“Hmm. Spacious, but in the middle of goddamn nowhere,” Ruben remarks, rubbing his chin as he grimaces at the house, and the arrogance in his voice is like nails against a chalkboard to me. “Can’t say I’m surprised you wanted to get out of here.”

  “Don’t start,” Dad warns him. But when he, too, turns to face the house, hands on his hips, he releases a sigh that’s audible from all the way over here.

  Cautiously, I take a step forward. And then another. And another.

  Ruben is the first to spot me approaching. “Oh, good evening, Mila!”

  Dad twists around, his expression panicked now, his surprised eyes locking on mine. I’m only a few feet away from him, but it feels like a million miles. All closeness between us is gone. I can feel the distance in an almost tangible way that I can’t explain, a trust that has been broken.

  “Dad . . .”

  “Mila,” he says, blinking fast, caught off guard by my sudden appearance. “What are you doing out here?”

  “What are you doing here?” I fire back, sensing heat raging through my body. “Do you think you can just show up and everything will be fine?”

  Dad’s features flood with guilt and he stares fixedly at the ground. “I’m sorry, Mila,” he says in a low, quiet voice.

  “Mila, you haven’t seen your dad in a month,” Ruben says. “How about you give him a break and let him actually arrive before you get all dramatic?”

  I shift my glare and stare at Ruben in pure disgust. “Are you kidding me?”

  Ruben sighs exasperatedly, shaking his head as if life’s too short for these kinds of things. “Everett, I told you your daughter has developed a bit of an attitude problem over the summer.”

  Seriously?

  Then, like a bullet straight to Dad’s chest, I say, “I’m allowed to develop an attitude if I’ve just found out my dad’s been having an affair.”

  “Quiet!” a voice hisses from the porch.

  The three of us turn at once to where Sheri stands by the open front door, a robe drawn tightly around her, her usually gentle face like stone.

  “All of you, inside,” she orders, gesturing to the gate. “We have company, remember? Let’s keep a semblance of dignity, shall we?”

  “Ah, you must be Sheri!” Ruben exclaims, striding toward the porch. “How very nice to finally meet Everett’s sister!”

  With as much disdain toward Ruben as I have, Sheri glowers at him with zero patience and holds up her hand as if to halt him in his tracks. “No introductions required, Ruben. This is not exactly a social occasion.”

  Ruben falters slightly from the no-nonsense greeting. He is always the one who runs the show, and he definitely isn’t pleased at being spoken to that way by a woman who he probably classes as one of Dad’s inconsequential relatives from “the middle of nowhere.” I am cheering her on, silently. Team Sheri all the way.

  I’m the first to head inside. I storm past Dad, push past Ruben, and join Sheri by the door. From this vantage point, Dad and Ruben look like a pair of lost passersby, both afraid to be the first to make a move. They exchange an uncertain glance.

  “Well, Everett, I don’t know what the heck you were thinking.” Sheri sighs. “But are you coming inside, or did you decide to show up without warning at one in the morning just for the fun of it?”

  “Sheri,” Dad says, and I glimpse the real hostility between them now. It has been years since they last saw one another, and in that time, more and more frustration has been building here at the Harding Estate. “Thank you for letting us in.”

  “Did I have a choice?” Sheri counters, pursing her lips at him and crossing her arms in true doorman style. “It looked like those piranhas out there were about to smash your windshield.”

  “Well, the rental company sure wouldn’t like that,” Ruben says sardonically, but no one laughs.

  “Ruben, please shut the hell up,” Dad snaps, squeezing his eyes tight. I’ve never heard him be so openly aggressive with his manager – plus, Dad usually makes a conscious effort not to curse when I’m around. Tensions are running at an ultimate high right now.

  Ruben holds up his hands in surrender. “Jesus! I’m going for a smoke,” he mutters, then stalks off into the field to light up a cigarette.

  We stand, watching in silence as the flame flares in the darkness and the smell of nicotine drifts over in the still air.

  Then both Sheri and I start at the sound of a voice rising behind us.

