Chapter Six
Book Club
-o-
Melissa couldn't sleep. Behind closed eyelids, the darkness twisted and morphed into black flapping wings. She turned her pillow over half a dozen times, seeking out the cool side, then flipping it back when it reminded her of cold and lifeless things.
Frustrated, she kicked her blanket off and rose from bed. The window opposite glowed faintly with early light. She crept towards her door, held the doorknob in her hand. Holding her breath, she pressed her ear against the wood. Listened…
Nothing. The house was still, quiet, asleep.
She glanced at her phone. The sun would rise in a couple of hours. It was the weekend. If she headed out soon, she could watch the sun peek over the horizon from the top of a hiking trail, returning for another day with bright enthusiasm. And maybe, if she were lucky, the harsh light would bleach her eyes. She would never see black again, never be reminded of that bird she was terrified her father had killed. Jinx would be another colour after this happened: midnight blue, almost purple. Melissa would endeavour never to spot another black bird again. And even if she did, it would be that new colour: deep blue, not black. Never black again.
She dressed quickly in a pair of athletic shorts and a breezy shirt. She tied a cobalt blue water-proof jacket around her waist, in case she needed it. She grabbed her hiking gear: a light backpack containing a small first-aid kit, her field notes, and drawing implements. She would grab a water bottle downstairs, filled with chilled water from the fridge, and then she would be gone.
She slipped out into the hall, moving lightly like a field mouse. She scurried down the hall, paused on the landing, and peered down at the living room below. Downstairs, everything was quiet. No faint blue glow reached up from the floor below. She heard no snoring, no couch springs, no turning. Her father had made it upstairs last night then, despite the heavy odour of beer hanging in the air.
She went downstairs quietly. Her heartbeat picked up. She felt it in the side of her throat now, hammering away. She moved into the kitchen and retrieved her water bottle from the cupboard. As she took it from the shelf, it began to slip-
She clutched it to her chest, keeping it from falling on the tiles. Her palms were slick with sweat. Pressing her lips together, she held her breath for a moment. Her heart still rocketed, blood thumping away in her ears. She didn't hear anything else.
She breathed a quiet sigh. Turned to the fridge, opened the door. Her eyes scanned the shelves, but there was no chilled water. Anna was supposed to prepare it last night. That was her job. She put the water in the fridge so they could have cold water in the morning.
Melissa huffed. She looked at the bottle in her hand, and then her eyes slid to the tap.
"No," she mumbled.
The pipes would wake someone. And, knowing her luck, it would be her father and he would wonder why she was leaving the house at such an early hour. He would assume it was either a boy or one of her silly trips out to the forest, and he hardly approved of either of those things.
She turned back to the glow of the fridge. Spotted a bottle of orange juice.
It was better than nothing. Melissa knew better than to venture out into the wilderness without any fluids.
She poured the orange juice into her bottle, cringing. For some reason, it felt like a sort of crime. When it was full, she returned the juice to the fridge and then closed the bottle lid. She picked up her shoes by the front door and, barefoot, slipped outside.
She sat by the door and laced her shoes. Above her, the sky was a pale wash of murky pastels. The street was empty, the lights of every house still switched off, and all the blinds drawn. The trees sang in the soft wind, a morning song only for her ears.
Her shoulders relaxed.
It was beautiful.
-o-
Melissa did not take the same trail as she did with Rita. She had convinced herself that the deer in the forest was simply the victim of a natural predator, like a mountain lion. That made the most sense. There was nothing odd about it - Melissa had unfortunately witnessed nature in action, that was all - but that didn't mean she wanted to cross paths with the big cat responsible.
Instead, she ambled along a peaceful slice of the woods. Pine trees surrounded her, and the songs of morning birds floated through the air above her orange head. The light was still low, but sunset approached quickly. The slips of sky visible through the branches glowed in warning of the sun's imminent arrival.
To her left was a winding river, cool water sloshing against pale brown rocks as the path twisted and turned. Melissa picked her way along, following the water uphill, carefully testing the rocks outlining the river. Every so often, with a sharp enough turn of the water, the skin of her left arm or leg was misted with river water spat up and out at her. Her arm, no longer bandaged but still with its stitches, itched. She needed to go back to Dr. Cullen to have the threads removed before the skin grew over them, but just couldn't bring herself to sit under his watchful eyes again. Like all of the Cullens, he was far too sharp to be safe.
