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“What about your mother, Della? And your sister. You love them.”
Della felt a lump form in her throat. “Why the hell do you think I’m doing this?” Click. Click. Click. “They’ll be better off without me. If I’d done this when I first came here, none of this would have happened. My dad wouldn’t be on trial for murder.”
“But, right now—”
“I don’t mean right, right now. After the trial. But right after it.” She tossed the pen back on Holiday’s oak desk. It bounced once, rolled off the desk, and fell apart in about four different pieces.
Della got up and walked out.
* * *
Della went for a run and was almost back to her cabin when her phone rang. Her heart hurt, her head hurt. There wasn’t anyone she wanted to talk to. They’d just try to talk her out of dying. And the truth was she felt like she was already dying inside.
She let it ring. It stopped. She waited to hear if they’d leave a message. It didn’t ding.
For a reason she didn’t even understand, she checked to see who she’d ignored. Her heart hoped it was Chase. Not Chase. Her breath caught.
What about your mother, Della? And your sister. You love them. Holiday’s words echoed in her head.
She hadn’t expected it to be her mom.
Was something wrong?
Oh, hell, she hit redial. Her mom answered.
“Della,” her mom’s voice shook, tears sounded in her voice.
“What’s wrong?” Della’s grip on the phone tightened right along with her heart.
“You need to come help me talk some sense into your dad.”
Della talk sense into her father? He hadn’t even spoken to her in months.
“What’s wrong?”
“He just … he fired his lawyer, and said he’s going to the police station to confess to the murder.”
“What?” Della asked.
“You heard me.”
“He didn’t do it, Mom. He just pulled the knife out.”
“What?” Her mom sounded confused. Oh, hell!
“I’m on my way. Do not let him go to the police station. I don’t care if you have to hit him over the head and sit on him. Do not let him go!”
Della started to take flight, but the day was too bright. Shit! Shit! Shit! She flew back to the office and ran inside.
“Holiday, I need—”
She wasn’t there. Della pulled her phone out and dialed Holiday’s number. A phone rang on Holiday’s desk. The camp leader must have forgotten it.
Della’s gaze fell to the car keys in the wooden box on the desk.
Her hesitation lasted one second. She snagged them up, and wrote a quick note. Trouble at home. She left.
* * *
