Chapter 4: The Phone Call She Wasn't Supposed to Hear
Lily did not go upstairs immediately.
She knew she should.
She knew her father's tone — that flat, contained voice meant the conversation that followed was not for her.
But she had spent four years being kept out of conversations in this house, and she was tired of it.
She slipped into the hallway and stood just beyond the doorframe.
Her father was already on the phone.
"Martin.
It's Richard.
I need you to run a trace on an account number for me." A pause.
"I know it's Saturday.
I'm calling your cell, not your office." Another pause.
"I'll text you the number now.
I need to know whose name is on it."
The call ended.
Diane's voice came low and fast.
"You're going to embarrass yourself.
It's a household account.
My sister helped me set it up last year for—"
"Your sister," Richard said.
"Yes."
"Your sister who lives in Phoenix."
"Yes."
"And you've been sending her forty thousand dollars in household expenses."
"It was a loan.
She needed—"
"Diane." He said her name once, and it landed like a full stop.
"Stop talking."
Lily pressed her back against the hallway wall.
She could hear her own breathing.
Becca appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down.
She saw Lily.
Neither of them spoke.
Becca's expression was strange — not the usual smirk, not the satisfaction Lily had come to expect.
Something more complicated.
Something that looked, almost, like worry.
Lily's phone buzzed.
She looked down.
A text from her best friend, Jess.
*Lily, please tell me you're still coming.
I've been getting ready for two hours.
Do NOT let that woman win.*
Lily almost smiled.
She looked down at the ruined dress still draped over her arm.
The scissors had gone through the bodice in three places.
The hem was completely separated on one side.
Eight months of weekend shifts at the coffee shop.
Eight months of turning down movies and skipping lunches and saying I'm saving for something.
Diane had waved her hand at it like it was a piece of trash.
From the bedroom, her father's phone buzzed.
She heard him read the message.
Then silence.
Then, very quietly: "Martin.
Call me back when you can talk."
"Richard—"
"This account belongs to a man named Derek Farrow." His voice was still level.
Still quiet.
"Would you like to tell me who Derek Farrow is?
Or should I keep making phone calls?"
The sound that followed was not a word.
It was a small, involuntary intake of breath from Diane.
The kind you can't plan for.
The kind that tells you everything.
Lily looked up.
Becca was still at the top of the stairs, and now she had her hand over her mouth.
So Becca knew the name.
Becca had known the whole time.
Lily straightened up.
She folded the ruined dress over her arm one more time.
She walked to the foot of the stairs and looked up at her stepsister.
"Who is Derek Farrow?" she asked.
Becca shook her head.
"Becca."
"Don't ask me." Becca's voice was barely above a whisper.
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"Just go get ready, Lily.
Just — please go get ready."