She continued along the river, growing more and more bold. The rocks alongside it were fairly sturdy. She leapt from one to the next. Skipped, danced, jumped to see her far she would land. Her footfalls snaked along the rocks and out through the forest. This was the most sound she had made in a long time. She grinned at the slap of her shoes against the rock.
A twig snapped.
Melissa froze.
Leaves rustled.
She gasped. Turned around, eyes wide and frantic. She glanced around, seeking out the source of the sound. It was the mountain lion. It was here to kill her. To get rid of any witnesses. No, that was stupid. It was-
There!
Her head swivelled as branches parted-
A scream ripped through her. Wings flapped overhead, the same wild thumping as her heart against her ribs.
-and a handful of Cullens appeared.
Jasper emerged first, followed by Alice, and then Esme. They moved gracefully through the brambles, dressed in their designer athletic wear, all waterproof, all perfect.
Melissa's hand moved to her chest. Under her palm her heart still pounded, begging to escape.
"Oh, hello!" Alice chirped, an easy grin already seizing her face. "Are you out for a walk too? I thought it would be a good day for it. The weather is so nice."
She nodded. "You scared me."
A giggle drifted across the space between them. "Sorry! We just heard something weird and wanted to check it out."
Heat rushed to Melissa's cheeks and the tips of her ears. She dipped her chin, quite sure she resembled a cherry now in colour. She fiddled with the brush-like end of her plait. "Oh."
"Maybe you would like to join us?" Esme asked.
Melissa did, in fact, absolutely not want that, but she hardly saw a choice. What was she going to do, keep walking with them lagging behind her? Going for a walk with her therapist and her kids was not high on her bucket list, especially not when Jasper Hale was amongst said children.
She didn't say any of that. Just nodded.
The trio swept over to her, all graceful limbs and confident feet. Jasper wedged himself between her and the river, and his mother and sister chatted and walked arm-in-arm ahead of the two of them. Together, they must have resembled a rather odd sort of procession heading uphill.
Melissa didn't mention this. She found a sudden interest in her hiking shoes. A large splotch of mud had dried on them. She would have to clean them when she went home. Her father checked them every so often for mud and wear to make sure she hadn't been wasting her time outside again.
"My father asked me to pass on a message," Jasper said, interrupting their silence.
"Did he?" Melissa looked up at him.
"He says you need to come back to the hospital to have those removed." He nodded towards her arm, where blue thread crept through her flesh.
She wrapped her arms around her stomach, her stitches now pressing against the fabric of her shirt, hidden. She said nothing.
"Melissa?"
"Okay."
Another moment of quiet.
"What happened, anyway?"
Ahead of her, Esme and Alice had fallen quiet. They walked on, arms still entwined, but it was very obvious they were listening.
Melissa tried to change the subject. "I saw a deer," she said. "That's why I was scared."
"What?"
"When you found me earlier and I screamed, it's because I thought I was going to die."
"Because you saw a deer?"
"A dying deer."
Jasper frowned. The two were quiet for a few seconds. Beside them, the river went on whooshing past, and the trees rattled their warning about the breaking sun. Melissa wouldn't get to a good lookout point before the sun rose. She hadn't been quick enough.
"We'll miss the sunrise today," Alice said from ahead. "Look."
Melissa looked up.
And then, all at once, the sky above burnt yellow and blue. The forest changed. What had once been shadowy and strange now felt peaceful. Underfoot, the rocks were supportive, and the earth fertile. The air grew warmer, a soft hug. The forest turned over, owned again by living things, not by the night. It was a burrow underground for a rabbit, a nest high in the trees for a bird, the underside of a large rock for beetles, the hollowed log for a raccoon, the cave for a bear.
And, for Melissa, a welcoming hiding place from her life once more.
"Oh," she mumbled.
"Actually, our house is nearby. I have something for you." Jasper smiled at her. His gaze flicked to her arms, still pressed against her midsection. "My father can take a look at your stitches as well."
"He doesn't need to do that."
"He has equipment at home. It's no trouble."
Melissa knew it would seem strange to argue about it further, so she simply offered a small smile and followed the Cullens back to their house.
-o-
Melissa had heard rumours about the Cullen house, but she had never seen it herself. Every so often they had guests but the Westbrooks never made the cut. They had birthday parties every year for each of the children, and Christmas parties with extended family. Esme and Carlisle also hosted small gatherings with other wealthy couples in town. Melissa only knew of this because her father coveted an invitation.
Despite all that she had heard of the Cullen residence, she couldn't have possibly imagined a house like this: large and modern, with three floors, and an entire wall made up of glass. Whoever had designed it hadn't just taken the view of the trees and cliffs into mind; they had built the house to fit the forest, not altered the forest to fit the house.
