Page 5 of Wicked Promises

“Do you even care that your father is dead?” She glowered at me.

Long live the king.

I’d been repeating that since the day he’d died. Why? Because he was still here, haunting the house. Lurking. His memory was pungent enough to suffocate a bear, and Mom just wouldn’t let it go.

Her grief was loud. Hard. But my aunt whispered in my ear at the funeral: we’re supposed to bear witness. That’s the only way she’d get better.

The loss I was dealing with was twofold. My father, yes, but also my best friend. Dad being gone was kind of incomprehensible. It was too abstract to imagine. But my best friend being torn away for good… that, unfortunately, I could picture. Mom had already painted it in such fine detail, the way my friend was never returning to Rose Hill.

And when I think of my father, I think of his yelling. I think of his cold expression.

So, I did care that my father was dead—just not like I cared abouther.

I wanted Margo. Plain and simple.

Mom huffed at my silence. “Get up.”

The digital clock on my nightstand proclaimed the time: 2:06 a.m. A thrill of nerves went through me. Why were we getting up in the middle of the night?

“GetupCaleb Asher, or so help me?—”

“Okay, okay.” I threw back the blankets and stood, keeping my attention half on her while I found my jeans and a clean shirt.

“Pack a bag.”

“What?”

“Pack a bag, Caleb. Why do I have to ask you to do something twice?”

I shuddered but did as she’d asked. I threw clothes in a backpack. She disappeared into the hall, then returned with my toothbrush and a few other toiletries. She checked what I had already tossed into my bag and added underwear and socks. With a firm hand, she zipped it shut and slung it over my shoulder. She steered me down the stairs with a tight grip on my arm.

Her bag was packed, too. A suitcase sat by the door.

“Where are we going?”

“Away from this house.” She gave me a brittle smile.

I cast a look around at the familiar space. “For how long?”

“Forever, as far as I’m concerned. The will reading is tomorrow, and I doubt your father left the house to me. Everything was locked up tightly in a trust. Irony at its best.”

Those words were foreign. I thought Dad trusted her? How could trust lock something up?

Outside was just as warm and still as it was in my bedroom. The night wasn’t silent—not like the house. Quiet, yes, but there was life out there. Crickets. The wind rustling through the trees.

Not like in there.

“I don’t understand.” I trailed her to the back of the car, where she tucked both our bags in the trunk.

“You don’t understand what?”

How is Margo going to find me if I leave?

“You’re going to stay with family,” she said in an even tone. “Get in the car.”

She opened the door behind the driver’s seat and waited for me to climb in. I secured my seat belt, and she closed the door softly. She climbed behind the wheel.

“What family? Uncle David and Aunt Iris?”