“It’s just a small break.” He asked her to turn her head from side to side, which hurt to do. “I don’t want to cause more harm by trying to reset it.” He leaned back decidedly, though he’d barely examined her. Her fifteen-year-old horror seemed like vanity—she’d have to look like this, a crooked nose for the rest of her life.

  Her mother lowered her eyes and said, “Tom, she’s a child, like Sara. She cannot be punished because of my decisions.”

  Summer didn’t understand what her mother was talking about. And by the time she would, her mother would be dead.

  “Your decisions affect everyone, Lorraine.” And then he dropped two pills onto the metal counter and walked out, his back sending a clear message.

  Her mother gathered her from the bed—scooping the pills into her palm, her petite frame so strong in the moment she had to be—and dragged Summer back to their room, locking the door behind them. She pressed her fingers to Summer’s lips and said: “You know I trained a little as a nurse. I didn’t make it through the program, but I know a little bit. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, Mama.” She allowed her mother to push the pills between her lips, taking a sip of water to wash them down. At one time, her mother had wanted to be a pediatric nurse.

  “Here, drink this.” She handed her a bottle with a straw in it. But before she could lift it to her lips, her mother grabbed her wrist and said, “Summer, it’s not water...go slowly. It will help with the pain.”

  Her mother set her nose and gave her three stitches where her nostril had split open. When she was done, Summer asked for a mirror. Her mother hesitated, but in the end, she brought it to her, her eyes earnest as she watched for her daughter’s reaction. She stared at herself in her mother’s handheld mirror and thought, Oh, good, you’re Frankenstein’s monster.

  “You won’t be able to open your eyes in the morning. They’re going to swell shut. There will be bruising, too.”

  But Summer didn’t care. All she wanted was sleep. She tried to close her eyes, but her mother hauled her into a sitting position, propping pillows around her until she felt like a stuffed animal.

  “I can’t let you sleep. You might have a concussion.”

  “Ever again?” Summer slurred.

  Her mother laughed softly. “No, just for a little while. I need to make sure your eyes don’t get weird and you don’t throw up.” Her mother’s voice was light, but Summer knew that she was worried.

  That night, as she sat propped in bed like a stuffed animal, high on painkillers and vodka, she listened to her mother talk about her father. She didn’t often speak of him, especially how he used to be, and Summer loved those stories. Things had been good before they went bad. Fighting to stay awake, she bit the insides of her cheeks as she listened to the good parts. Her mother told her she had her father’s nose and that his had been broken, too. “In a fight,” she said with a sense of pride in her voice. She wondered if her mother had been there for the fight and wanted to ask. Instead, she lay very still and listened to the emotion beneath her mother’s words. She’d heard love. In a way, her mother had given her her nose, a shape she now shared with her father. Why did he have to die? Why had they had to come here? Why couldn’t her grandparents have loved them better? With the way things were, everyone suffered.

  When she was finally allowed to sleep, she settled into her pillow as her mother sat on the edge of her bed and stroked her hair.

  “Mama...?”

  “Go to sleep, love.”

  “We have to get out of here.”

  The stroking stopped. “I know.”

  They tried to leave two weeks to the day after it happened.

  That was the beginning of the end.

  12

  Now

  “Ihave a surgeon in LA who could fix your nose.” Tara briefly made eye contact with Rainy in the mirror before she stood back to examine the feathered sleeves of her top. “He’s the best.”

  “I can see that.” Rainy lacked the will to smile, so she made large eyes instead—I am so, so interested eyes. She knew from living in New York for a decade that not every nose was equal and that some of them cost more than a new car.

  “Well, it wasn’t my nose I had done, just some other...work,” Tara rushed. And then, as if the need to explain was pressing on her, she detailed the work done to her face as she vigorously washed her hands. “So, noses—easy-peasy. If it was a break, even a long time ago, he can reset the bone.” She waited for Rainy to say something as she dried her hands.

  “Some things are best kept broken.” She didn’t look at Tara as she shook the water from her hands and stepped to the towel dispenser.

  It wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned the slight bend in her nose, but it was the first time they’d done it so rudely.

  “I mean, you’re beautiful either way, but if you ever want to fix it...” One last check in the mirror and Tara moved toward the door in a noiseless pink breeze. There was a rush of sound from the restaurant beyond and then Rainy and her nose were alone. She turned back to the mirror. The bathroom was a goth grotto with slick black walls and eerie lighting. She studied the nose that wasn’t quite straight and blinked at herself. They’d taken an Uber to the restaurant and Rainy had offered to sit in the front seat with the driver while the rest of them climbed into the rear. By the time they’d arrived, she was behind on the conversation and they didn’t try to include her as they made their way inside. The girls ordered drinks right away while Rainy stuck to water. She could blame Tara’s rudeness on her drinking, but she’d felt that strange hostility since she boarded the plane. She was so deep in thought she jumped when the door opened and two women walked in. With one last, quick glance at her nose, she headed back to the table.