Melissa looked at it all: the piano, the large kitchen, the designer furniture, the polished floor. On every table sat either a metal sculpture, a vase of fresh flowers, or an expensive-looking lamp. She realised quickly just how rich the Cullens were. She hung by the walls, like a servant might, feeling entirely out of place. It wasn't that her family didn't have money, but they definitely didn't have money like this.
She met the other Cullen children properly. They all lined up to greet her and exchanged quiet pleasantries. Rosalie, blonde and beautiful, offered a tiny smile. Her adopted brother, who also happened to be her boyfriend, stood next to her; Emmett was large, muscular and tall, and flashed a bright grin when he saw Melissa. And she met Edward, whose copper hair was not quite as ginger as her own, and who stared at her stitches with pity.
Melissa shifted uncomfortably, pressing her arm against her stomach. Edward looked away.
"May I take a look at your arm?"
Dr. Carlisle Cullen appeared from upstairs, smiling gently. Melissa followed him to a room on the second floor, which was his office. Inside, there was an odd blend of modern and traditional furniture. The desk was heavy and wooden, but the wheeled desk chair was new and sleek. A large realistic painting hung on the wall, but was surrounded with framed contemporary watercolours. It was all just one big contradiction.
"Sit, please." He gestured to an armchair, and wheeled his desk chair to sit opposite it. He messed around with a metal tray and sterile instruments. "Jasper tells me you hurt your hand a while ago."
She slipped her right hand under the jacket, bunched up on her lap. "It's better now."
He nodded, sat opposite her, and set to work on removing her stitches. "You should have had these out sooner," he said. "It's dangerous to leave stitches in too long."
"Sorry."
He glanced up at her. Melissa expected him to be angry, upset with her for not doing as she was instructed, but his eyes were gentle and patient. Melissa realised very quickly that this was the soft stare of a caring parent, and her father had not once ever looked at her like that.
She blinked, and turned her head. Her throat ached.
"There's nothing to apologise for, Melissa."
"You're right. Sorry. I mean-" She took a deep breath. "Okay."
He finished up with little conversation. He didn't ask again about what had happened, how she hurt her hand or cut her arm. Melissa was grateful.
"All done," he said, clapping his hands on his knees. He stood, and started to tidy up.
Melissa sat awkwardly, unsure if she should stay or go.
Dr. Cullen peeled off his gloves. "I think Jasper is upstairs, if you want to speak with him. Second door on the left."
She stood, thanked him, and slipped quickly from the room.
Upstairs, an odd art piece hung on the wall by the landing. A large frame of graduation caps, lined up, overlapping. Melissa paused to look at it, examining the tassels, the colours. She searched the corners for an artist's name but found none. Wondered then what the meaning of the artwork was. Rita would know. She was much better at these sorts of things.
She continued down the hall. It was quieter than the first or second floor, though the Cullen house as a whole was oddly quiet for a home shared with seven people. The hallway was interesting. On one side was just glass, just one big window overlooking a sea of treetops. Beyond the trees, the rocky face of a cliff emerged from the foggy blue distance. On the other side of the hall was a series of doors, all plain and pulled shut. There was no indication as to which door belonged to who, or which was the bathroom.
As instructed, Melissa knocked on the second seconds it swung open and Jasper was in front of her, staring at her. After a few awkward seconds, he stepped aside.
"You can come in, if you'd like."
Melissa stepped into his room, and tried to keep her mouth closed.
The room was large, painted white, and the furniture was all dark. The far wall was composed only of glass, as was a third of the wall directly next to it. Under the corner window sat a single armchair, modern and greyish blue. The bed, larger than any bed Melissa had seen, was covered with a similarly coloured duvet. It was all perfectly made, with crisp corners, not a crease in sight. It was as if the sheets and pillowcases had been ironed after being put on the bed and untouched since. Shelves lined the wall on either side of the bed, covered in softcover books with their spines snapped, and old faded hardcover books whose smell spread through the room. A wide chest of drawers sat opposite the bed, and a built-in closet beside that, the doors cracked slightly open.
As a whole, Jasper's room was oddly moody, even with the gentle sunshine sliding through the clouds, through the windows, and into the room. This was not the version of Jasper she knew. Jasper Hale smelt of cinnamon pies, lavender oil, and fresh laundry. He was polite, and he teased playfully, and he was surprisingly gentle. But this room had the bold lines of suffering, and it did not feel like him at all.
