you need to think about Jack, about his future. Darling Skin Care guarantees that. We need you here for the launch next week. You don’t have to stay. But you have to come.”
With a start, Holly realizes Barry still thinks Eden is dead. Of course he does. So much has happened these last few weeks that she’s somehow lost track of the lies she’s told him, and now there’s no way for her to explain what’s happened, no way to walk it back. She said those words—my daughter is dead—and now they are coming true, one way or another. When she mourns again, she’ll never be able to tell him why. Until it’s for Jack.
She’s still reeling when Barry speaks again.
“Holly?” he says, his voice gentle. “I hate to say this, but you’re not the only one with a family.”