Page 81 of The Wedding Party

Aiden’s jaw clenches, but he hands it to him. My father eyes it and then me. “I’ll do some digging.”

“No,” Aiden and I say at the same time.

My father smiles. “I’ll get right on it.”

Chapter Seventy-One

CARRIE

My morning starts with fresh orange juice, a buttery croissant, and my parents.

We’re in my room, around my fireplace, all in cozy chairs. I’m actually in my favorite black velvet sweat suit. I’m told “they” want me to feel at home here. “This place is lovely,” my mother says, “and I have to say these are the best croissants I’ve ever had in my life.”

“We understand you’re starting therapy soon,” my father interjects.

I blanch. “Are they supposed to disclose that to you?”

“It was part of the basic paperwork they hand out,” he replies. “When do you start therapy?”

My eyes narrow on him, suspicion burning in my belly, but then, my father and I have a history. With him, there was no ability for me to grieve for Eric. It was always about me defending my actions that day, as if I wasn’t just being a kid, roughhousing with my big brother.

“Did you talk to my doctor?” I ask.

“We did not,” my mother quickly inserts. “We completely respect your privacy. Your dad’s just interested in this process and your healing. Thankful they allowed us to see you before you begin your treatments. They tell us you won’t be allowed visitors for a full week.”

The very idea that I’m allowed to see them now sits uncomfortably with me, and I can’t help but wonder if there are cameras in the room, eyes watching and judging my interactions with my mother. Because here’s the thing. Darkness can hide behind pretty things. In fact, I think most dark things hide behind pretty things, and you never see their teeth until you’re bitten.

“Have you remembered anything else?” my father asks. “About that night?”

“Nothing,” I say, and it’s the truth. Even the fight I remembered having with Oliver is now in question. So much so that I think it’s actually a memory from the night we went to a black-tie charity event months back. I remember fighting over some woman flirting with him. And I most certainly remember the make-up sex afterward.

“Perhaps the counselor can help you retrieve your memories,” my father says. “Therapy helped you remember what happened with Eric that dreaded day.”

He’s wrong. I don’t remember. I never remembered. My therapist just re-created the memories for me, and I took them on as my own. “When are you going back to Houston?”

“We’ll stay until you get out of here, honey,” my mother promises.

“No,” I say. “Don’t do that. They could keep me here a week or a month. We don’t know.”

“Surely it won’t be a month,” my mother exclaims.

“Unless they do,” my father says and he leans forward. “Will they?”

He’s asking if I killed Oliver.

I stand up. “I think you should go back to Houston.”

My mother grabs my hand. “I don’t want to leave you.”

My eyes are locked with my father’s, and his tell a different story. He can’t wait to leave.

There’s a knock on the door, and Nurse Naomi opens it and steps inside. “Sorry to rush you, but Carrie’s program is set to officially start in five minutes.”

“What about the funeral?” my mother asks. “We need to be here for the funeral.”

Every muscle in my body clenches. “I can’t think about that right now. I can’t think about burying him. Why do you have to even bring that up? Why? I can’t even believe he’s . . . he’s gone.”

I’m trembling, and the nurse rushes forward. “I think we need to give Carrie some time to finish her breakfast before her treatment.” She steps in front of me. “You okay, dear?”