  “Everett—” comes a gasp from over my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

  I turn and find Mom in a wide-eyed state of shock. She must have heard the commotion, but like me, did not expect Dad to turn up on the property at this hour. Her hair is piled messily into a bun, loose strands framing her bare cheeks, and she wipes her eyes as though she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Half asleep, she seems younger, somehow. More vulnerable.

  “Marns,” Dad pleads, and I’m shocked at the genuine shake in his voice. He takes the porch steps two at a time until he’s standing right before us all. “I’m here to see you. We really need to talk.”

  Mom, Sheri, and I are like one big barrier of rage. Instinctively, I broaden my shoulders and straighten my posture, ensuring Mom is kept behind me. I feel this overwhelming urge to protect her.

  “You opened the gate for him?” she asks Sheri.

  “Trust me, I was severely tempted to leave him to be picked to pieces by those vultures out there, but I have to consider the neighbors,” Sheri says, arms still folded over her chest, and when I steal a quick peek at her, I notice she hasn’t taken her eyes off Dad yet. She is most un-Sheri-like – who knew she could be this bold?

  “And you brought Ruben?” Mom adds, eyes narrowed, as she spots the plume of smoke emitting from the aloof figure in the distance.

  “Marns, please hear me out,” Dad begs, and I stare at him, wondering what has happened to my badass, confident movie star of a father. The dad who insists on performing his own stunts. The dad who has mastered the perfect Hollywood smile full of charm. The dad who always looks a million bucks. “You left without giving me a chance to explain.”

  Mom places a hand on my shoulder. “You sure do have a lot of explaining to do, Everett. A lot. And not just for me, but for everyone here. Mila, Sheri, your father. You’ve made a real mess – and you need to fix it.”

  “I know,” Dad agrees, bowing his head.

  “Marnie,” Ruben says guardedly as he returns, tossing his glowing cigarette butt to the ground with complete disregard for the ranch. He steps in line next to Dad on the porch and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you worry. He’s here to talk things through. Right, Everett?”

  Dad shrugs off Ruben’s arm at the same time as Mom purses her lips in disbelief at Ruben’s blasé attitude, like this is just another publicity slipup that he’ll work his magic to resolve. But the weariness in Dad’s features, in his whole being, makes it clear that even he knows that negative publicity is the least of his concerns right now.

  The Harding family is in a total crisis.

  “Please, everyone, just come in off the porch,” Sheri urges again, running a hand over her fatigued face. “This isn’t the time or the place.”

  Mom is the first to move. She turns around and disappears into the living room, and I copy Sheri when she stands back from the door to allow Dad and Ruben to enter. Dad’s discomfort is palpable, and Sheri keeps pressing her lips together, as though to keep herself from making any remarks about Dad not having been in this house for years. Ruben, on the other hand, gazes coolly around the house as if it’s a museum piece. Like, what? He’s never seen floral drapes before?

  As Sheri locks the front door, I start for the living room too, but she grasps my wrist.

  “Mila,” she whispers, staring intensely into my eyes, “you do realize the entire ranch is covered by security cameras, right? Not just the gate?”

  Oh.

  Ohhhh.

  “You saw me?” I ask, feeling my chest tighten. Well, there goes my escape route out of this ranch. Sheri has me all figured out already.

  “We have motion detection,” she continues, releasing her grip on my arm. “The alerts woke me up. I thought somebody was trespassing and I was getting ready to call the cops, but then I spotted this highly suspicious young lady in short satin PJs sneaking around like Juliet herself.” She cocks her head and raises a brow. “And as for her Romeo . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” I say sheepishly, hugging my arms around my chest. “We were only talking. I won’t do it again.”

  “Just tell Blake to be careful on those walls,” she says.

  “How’d you know it was Blake?”

  Sheri scoffs, but it turns into one of her sweet smiles. “Who else would it be? That boy can’t stay away from you. He spent the morning blowing up our landline, remember?”

  Oh, yeah. Right. I forgot about that.

