Page 40 of Possession

I flip through the camera feeds one more time, but backtrack when I get to the lanai overlooking the pool and the Pacific crashing against the rocks.

What the hell?

* * *

Landyn

Cassidy Hooper wasmy best friend in elementary school. We lived one block from each other and were inseparable. But her family was nothing like mine.

Her mom was a nurse, her father worked in construction, and her grandmother lived with them.

My father’s parents died when I was little, and my mother’s parents never wanted anything to do with us. Having a grandmother around was a novelty I wasn’t used to.

Cassidy’s grandmother cooked, made sure she did her homework, and baked us cookies after school.

My mother has never made a cookie in her life, and since her parents want nothing to do with us, it’s safe to say my grandmother wasn’t picking up the slack while my mom cocktailed her way through long lunches. Being tipsy at four in the afternoon didn’t exactly scream homemade snickerdoodles.

Needless to say, we spent way more time at Cassidy’s house than mine. No one was tipsy or working their way up the chain of a third-class mafia organization. Her family actually cared where she was.

I was in the fourth grade when my father really leveled up. I’ll never forget the day when my mother announced we weremoving to a respectable part of townand that she couldfinally entertain her friends without being embarrassed.

I don’t ever remember my mother being happier than that moment.

I was heartbroken.

There would be no more bike rides a block over. No more homemade cookies. No more long afternoons with my best friend.

I’d have a new school, a new house, and as per my mother, new friends who would be more like us.

Like us.

I lost track of Cassidy after that. My mom refused to drive across San Diego—away from the coast and toward the desert—just for me to have a playdate. And after begging and begging Cassidy to come to our house, she finally admitted that her parents didn’t want her to visit.

Looking back, I realize her parents saw what was normal life for me and didn’t want their daughter in that environment. Who can blame them?

Hell, look where it got me.

Time did its thing and healed my fourth-grade broken heart. I looked up my best friend on social media years later. She and her family moved to Nevada to another humble home similar to the one I spent countless hours in. It had most of the same furniture we used to build blanket forts.

Her grandmother still lived with them. I never knew her grandmother’s name. I only remember her asGrandma.

When I walked into the kitchen earlier to bring our dirty dishes downstairs, June reminded me of that beautiful woman. She was hustling around the kitchen, talking to Miranda, who is probably around my age, and cooking up a storm. She was animated and sounded like she had as much vinegar as she does sugar.

That was until she turned and saw me.

My presence put an end to any and all authentic conversation. She was stilted, formal, and only spoke to answer my questions.

Miranda was worse and tightened up like a clam.

I guess it’s better to know what I’m dealing with if this is where I’ll be forced to live.

The whole situation was awkward. Especially when she told me not to bother returning our tray, and they would take care of it when they tidied up our room. It was actually more of an order.

I guess being married to Boz means the staff can boss me around.

We’ll see about that. I’ll tidy up our room tomorrow all by myself. If I have to scrub a toilet to make a stand, I will.

The only women in this house besides me want nothing to do with me. My new husband made it very clear that we’re fake. And I have no communication with the outside world.

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