Melissa wandered in further and turned. Next to the door, a series of photographs hung seemingly by the same artist: three wild horses kicking up dust, running through a dry grassland; another of the sun rising over spindly shrubs and cacti in a desert; a third of a cluster of sandy rocks, varying in shade and size, leading the eye towards a sea cliff.
"These are nice," she said.
"Thank you. I took them myself."
"Really?" Melissa turned. "They're really good."
He smiled, his hands laced behind his back. He rocked onto his heels. He was quiet for a few beats, and it took Melissa a moment to realise he was embarrassed. He didn't burn pink like her. He just didn't quite know where to rest his eyes, avoiding her own with a sort of desperation.
The two floated in an unsure silence for a moment. Melissa's feet hurt from the long walk that morning, but she wasn't sure if she was allowed to sit in here. That was weird, wasn't it? His bed especially. But the floor was plush carpet, and very soft under her feet…
Jasper seemed to startle out of a thought. He swept a hand towards the corner window. "Sorry, please take a seat."
Melissa frowned, but shuffled past him to the chair. It was rather odd how he had offered it just as her feet had begun to ache and she felt tired, but perhaps he was just a very attentive host. He was a Cullen after all, and they were known for perfection. Their perfection must have extended to their hospitality.
She sat, and Jasper retrieved a book from his shelf. He crossed the room and offered it to her.
"Here," he said. "It's yours."
And it was, once. She glanced at her mother's book on local flora, now extended out to her. Jasper had bought it, paid for it. It wasn't right to take it back from him. Besides, if her father found the book in her room or bag, he would not be happy. It was for sale in the store for a reason.
"You don't have to do that for me."
"I want to," he said. "You told me it brought you comfort."
"I didn't say that."
"Perhaps I read into the situation," he admitted. "But I don't want to take something from you that reminds you of your mother. Please, take it."
She accepted it from him, though it scared her. Everything about it frightened her: the green book cover, the weight of it, the smell of paper and ink. Still she thanked him because it was polite, and he had done a kind thing, and he did not know any better. She knew she shouldn't punish him for that.
"May I, um, borrow one of yours?" Melissa asked.
"Of course." Jasper smiled, and returned to his bookshelf. He stood for a moment, staring at the spines, before he picked up a paperback with a crackled spine. He handed her a rather thick volume.
"Stoker's Dracula?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing," Melissa said. "I just… invasion literature? I thought you'd like… adventure books maybe. Or cookbooks."
He chuckled. "Cookbooks?"
She shrugged. "You just look like you could make a mean apple pie."
He laughed. A real laugh, though not a long one. It was the first time Melissa had heard him laugh, not just snort or chuckle. His laughter was like a bell, clear and rich, and her chest warmed inexplicably. She found herself smiling too, though she didn't remember when she had started.
That smile stayed on her face for her whole visit at the Cullen house. And as she walked down their driveway and out to the road, with Jasper watching her from the porch, her cheeks began to hurt. She glanced down at the books cradled in her arms. She shuffled the Washington flora hardcover to sit on top. She wasn't sure why, but she flipped it open to the first blank page, where her mother's name rested, never spoken in her house. Beside it, on the next blank page, Jasper's beautiful handwriting stretched over the paper.
To Melissa, it read. May you and this book always return home, lost in the comfort and wonder of the natural world, perfectly content.
Beneath it, a poem. Wild Geese by Mary Oliver, copied out by hand. Melissa read the first line over and over and over again.
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to be good.
At the end of the driveway, she stopped and turned around. Jasper smiled from his house and waved. And Melissa, grinning, waved back.
-o-
Something was very wrong with Westbrook's. No matter what she did, she just couldn't find the error in the account book. Her eyes scanned rows of numbers again and again, but she had entered everything perfectly.
"Dad?" she called.
"Hmm?"
She looked up from the front counter and through the open staff door, a box of books on the floor keeping it from swinging shut. Her father was standing in the kitchenette, brewing a cup of tea.
"Did a bunch of inventory go missing?" she asked.
"Inventory?"
"We didn't order only three copies of the book that won the Pulitzer Prize, did we?"
"The roof leaked, remember? All over the delivery you left by the door," he said. "I had to pay to have someone come out and fix it. I told you about that. You never listen."
She didn't remember, and there was no record of any maintenance costs. She glanced back at the ledger. "Are there any other receipts?"
He frowned. "I don't think so. They should all be in that drawer you finally set up. You know, I asked you to do that years ago."
