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Trying to avert my sharp nails, Matt answered for me. “It’s none of your business.”
“Dad! She’s hurting you!” I could hear tears in her voice. “Stop, Mom! Please stop!”
“Just go!” I pleaded.
“Please, Mom! Let go of him!” Sobbing, she tugged at my shoulders, my arms, my legs. Desperately trying to set her father free of me.
As she relentlessly kept at me, another spike of adrenaline surged inside me. I twisted my torso so I was partially facing her, and with my right elbow, gave her a shove with a She-Hulk strength I never knew I had.
Caught off guard, she let out a gasp and lost her balance. Before I could blink, the unthinkable happened. She tumbled down the stairs, step by hard step, her body thudding against the marble, her arms flailing, unable to stop herself. Her groans becoming fainter with each successive one.
Until there were none.
“Oh my God!” I cried out with wide-eyed horror.
I let go of Matt and raced down the stairs, lucky I didn’t kill myself, which, in retrospect, I often wished I had. Matt followed me, cursing under his breath. Lying at the base of the stairs, unconscious, her body contorted, her eyes two glassy blue marbles, gazing at the ceiling as blood pooled on the floor, was my daughter. My beautiful daughter. Oh God! What had I done?
In a state of shock, paralyzed with horror, I glimpsed Paige and Will standing at the front door. Staring at what I was staring at.
My lifeless daughter. My precious Anabel.
She was dead.
THIRTY-THREE
NATALIE
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Merritt, I must have gotten shampoo in your eyes.”
Giselle’s singsong voice brought me back to the moment. I jolted.
“Um, uh, just a bit. I’m fine. It’s no big deal.”
The truth is, she hadn’t. Tears were leaking from my eyes at the vivid memory of that fatal day.
“We’re almost done. I just need to put some conditioner on your hair and we’ll be out of here.”
As she applied it, I inhaled the coconutty essence and sighed. A brief moment of tranquility. The second she turned off the spray and wrapped a towel around my wet hair, dread filled me. I was going to have to face Alexa again. Maybe with a little luck she’d moved to a different station. Or left the salon.
Following Giselle back to her station, I felt every muscle in my body tense. My hopes had not materialized. Alexa was still seated next to me, her stylist in the middle of blowing out her shoulder-length locks now back to a buttery shade of blonde. As our stylists worked their magic and made small talk, we stared at each other in the mirrored wall, neither of us giving as much as a sideways glance.
Dressed as chicly as ever in a pink-fringed Chanel jacket, skinny jeans, and black patent stilettos, a Birkin in her lap, she looked as uncomfortable as I did. I wondered what was going through her head. All I could keep thinking was how much I hated this woman, how much I wanted to rip off one of her thick gold-link necklaces and strangle her with it. Choke the life out of her. She’d cost me the life of my beautiful daughter.
As I faced the mirror, a sudden wave of guilt and remorse crashed over me. The horrid, irrefutable truth stared back at me. My reflection lashed out at me. Stop the blame. You have no one to blame but yourself for Anabel’s death. You pushed her. You are responsible.
I hated myself more than I could hate anyone in the world. Including Alexa.
The tension in the air between us was so thick that even a pair of razor-edge hair shears couldn’t cut through it. We finished with our blowouts at about the same time. In unison, we stood up and hugged our respective stylists. Hooking my bag over my arm, I hurried to the front desk, hoping to settle my bill, get the hell out of here, and escape her.
Once again, the cards were not stacked in my favor. There were three women ahead of me waiting to pay. In absolutely no time, Alexa was standing behind me. I could feel her warm breath on the nape of my neck. Smell her scent—it was something different from the last time I saw her. Perhaps classic Chanel No5.
Facing forward, as rigid as a rod, I felt a light tap on my right shoulder.
“Natalie…”
Every nerve buzzing, the hairs on the back of my neck bristling, I debated whether or not to acknowledge her.
“Nat, please…”