  “Mila, I’m the only one who ever checks the cameras, okay? So if you ever . . . miraculously disappear . . . I’m the only one who will know how you did it.”

  I furrow my brows at her, then brighten.

  “Does that mean—”

  “Shhh,” she mouths, pressing her index finger to her lips. “Now, let’s endure the chaos and recriminations brewing over there.”

  Together in our PJs, we move toward the living room, but my head is spinning even faster. Sheri is so much cooler than I first gave her credit for. I feel united with her, like we are allies in this messed-up life. I reach out and give her hand a squeeze.

  “Can Marnie and I talk?” Dad’s voice asks. “Alone?”

  And I’m brought straight back to the horrible scenario before me.

  Mom sits rigid on the edge of the couch, staring blankly at the clock on the wall. It’s after one now, and while the rest of the town sleeps peacefully, the Harding Estate is in turmoil. Ruben haughtily examines the knick-knacks on the mantelpiece like a dealer in vintage collectibles.

  “No,” I say loudly, finding my voice as I take a courageous step into the room. “I want to hear what you have to say.”

  “Mila, just let me talk to your mom,” Dad replies. “We can talk, just us two, in the morning, okay? I promise.”

  I’m about to stand my ground, but when I exchange a look with Mom, she nods. She is tired and hurt, and Dad is guilty and desperate, and I think maybe it is best if my parents talk privately, at least tonight. There are so many mixed emotions and, despite how much I want to hear the truth, I know deep down that this conversation isn’t meant for me.

  “Okay,” I concede, and Sheri, Ruben, and I leave the room together. We take ourselves off to the kitchen, where Sheri does a quick check of the security cameras. I should probably head back to my room, but I sit down at the table, afraid to miss out on anything at all.

  “So, here we are,” Ruben says, flexing his hands. “It looks like we’re in for a long night. We just had an interminable flight, and I had to navigate these godawful roads all the way from the airport. What more does a guy have to do to get a drink around here?”

  Sheri gives him the stink-eye over her shoulder. “I’m sure you were well catered to in first-class,” she retorts, but then opens the refrigerator and pulls out a jug of sweet tea. She sets it down hard. “This is a self-service establishment. Glasses are in the drawer over there.”

  Ruben huffs, then reluctantly pulls out a chair next to me. “I was hoping for a nip or two of bourbon.”

  “Try the Hilton over in Nashville,” Sheri deadpans. “I’m sure they have a fully stocked bar there.”

  “Actually,” Ruben says, holding up a finger.

  Sheri and I stare at him with worried expressions, already dreading his next words.

  “Everett’s plan was that we stay here.” He has the good grace to look down at the table for a moment. “If you have the space, that is?”

  “What?” I blurt. “You want to stay here?”

  All of us cooped up together on this ranch is a recipe for disaster, or even all-out war. Sheri has been in Ruben’s presence for approximately five minutes and already she can’t bear his pompous attitude, and Mom came here to get away from Dad, not to end up trapped here with him. Not to mention Popeye, who seems to be sleeping through all the commotion, but will surely hit the roof when he finds out that Dad and Ruben are here. And they have the nerve to assume they can stay?

  “Everett paid for the security around here, didn’t he?” Ruben points out, snapping back into professional mode. “I think it’s only fair he gets to make good use of it until things are resolved. Considering the nature of this excursion, I thought it best we kept things as low key as possible and left Everett’s entourage at home. There’s no need to make this unfortunate situation into more of a circus than necessary.”

  “Oh, sure,” Sheri drawls. “Because we all must bend over backward to protect dear Everett from his own damn wrongdoings.”

  “Wow.” Ruben snorts and turns to me. “I see where you’ve picked up your new attitude from.”

  “Sheri doesn’t have an attitude,” I say, staring him down. It feels like I have waited almost my whole life to stand up to Ruben. Usually, I would keep my mouth shut and nod along to his wishes. But not anymore. If Blake can stand up to his mom, I sure as hell can talk back to Ruben. “She’s as sweet as can be . . . when she actually likes someone.”