  Worst idea ever, she thought now. This trip, this gaudy, neon-crusted city—these women!

  When Rainy sat down at the table, she was just in time to see Braithe slip her American Express into the billfold and hand it back to the server. Ursa, Tara and Mac were bent over their phones. Had they all chipped in? Why couldn’t they have waited the two extra minutes for her to get back? She was annoyed at not being included in whatever decision they’d made.

  “You weren’t here so I just took care of it,” Braithe said, waving her off.

  “Well, I’d like to pay my share.” Everyone looked up at the same time and Rainy realized too late that her words had come out more aggressively than she’d intended. Her nose throbbed.

  “It’s not a big deal, I got it,” Braithe said, emphasizing the last three words.

  “But would it have hurt to have waited the two extra minutes for me to get back?” She knew she was overreacting, but in the moment, she didn’t care.

  “Honestly, Rainy, if I knew it was going to be such a big deal I would have gladly waited.”

  Guilt and shame rang like a bell in her chest. Rainy ducked her head, her eyes briefly visiting her lap. When she lifted her gaze and met Braithe’s eyes, her friend looked on the verge of tears.

  God, Rainy, maybe she was just trying to do something nice.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and Braithe’s expression relaxed a little. Tara, Ursa and Mac looked tense, waiting to see what Braithe would say next.

  Braithe clapped her hands and everyone jumped. The moment was so comical they all started laughing.

  “Let’s go to Bubbles to get drinks.” It was like little light bulbs lit all their faces.

  Rainy turned to Braithe. “What’s that?”

  “A bar,” she said, scooting out of her seat and standing up. “And don’t worry, you’re buying me my first drink.”

  Rainy would have preferred a shower and a movie in bed. Braithe must have sensed her hesitation, because she grabbed Rainy by the arm and whispered, “Please come,” in her ear as the others walked ahead of them, their jewel-toned heels snapping like fingers on the marble floor.

  “Okay, but just one drink and I’m going to head back.”

  “Fiiinnne,” Braithe said. They walked like schoolgirls, their arms linked as they lagged behind the others. When they got to the bar, Braithe slid into the seat next to her and ordered an old-fashioned. “What are you having?” She turned to Rainy, her chandelier earrings dancing above her shoulders.

  “I’ll have the same,” she said to the bartender.

  She hated the drink, but for some reason all of Grant’s friends drank them with enthusiasm. Looking around, Rainy noticed that most of the clientele were their age and remarkably beautiful.

  “What is this place?” She darted her eyes around the space; it was themed, like the restaurant they’d just come from.

  “It’s a champagne lounge.” Ah, now it made sense: the blush colors on the walls and the stools that resembled champagne bottles. But why order an old-fashioned in a champagne lounge?

  “I really am sorry about earlier.” Braithe’s voice drew Rainy back from her thoughts. Her face was earnest, and Rainy believed her—not because of that, but because Braithe had always been honest with her. She glanced over at Tara, who was on the other side of Braithe, and saw her staring at them. Rainy looked away quickly, uncomfortable with the whole vibe.

  “I was just having a moment,” Rainy said. “Forget it, it was an overreaction on my part and I’m sorry.”

  Braithe smiled, tucking in the corners of her mouth and dimpling her cheeks. She’d styled her chestnut hair high on her head and was wearing a black choker. Rainy would have loved to sketch her. Their drinks arrived with lids. Even the champagne flutes had lids with little spouts to drink from. Rainy picked her rocks glass up in confusion at the same time as giant soapy bubbles began to shoot from the four corners of the room. Everyone began to scream at the same time, holding their hands up for the soapy, wet bubbles to kiss their skin. Rainy looked around, horrified, and then began to laugh as she noticed everyone holding drinks in outstretched arms as they danced around the bar, getting soapy; the sippy cups were brilliant.

  Ursa and Mac hopped down from the bar to dance where people were passing clear plastic balls over their heads in a weirdly chill mosh pit while Rainy, Braithe and Tara stayed at the bar. Rainy wished Tara had gone with them; she was making everything exceptionally tense. Tara knew...something. Rainy could see it in the way Tara looked at her, the wary eyes, the way she sucked in her cheeks whenever Rainy said something, like she was holding back an eye roll. Tara drank her champagne facing the dance floor so she could watch Ursa and Mac, while Braithe angled her seat toward Rainy.

