Page 31 of Seal My Fate

“Just nearby, don’t worry,” she reassures me. “I’ll check in later. And hydrate!”

She hangs up. Saint returns with the hangover mix, but I’ve barely taken a gulp when my phone rings again.

“Popular,” Saint smirks.

I check the screen and pause. “It’s my mom,” I say slowly, feeling a terrible wave of guilt sweep through me.

I meet Saint’s eyes. “She doesn’t know. About Wren. She still thinks she’s dead.”

“Shit.”

We stay frozen, my handset still buzzing there on the table. Wren and I discussed it briefly, and we decided that for now, they should stay in the dark. There’s far too much to explain over a phone call, and with everything still so uncertain, it doesn’t make sense to shatter their hard-won stability and plunge them into shock and disbelief.

But deciding not to tell them, and seeing my mom’s photo waiting on the caller ID are two entirely different things.

I let it go to voicemail, and then send a quick text. ‘Busy with work! Talk soon xx.’

“I feel terrible,” I tell Saint, the guilt gnawing in the pit of my stomach.

He wraps his arms around me in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t talk to her, I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to lie,” I add. “What am I supposed to say? She lost her daughter and grieved her. She’s still grieving! Am I supposed to just talk to her like everything is normal, knowing the truth—that she never needed to go through that pain in the first place?”

“I know, but you’re just trying to protect her,” Saint says softly. “The same way Wren did, staying away for so long.”

I look at him, my guilt hardening into something else. The first small burn of anger.

God, I’ve been so caught up in relief and joy to see Wren again, I haven’t even focused on the rest of it. All the unanswered questions that suddenly flare to life in my mind.

“She never needed to go through it,” I repeat slowly. “None of us did. I mean God, faking her own death? Who does that?” I demand. “Wren could have come to me, explained what was going on. I would have helped her! I would have done anything for her. At the very least, she could have sent me some kind of sign that she was OK. Instead… Instead, we all had to go through hell, thinking we’d lost her forever!”

I clench my fists, remembering the awful, black grief of it. So bottomless and relentless, I could barely get out of bed some days.

“I blamed myself,” I tell Saint, hotly. “I spent months wondering if I could have stopped her… Somehow, if I knew the exact signs. I hated myself that I didn’t save her! How could she do that to us? What the hell was she thinking?”

Saint waits patiently for me to finish my furious rant, then he offers me a supportive hug. “She’s the only one who can tell you that,” he says, squeezing me tightly. “You need to talk to her, if you want answers.”

I draw back. “I can’t,” I say, frustrated. “I’m scheduled at the Foundation for meetings today. It’s supposed to be business as usual, remember?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll cover for you. Drive down to Imogen’s house and talk it out with Wren. I can tell Hugh you’re sleeping off the bachelorette party, he’ll understand.”

I pause. “I can’t go out there to see her all steaming mad.”

“Why not?” Saint asks. “You have every right to be angry at her. And it’ll do you no good to let it just fester. You need to talk. She owes you that much,” he adds, and I nod.

She does.

I love my sister, and I know she was only trying to protect me, but she fucking broke my heart. And I need to know why.

I throwsome things in a bag, and hit the road in Saint’s prized Aston Martin, my frustration and anger growing with every mile. By the time I make it to Farleigh-Under-Lyme, I’m boiling over with resentment for everything Wren put us through.

“Tessa!” Wren opens the door, smiling. “Perfect timing. I just put a batch of scones in the oven,” she adds, as I follow her into the cottage. “I may have mixed up the baking powder with the baking soda, though, so don’t get your hopes up. Somehow, I can complete a complex chemical reaction in the lab without blinking, but baked goods are like a whole new challenge.”

I step into the cozy kitchen and watch as she bustles making tea. “I didn’t come here for scones!” I finally blurt. “What the fuck, Wren?”

She blinks at me in surprise.

“You faked your own death!” I exclaim, my voice rising in anger. “The Coast Guard searched the lake for a week! Every morning we had to wake up wondering if today was the day when they’d find your body, and then somehow it only gotworsefrom there. We had to bury an empty casket. Dad barely said two words for a month, he was drinking so much all the time. And Mom… She wasdestroyed, Wren. Totally destroyed. I didn’t think she’d ever pull herself back together. Do you have any idea what you put them through?”

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