That was a lie, but Melissa didn't say so. She just nodded. "I know," she said. "Are you sure you didn't miss anything?"
His chin dropped and his stare grew less kind. "Miss anything?"
She swallowed. "I mean, do you think I might have accidentally thrown anything away? Any sales receipts? There's a bunch of duplicate payments, and the debit balance doesn't equal the credit balance."
He thought about it, then shook his head. He dumped a spoon of sugar in his tea. "No, I don't think you made a mistake," he said. "Are you sure they're supposed to be the same?"
"Yes."
"Hmm, well if there's money missing, I know you're not stupid enough to steal from me, so I don't know where it would have gone."
Her father was baiting her. He'd done it her whole life, but now something about it had her gritting her teeth. Melissa kept quiet. She turned back to the accounts book.
She wasn't an accountant, but even she understood what was happening. She was in way over her head. There was only one possibility sitting before her, staring up at her from the inked numbers, and it was not good. Her father wasn't perfect by any measure, but surely he wouldn't commit a real crime. Surely he wasn't committing fraud.
-o-
"He gave you a book," Rita said. "That's totally a declaration of love."
"It is not," Melissa huffed, watching in the mirror as Rita lightly dusted fuchsia blush over her cheeks. "It's like a book club. He read something I like, so now I read a book he likes."
"I thought you were just bad at maths," she said. "Maybe you're actually just dumb. The boy wrote a poem for you, Melissa!"
"He didn't write it, he copied it."
"Okay, he plagiarised a poem for you. That means he likes you!"
Melissa rolled her eyes, and slumped back against the leg of Rita's bed. The two girls were sitting on the floor in front of the mirror, makeup products strewn over the carpet. Rita, as promised, was trying to teach her how to apply it all.
"Stay still!"
Rita swiftly tapped her forehead with the hard end of a makeup brush. Resolved to not have that happen again, Melissa straightened her spine. She glanced down at her lap, where a magazine lay open against her thighs. Instructions on how to achieve a soft makeup look stared back at her. Rita gave the magazine to her to take home and study; this was their book club.
"So, have you kissed yet?"
Melissa swatted her upper arm, and Rita giggled.
"Okay, fine, but when you do, you have to tell me."
"It's not going to happen."
"Whatever you say." She picked up an eyeshadow palette. "Close your eyes."
Melissa did, and Rita swept colour over her eyelids. She was quiet for a bit. Then, "Rita."
"Hmm?"
"Does your mother ever tell you about what being a lawyer is like?"
She paused. "I thought you wanted to be a field biologist or whatever."
"I do. I'm just curious, I guess."
"About what?"
"About… what criminals are like. Can your mother just tell if they are innocent or guilty when she looks at them?"
"That's not her job. She just defends them," she said. "It doesn't matter if they are guilty."
Melissa was quiet for a moment. "Does she ever see them in jail or prison?"
"I guess."
"Does she talk about what it's like there?"
"Never."
"What do you think it's like?"
"God, Melissa, I don't know. It's probably totally boring and smells like gym class. Why are you so interested in this?"
She shrugged as if she wasn't sure, but she knew.
She knew.
-o-
Dr. Esme Cullen smiled across the room at Melissa, and the urge to disappear overwhelmed her. They were halfway through their session and still Melissa was yet to say anything that would help either of them.
Then, suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, "I saw a dead bird last week."
Melissa's shoulders slumped with the confession. She was like a pressurised bottle sealed shut for too long. She had to let something out. The bird, its wings beating against the clear walls of a bottle, seeking escape; it made sense that it was this she let slip.
"A dead bird?"
Melissa nodded. "My father made me clean it up."
"What did you think about that?"
"It was unfair," she said after a long pause, picking at the skin around a fingernail. "He blamed my cat, but I don't think he did it."
"I can see how that would be frustrating."
Frustrating. She supposed it was, though at the time she hadn't thought that. Dealing with that poor crow was just something that had to be done. There was nothing fair about it, but that was because there was nothing that could be fair. The bird was dead. There was nothing she could change or fix about that. She could only do what she was told. She could only think about being good and pleasing her father. But that in itself was frustrating. There were so many rules, so many criteria, so many contradictions. The price of trying to win her father's love was Frustrated, an emotion she had forgotten and now, all at once, the second Esme muttered its name, a feeling that demanded to be known once again. It swept over her, consumed her entirely.
"Melissa?"
Melissa slipped her hands beneath her thighs to keep them still. She looked down, unable to admit to anything when she looked Esme in the eye. "I do feel frustrated about it. He found the bird, but I had to clean it up."
