Page 159 of Creeping Beautiful

When I think about the Company these days all I feel is… powerless.

“So… pancakes?”

I glance at Donovan, decide he’s taking this new day well, and scratch my neck as I nod. “Sure. I’ll make us some pancakes.”

If there was some fly-on-the-wall person watching us, they’d peg us all sociopaths. Who has a night like we did and then wakes in the morning talking about pancakes?

We do. That’s who.

Because we’ve been playing the game of Let’s-Pretend-That-Didn’t-Happen for so long now, it’s just business as usual.

I’m just starting to whisk up some batter when the familiar sound of truck tires on the gravel driveway leak in from outside.

All three of us stop what we’re doing to look down the hallway at the front door.

“Adam.” Indie darts down the hallway. “I knew he’d be back.”

Donovan sighs. Which makes me sigh.

We are all so tired. Donovan and I drag ourselves after Indie and it feels a lot like Christmas Day, when Indie would get up early. Very early. And force us all down here to open presents.

Of course, we were excited for Christmas. And of course, we’re glad Adam came to his senses. But it’s early. Or maybe too late? And we’re just… exhausted.

But when we step out onto the porch we see Indie there. Stock still. Hand over her mouth. Staring at Adam’s truck.

And when I stare at the truck, I see why.

Because looking back at us from the driver’s side is Adam. But looking back at us from the passenger side…

Donovan takes a step forward. “What… the fuck?” Then he’s going down the porch steps.

I walk up next to Indie, stunned.

Because in the passenger side is… Maggie.

But it’s not possible. She died. Adam told us she died in the hospital from liver failure after eating those daphne berries. It took three days I remember that so clearly. Three days of waiting to see what happened to our precious little girl. Three days of agony. By the time Adam’s text came in, both Indie and Donovan had been gone for two days. Indie by way of bedroom window. Donovan just called a fuckin’ car to take him to the airstrip where he kept his stupid jet.

But it’s her.

It’s Maggie. I would recognize her in a crowd of a thousand.

So obviously, Adam is a damn liar.

Adam is talking to her inside the truck. He’s pointing at us. I put an arm around Indie and pull her into me.

She struggles for a moment, but then relents. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Is that—”

The little blonde girl—spittin’ fucking image of her mother—gets out of the truck and starts walking towards Donovan.

Adam meets Maggie on the other side of the truck and takes her hand. Maggie is nearly six now. She smiles up at Adam. The two of them walk up to the bottom of the porch. I stare at him, but he doesn’t meet my gaze. He looks at Indie. “I told you last night I made a deal with those flowers. And I am a lot of things, Indie Anna Accorsi, but I am not a liar.”

“You told me she was dead,” I say, contradicting him.

“I never said that, McKay. I sent you a text.”

“That text said she was dead, Adam.”

“No, McKay. That text said ‘it’s over.’ And I meant it. It was over. Maggie spent three days in the hospital and then I took her home with me.”