CHAPTER FOURTEEN

When we return to the estate, the family is waiting for us. Well, not exactly waiting for us, of course, but they are all sitting on the front porch when we return. The children all quiet immediately, no doubt instructed by their parents to never bother the masters of the home. Wharton is perfectly professional as always, but for the first time, I detect a not of tension in his greeting.

"Afternoon, sir, ma'am," he says, directing his salutation to the elder Greenwoods.

James inclines his head in response, but Elizabeth isn't content with that. "Come from Mass?" Her tone of voice indicates that it is not an innocent question.

Wharton tenses a little but replies without hesitation, "Yes, ma'am."

"Ah. And Mary, you went as well?"

"Yes, ma'am." I reply. "It's been some years since I attended Mass, and I wanted to do something different with the children."

"And? Was it everything you hoped it would be?"

"It was rather predictable," I reply. That is an honest, if an incomplete answer. "But it was nice to take the children out. We had ice cream in the park, and I met a friend of Annabelle's. Sylvia Harper."

"Oh, you met Sylvia?" Annabelle says, brightening. "That's wonderful! She's basically my sister."

Violet sniffs. "If God really wants to talk to me, He can come down here and do it Himself instead of making me sit and listen to Jacob Doyle rant all morning."

Christopher tries and fails to hide laughter at that. James notices Wharton's discomfort and suggests, "Perhaps you should take the children inside."

"Yes," I agree. "Enjoy your afternoon."

We walk inside, and Wharton smiles wanly. "How rarely the rich enter the Kingdom of Heaven," he remarks to me.

I smile encouragingly at him. "Thank you for escorting me this morning, Wharton. And for helping with the children."

The children pipe up with their own thank yous, and the smallest even give him hugs. He brightens considerably at their affection and leaves us with a more genuine smile on his face.

I spend the afternoon letting the children run themselves to exhaustion in the fields next to the gardens. I return them to their parents washed for dinner, and they all thank me very sweetly for the ice cream while their parents thank me for taking them to Mass.

I endure all of this with good grace, but after talking to Sylvia, I am burning to talk to Annabelle. I am convinced more than ever now that Lila's disappearance was no accident, and I'm beginning to grow convinced that Lila never actually left the estate.

I get my chance after dinner when Annabelle eagerly pulls me aside and asks, "So what did you think of Sylvia?"

"She's a charming young woman," I reply, which is true. "I can see why the two of you are fast friends."

Annabelle blushes. "She is charming. I don't know what she sees in me at all."

I wonder if perhaps there is another reason why she thinks so highly of Sylvia. Not only is that none of my business, but it's not relevant to my investigation, at least not at the moment. Still, it sheds more light into Annabelle's character. She chafes under her parents' expectations, and if she feels compelled to hide even more of her true self than I thought at first, then it could explain why she's so angry behind her forced smile.

"Well, we had a lovely conversation about you," I say.

She blushes further. "About me?"

"Yes. She was telling me all about you in high school."

The color drains from Annabelle's face. "Me in high school?"

"Yes. It seems that you weren't happy to leave her behind."

That's not exactly what Sylvia says, but I'm making an educated guess why Annabelle might have been upset to have Lila tutoring her instead of attending high school, and perhaps why her parents chose to finish her education at home.

It seems I'm not far off the mark.

"No," Annabelle admits. "I wasn't." She bites her lip, and some of the color returns. "I… well, I missed my friends. Not just Sylvia but mostly Sylvia. It's hard. It's really hard to find people who truly understand you."

She looks down a moment, then says, "Would you join me on the balcony? I think I need some fresh air."

"I think she needs some space from listening ears, but that's fine with me too. "Of course. I would love some fresh air myself. I still haven't gotten used to the humidity down here."

"Oh, you'll never get used to that," she says. "I've lived here my whole life, and I'm still not used to it. At least the mosquitoes don't love you as much as they love me."

"It's only because you're so sweet," I reply.

She laughs, and I feel a pang of guilt because that laugh is genuine, and the look she gives me after is so earnest. Whatever mistakes she may have made, she is only a very young woman after all, and she has no one to look up to who she can trust.

But if one of those mistakes was the murder of Lila Benson, then I can't allow myself to feel sorry for her. Or at least, I can't allow my compassion to blind my sense of justice.

I try to keep that in mind as I join her on the balcony. She produces a flask out of nowhere and offers it to me. "I'll let you take the first belt if you'd like."

There's a hardness to her voice again. I shake my head and say, "Oh, no thank you. I try to avoid drink when I can. I'm afraid I get quite silly."

