Chapter Sixty-Five

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

This house feels so different. Glass is everywhere: in the globes composing the hallway chandelier, in the decorative mirror by the entryway, and in the drinkware on the coffee table in front of us.

The suffocating undercurrent—that desperate, cloying sense of doom—must have trailed Harriet to her jail cell. The air here feels bright and clean, smelling faintly of lemons.

I sit on a blue sectional couch in the family room across from Beth and Ian, studying them. Beth wears black slacks and a silky beige top, and her makeup is subdued and elegant. Diamonds glitter on her earlobes. Ian is in worn jeans and a green fleece jacket, with stubble covering his jaw and neck.

You have to look very closely to see the change in them. But their eyes tell the story of everything they've been through.

Their eyes look like shattered glass now.

"I let Harriet convince me to drug my daughter. What kind of mother am I?" Beth asks.

I'm about to answer when Ian leans in closer to his soon-to-be ex-wife.

"A good one," he says firmly.

I give it a moment so his words can sink in.

"Rose outsmarted Harriet. She never swallowed the Valium," I add. But I know Beth is worried about more than that.

"My report was completely false." I've told her this before, but she needs to hear it again. "If I had to write one now, I'd recommend joint custody. Fifty-fifty. But I like the way you've arranged things even better."

Over the past few weeks, all of the Barclays have revealed sides of themselves I didn't know existed.

It began with Beth. She purchased a beautiful—but not old or opulent—home in a nearby neighborhood in Potomac. It was a lightning-quick transaction since she made an all-cash offer and the house was move-in ready.

Then Beth did something extraordinary. She purchased a second home in the same neighborhood for Ian, just two blocks away.

"Rose needs both of us in her life as much as possible now," Beth explained. "This way, she can see us every day."

Beth's home, where we are now gathered, is surrounded by four acres, with a fenced pasture and barn for Sugar and Tabasco. She hired specialty movers to transport Rose's beloved piano here, too. Even before he moved into his new home, Ian brought in his work crew and installed a bright blue slide that leads from a corner of Rose's bedroom into the room he's turning into a little art studio for her. He also went to an animal shelter and adopted a skinny dog that reminds me a bit of Bingo.

They're fiercely devoted parents. Harriet was right about that.

"Stella, the irony is when Rose read your fake report, she realized you were the only one trying to get her away from Harriet. Rose desperately wanted to go back to school. She couldn't bear to live with Harriet any longer. That's why she finally reached out to you for help." Ian grimaces. "God, when I think about the things my mother did…"

I'd figured at least one of the Barclays would be unable to resist pulling the manila folder out of my purse as it sat unattended in the kitchen. It was a little surprising to learn they'd all done it.

My report may have been a sham, but Ian and Beth are adhering to one of the recommendations in it: Rose sees Dr. Markman four times a week. Bit by bit, Rose's story is emerging.

Harriet was constantly whispering into Rose's ear, swirling the little girl's mind into a hot, rancid stew. She didn't want Rose to trust me—and potentially confide in me—so she convinced Rose that I was going to take her away from both of her parents. Harriet even found an old news story about a BIA who brought in child protective services because she believed a young girl with divorcing parents was better off in foster care. Harriet presented it as evidence I was planning to do the same to Rose. That's why Rose acted like she hated me at times and wanted me to go away.

Harriet also knew if Beth and Ian thought I was growing suspicious of Rose, they'd do anything to get me out of their lives and save their daughter—even call off their divorce.

So she deliberately pretended to slip up by telling me Rose never went into the attic, realizing I'd believe she was covering for Rose. She also summoned police to my house in the middle of the night, took things from my purse—the police found my Montblanc pen in her bedroom—and spiked the oysters Ian and Beth ate to make them ill and feigned illness herself so that I'd be even warier of Rose.

Harriet knew the harder I looked at Rose, the less I'd see Harriet's culpability—and the quicker Ian and Beth would close ranks around their family.

But with Harriet gone, and the truth known, and her parents behaving as a team, Rose is finally in a safe place where she can begin to heal.

"Does Rose know I'm coming today?" I ask.

Beth nods. "She went to give Sugar and Tabasco some carrots and peppermints. I'm trying not to hover over her because Dr. Markman said it's important to not let my anxiety and guilt affect how I treat Rose. She's right there, in the barn."

Beth gestures through the bay window to the simple wood barn fifty or so yards from the house.

"Want to go to see her?" Ian asks.

"I'd love to." I stand up, and Beth and Ian do the same.

We walk through the kitchen and step through the back door. It's a brisk, windy November day, but the sun is brilliant in the clear blue sky. There's an apple tree in the backyard, and next door I see a wooden play structure. It gives me hope that Rose will make a friend in her new neighborhood.

Rose is grooming Sugar with her dandy brush as I approach the barn. She's so small she barely comes up to the top of her horse's leg, but she stretches her arm high overhead, doing her best to brush any dust from her horse's coat.

"You go ahead, Stella," Ian says. "We'll wait here."

"We don't trust many people around our daughter these days," Beth adds. "You wouldn't believe how carefully we checked out her new school and teachers. But you, Stella, we trust completely."

I nod at them, feeling a swell of emotion in my throat.

I walk closer to Rose, watching her work. Her hand stops brushing Sugar as she seems to sense my presence.

She turns around slowly, and when she sees me, the brush falls out of her hand to the ground.

"Hi, Rose," I say softly.

I leave the next move to her. I know Rose has a long road ahead of her. She'll be in therapy for years. I keep in touch with some of my former clients, but I don't know if she'll want to be one of them.

She stares at me, seemingly frozen, and I wonder if I'm an unwelcome reminder of all she has been through.

Then Rose begins to run to me, her hair a brilliant flame beneath the sunlight.

I bend down and stretch out my arms, feeling my heart soar.

When Rose reaches me, I scoop her up and feel her arms wrap around my neck, just as they did on the night we fought Harriet together. When we saved each other.

Her breath, smelling sweetly of peppermints, brushes my cheek. And for the first time, Rose speaks to me.

I'll carry her words in my heart forever.

"Thank you," she whispers.