  Sheri laughs out loud, then buries her head into a cupboard, pretending to look for something while Ruben and I pursue an intense stare-off. He’s put out by my words, but I don’t care. I’ve had enough of his over-the-top controlling Hollywood bullshit. Why can’t he just be a normal human being? Why can’t Dad? Why can’t we all?

  There’s a creak from the staircase and the shuffle of footsteps. Then, a raspy voice asks, “What in the world is going on? What is he doing here?”

  Sheri and I spin around in alarm. Popeye appears at the foot of the staircase, unstable from being newly awoken, and rubs his one good eye fiercely, as though he can’t believe Ruben Fisher is really in his kitchen.

  “Wesley. It’s been a long time since we last met,” Ruben says politely, and I wonder: when did Popeye ever meet Ruben? Ruben has never been to Fairview. “Apologies if our late-night arrival woke you.”

  Popeye blinks wildly, truly horrified at the fact that Ruben is, in fact, not an illusion. He checks the clock on the wall, then glowers at Sheri, then me, then Ruben, trying to figure out what is going on. How long until he works out that his son is in the next room?

  Sheri moves across the kitchen to him. Placing her hand soothingly on his arm, she guides him toward the table. “Dad, I think you should sit down. Ruben isn’t the only one who’s here.”

  6

  There’s a knock on my bedroom door. It’s after nine, so I’m already awake and showered, and have been avoiding heading downstairs for breakfast. Instead, I’ve satisfied my hunger by stealthily snacking on a packet of Sour Patch Kids while braiding my hair.

  “Mila, it’s me,” Dad’s voice sounds through the closed door. “Can I come in?”

  So, he has kept his promise. He has come to talk to me. No Mom, no Ruben, just the two of us. My body tenses with nerves – I was already angry at Dad even before news of his affair leaked, and I have so much I need to settle with him. It can’t wait forever. It’s time I voice my thoughts, and time he treated me like an adult.

  “Yes,” I say.

  The door creaks open to reveal him, one shoulder leaning against the frame, his hands stuffed into the pockets of a pair of board shorts. His hair is flat and damp from the shower. “Can we talk outside? It’s too nice to be indoors.”

  “Okay.”

  In silence, I follow him downstairs. As we pass the kitchen, I see Mom and Sheri at the table, and they promptly hush as they watch Dad and me walk by. God only knows where Ruben and Popeye are, but after last night, I suspect Popeye has locked himself away in a fit of rage. When Dad and Mom finally emerged from the living room after what felt like the longest talk ever – the rest of us still wide awake, tensions too high to sleep – Popeye exploded. His yelling was a blundering garble, but the gist was clear: how dare Dad show up here after what he’s done and expect to be welcomed in with open arms?

  And after much battling back and forth, Popeye eventually stormed back upstairs. But only because of Sheri’s insistence that so much hostility isn’t good for his health. By two in the morning, everyone ran out of steam and retreated to our individual rooms; Sheri begrudgingly allowing Dad and Ruben the privilege of staying here at the ranch. I still don’t know how the conversation between my parents went down, but hopefully I’ll find out from Dad right now.

  I expect us to sit on the porch, but no. Dad leads me all the way outside and into the fields, then drops down to the ground and stretches out his legs. I join him, crossing my legs and fiddling with dry blades of grass to keep my hands busy.

  “It’s peaceful out here,” Dad starts gently to break the ice, tilting his head back to the clear skies above. “Except if you focus too much. Then, above the sound of birdsong, you can hear what’s going on outside the gate.”

  I listen hard, and he’s right: if you put your mind to it, you can hear the collective buzz of voices in the distance from the journalists and paparazzi that have been out there since yesterday. I don’t doubt for a second that, by now, the throng has doubled in size as word has spread that Everett Harding is in town. It will only continue to grow the longer Dad stays inside the safety of the walls. The anticipation will build and build and build, as the hyenas circle, poised to snap the best shot of a shamed movie star trying to sneak away from this ranch.

  “You brought them here,” I point out. My tone is unforgiving.