Her eyes drifted from her lap to the window. Outside, some birds congregated on a nearby branch. She hadn't seen a single crow since the one in the alley. Perhaps they were being polite. Respecting her grief. Avoiding her, kindly.
-o-
Melissa sat across from her sister at The Little Coconut, Anna's favourite Thai restaurant in Forks. Melissa liked the food, but not as much as her sister who ordered takeaway from this place at least twice a week. Tonight was one of those rare occasions when her father was working late and Anna agreed to eat dinner with Melissa and, even better than their kitchen table, she agreed to go out to eat.
The Little Coconut was a small, cosy restaurant with eclectic and recycled furniture. The dining area was full of soothing colours that reminded Melissa of nature: soft brown wood tones and lush greens. Prints hung on the walls above booth tables, but the pictures didn't seem to be united by any common theme or subject, and customers marvelled at inked lines and textured paintings while waiting for their food.
Though, not Anna. She ordered the pad thai and som tum, along with some lemon iced tea without even glancing at the menu. And then she turned her sisterly stare upon Melissa and, once the waitress disappeared, told her to spill.
"Spill what?"
"Something's bothering you," she said. "What's up?"
She hesitated, pulling at the ends of her braids. "How did you get Dad to let you stop working at the shop?"
"I started paying the bills," she said. "You're not thinking of quitting, are you?"
"I need to get out soon, Anna."
The waitress brought over the tea, then disappeared into the kitchen again.
Anna sipped her drink. "I've told you, I'm going to get us out, Mel. But in the meantime, you can't be rocking the boat like this."
"No," she said. Then, firmer, "No. I can't stay there much longer."
Anna lowered her cup. "What do you mean?" she breathed.
Melissa lowered her voice and leaned forwards, across the table. "He has me balancing the books."
Anna swallowed, blinked. "Okay?"
"And," she said, "the books are not balanced."
She sipped her tea. "You're that bad at it?"
Melissa shook her head. "I mean, there's money missing. And there's money that just turns up. He's doing something wrong. I mean, really wrong."
She mouthed the word fraud, eyebrows raised.
Melissa nodded.
Both girls leaned back in their seats. They didn't say anything else until the food arrived. They were halfway through the meal when Anna spoke again.
"Well," she said, "it makes sense."
"What?"
She looked up from her plate and pressed her lips into a sad smile. "There's no money, Mel. He's broke."
Melissa frowned. That didn't make sense. He paid her every week. She had the pay slips in a drawer in her room that told her he made the deposits into her account. He had the shop, bought new inventory all the time. And they made sales! At home, he decorated the walls with commissioned art pieces. He imported fancy furniture. Their fridge was never empty. He donated money to the hospital every Christmas.
"But-"
"I pay for everything," Anna told her. "Food, water, electricity."
"But the shop's still open. We have new stock all the time. And he pays me, Anna, doesn't he? He tells me that he pays me."
"I pay you," she said. "I bought half of the business from him. I put your money in a bank account just for you, so he can't touch it."
"You…"
She nodded. "Yes, Mel. He's broke."
She shook her head.
If Anna was paying her, if Anna was paying for everything, then where did his money go? Where did all of the money go?
"I don't understand. He has money. He's always had money."
"He's an alcoholic," Anna said. "Every dollar he can get his hands on, he spends on beer."
Melissa's heart dropped. Palms sweaty, she dared to ask the question she was most afraid of.
"Our college funds?"
Anna shook her head. "Gone."
But if that were true then everything she had ever done, everything she had ever thought, was wrong. It would mean that being good wasn't good enough. It wouldn't matter how good she was; her father lied to her, tricked her, and told her she could look forward to a gift, a future she would never receive. If she wanted to go to college, she would have to work hard to get there. That meant good grades, and more hours at Westbrook's, and adventure to help her write the perfect application letter. It meant being good and carving her own way, not just being good and relying on her useless father.
"I need to quit," Melissa said. "He'll make sure I go down with him."
"Or we need to buy him out," Anna said.
But that hardly seemed possible. He would never sell Westbrook's. It was the one thing keeping them all together.
Melissa's head dropped.
"You can't let him know that we know the truth."
Melissa nodded. Anna didn't speak again. The two girls ate the rest of their meal in grief-stricken silence.
-o-
Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favourited!
I want to do justice to the themes included in this story and explore the experiences of the Westbrook sisters in a way that is respectful. Please let me know if there is anything I could do better x