Page 134 of Wicked Promises
But soon, she’d be back. Time was running out, and a certain foster home had opened up in Rose Hill.
Did I have a hand in it? No.
Did my uncle? Well, he never denied it.
It was my time to leave. Cindy and Jeff didn’t strike me as particularly trusting people, and they were starting to eye me. It may not be an immediate decision to make Margo move on, but as I said—an ounce of doubt was all they needed.
Just out the door, and Margo’s foster sister—the older one—was waiting for me.
“You are Caleb, aren’t you?” she asked.
I raised my eyebrow.
She grinned at me, eyes wide. “You’re more handsome than she said.”
“She shouldn’t be talking about me.” I let my gaze run up and down her body. “And you shouldn’t be talking to me.”
“I’ve never been one to follow the rules.” She winked. “Nice meeting you, Caleb. I’ll see you around.”
Chapter 35
Margo
The diner is forever away. While Riley drives, I flip through the yearbook. There’s nothing connecting Masters to the Ashers. In fact, it would appear that he ran in an entirely different circle. Until I get to the last page, which appears to have student-submitted photographs.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
It’s Jim Masters, and his arm is hooked around my dad’s neck. They’re surrounded by other students in some sort of academic competition. There’re wearing the school uniform from back then, and one of the girls in front holds a trophy.
“What?” Riley asks.
“He knew my dad.”
“This is all sorts of messed up,” she mutters. “I skimmed the journal while you were inside. The most recent entry was from a few days ago, and it’s seriously twisted.”
I close the yearbook and reach for the notebook, skimming through until I get to the last page with writing on it.
Why is she so obsessed with him? She hasn’t done anything to deserve his attention. She doesn’t deservehim.
The last line is underlined three times, and it seems like she wrote over each sentence three times.
“Lydia wrote this?”
Riley shrugs. “It sounds weird, right?”
I go back to the beginning, turning the pages slower.
“Wait…” The car slows as we come up to a red light, and I show her the page. “Does this handwriting look different?”
“What do the earlier ones sound like?”
I open to a page dated mid-2010 and read, “‘Ben was not happy with my admission. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t have a choice over my body and what I choose to do with it. I fear our marriage won’t overcome this.’” I squint at the page. “She moves on to talking about some art project Caleb brought home from school.”
“So, they didn’t have the happiest of marriages.”
I scan the pages, finally finding one from July. “Okay. Oh God.”
“Read it!”