She shrugs and takes a healthy draw from the flask. "Good for you. I try to avoid it too, but I don't think I'm as good at that as you."

"Just try not to make it a habit, dear. It's an easy one to fall into when you're young and a very difficult one to break when you're older."

"Do you think that we really change when we grow older?" she asks. "I wonder sometimes if people are always who they were meant to be, and the idea of growing as a person is just more bullshit they feed to you so you'll work harder and complain less."

"There are some things that never change," I allow, "but there are many things that change whether we want them to or not."

She shrugs. "I'll take your word for it." She takes another sip from the flask and puts it back in her pocket. Her face grows pensive, and she hesitates a moment before saying, "I lied to you the other night. I told you that Lila was boring the other night, but that wasn't the truth."

"What's the truth?"

"I hated Lila."

That's the admission I expect, but the fact that it comes so bluntly and so immediately still leaves me stunned. Annabelle notices my shock and says, "I know it's not the kindest thing in the world to say, but it's the truth. I fucking hated that bitch."

The venom in her voice shocks me, and I still can't come up with a response. Annabelle reaches for the flask again, thinks better of it, and continues.

"She was… the word I'm thinking of is Victorian, but I don't know if that's right either. She was just so… so certain all the time."

"Certain?"

"Like…" Annabelle sighs, frustrated at not being able to express herself precisely. "She always knew what was right. Or what she thought was right. There was always The Right Thing to Do, and there was never any other thing to do. It didn't matter what you thought, what you felt, what you liked or what you hated. You had to do the Right Thing. I fucking hate that."

She's growing angrier. I think the prudent thing to do right now is to stay silent, so I do.

"Like, how can the right thing always be just one thing all the time? I mean, sometimes it should matter how it makes you feel, right? Like, are you supposed to feel like shit all the time just so you can do what your parents want you to do? Are you supposed to go to school, get your degree, find a career, marry a rich man and have two perfect children just because that's what ‘good girls' do? What if that doesn't make me happy? What if I'd rather run away with someone I actually love and live a simple life in a van or an apartment somewhere? Why do I have to care so fucking much about the ‘family name' and ‘opportunities' and being a ‘good girl'?"

I notice the point of view shift as she grows angrier. She's confessing to me right now.

I don't like that confessing is the word I choose.

"You don't," I say firmly. "You can be whoever you want to be. All you need is to be honest and kind to others. Beyond that, the right thing is different for everyone."

"Honest and kind to others," she repeats. "Even when they're not kind to you."

"Kindness doesn't mean weakness," I clarify. "You can choose a career that your parents disapprove of without flaunting it in their faces and telling them to deal with the fact that you don't want to fit their mold. As an example."

"It must be so easy for you," she sneers.

The alcohol must be affecting her for her mood to swing so suddenly. A moment ago, she was confiding in me like I was a friend. Now she's staring hatefully at me. She's clearly projecting her anger onto me because I'm the most visible older adult right now.

I decide it's time for me to leave this conversation. "No, it isn't. My mother spared no expense making me feel worthless for my choices in life. I punished her for this by being as emotionally distant as I possibly could. It's one of my life's greatest regrets.

Or, instead of leaving the conversation, I could share one of my deepest secrets with an angry drunk. There must be something in the air here that prevents me from making a good decision.

"Well, I don't plan on being emotionally distant," she says. "I plan on disappearing."

I'm sure she doesn't intend to shock me the way she does, but I am struck speechless regardless of her intent. She sounds so much like Annie right now that it terrifies me.

She sees that terror and smiles with more than a little contempt. "I think I'll turn in. Thank you for the conversation, Mary."

She leaves without waiting for a response, which is wonderful because I don't have any.

I stare out at nothing and wait for the pounding in my heart to subside.

"Have you ever thought about running away, Mary? Just leaving everything behind and disappearing?"

What if that's what Annie did? What if no harm befell her, and she just decided that she didn't want her life anymore? If that's what really happened to her, a part of me would hurt worse than if I discovered she was killed. If the choice to remove herself from my life was hers and not a tragic accident or a vicious evil perpetrated on her by another, I don't know if I can handle it.

So I won't think about Annie right now. I'll focus on Lila Benson. I can deal with Annie later.

It's a familiar thought, and the guilt that follows is equally familiar.

It's an unavoidable thought, and the guilt is just as unavoidable.

Do we really make our own choices? Or are we always who we're meant to be and the idea of free will is nothing more than bullshit fed to us so we don't ask too many questions and find answers we don't really want?