  “Steve’s not texting me back. Have you heard anything from Grant?”

  Rainy shook her head. Her hair was heavy on her shoulders and she reached behind herself to gather it together and pull it over her shoulder.

  “I think it’s going to be like this for the next three weeks,” she admitted, looking at Braithe’s crestfallen face. It was weird: Braithe and Stephen had been together for ten years. Shouldn’t she be comforting Rainy, who was new to these extended work trips? It was sweet how cute Braithe and Stephen were together. She always brought it up to Grant, who said they’d been like that from the beginning.

  “You’re right, I’m being silly. I always get anxious when they leave.”

  Rainy smiled at her. Maybe that’s why Grant had been so insistent she come with; he’d known how lonely Braithe was when Stephen left and figured they could do the whole lean-on-each-other thing.

  “We’re in a club of two now, I guess,” Braithe said, and Rainy saw Tara flinch. In that moment she wanted to hurt Tara for how unnecessarily cruel she was being, for the games she was playing that Rainy didn’t understand.

  “Yes, we are,” Rainy said with enthusiasm. She held up her glass and Braithe knocked her own against it.

  “Let’s dance,” Braithe said, hopping down from her stool. She was looking at Rainy, avoiding Tara’s eyes. She allowed herself to be led to the dance floor, swallowing the last gulps of her drink as she clutched Braithe’s hand.

  She began to wind her hips to the music, all thoughts gone from her head.

  13

  Then

  They waited until everyone was in church to leave, putting most of what they wanted to take into two backpacks and walking up the long road to the guard shed. There they had to pass through the gate, where one of the sisters was on duty.

  “Mama...?” Summer looked at Lorraine, her eyes wide. There was no way either one of the sisters would let them pass without alerting Taured. Lorraine’s eyes were set, her jaw up and out like she meant business. Summer glanced over her shoulder every few minutes, expecting to see the compound’s occupants pouring outside to stop them, but there was no movement, not even a breeze. Up ahead, she could see the black gates looming, the fence alongside them running endlessly to their left.

  “Stop doing that,” her mother snapped the next time she looked over her shoulder. “You’re making me jittery.”

  “Sorry.”

  When they reached the gate, Lorraine walked to the box on the right-hand side of the road. She flipped up the grate to the keypad and typed something in. They both looked expectantly toward the gate; nothing happened. She touched her necklace as her face pinched in worry.

  “I put it in wrong, that’s all...” Lorraine tried again, and this time the gate groaned and swung open. Lorraine grabbed her daughter’s hand and walked her across the threshold. Dawn was waiting for them on the other side.

  “Where ya going?” Her voice was deceptively cheerful as she squinted at them. She wasn’t wearing her knockoff Ray-Bans, which were a fixture on her face most days. Lorraine let go of Summer’s hand and went right up to Dawn, her back to Summer.

  “Lose your sunglasses? Why don’t you go look for them and mind your business?”

  Summer did a double take; had it been her mother who’d said that? But as Lorraine stepped backward, Summer saw that Dawn didn’t look mad; she looked afraid actually. She nodded once, plucking the toothpick from the corner of her mouth and tossing it away before retreating to the guard shed. She was about to ask her mother what that was about when Lorraine’s attention diverted left.

  “There it is—hurry!”

  A cab gently crested the horizon, the sun seeming to melt the air around it. Summer could feel the sweat on her back and running down her legs. She was too afraid to look back now. She imagined Dawn walked directly into the shed and calling down the wrath of the whole compound.

  The cab seemed to take an extraordinarily long amount of time to get there, the air feeling hotter with each second. When it stopped next to them, due to her mother waving her arms, Lorraine shoved her daughter inside the car and slid in beside her. Summer scooted all the way across the seat, taking her mother’s bag with her.

  “The airport,” she said. “If you could drive quickly, we’d appreciate it.”

  The cabbie seemed to understand their urgency and he turned the car around, the cab’s tires squealing as he shot forward. Summer twisted around to look out the back window. The dust spun up behind them, like a curtain. She thought she saw Dawn come out of the shed, but then her mother pulled her down.

  “Don’t look back, Summer.”

  She sank into the seat, the smell of cigarette smoke rising to meet her. It was then, as her hand accidentally slipped inside her mother’s bag, that she felt the hard metal. Pulling one side of the bag toward her, she looked inside to see a gun. It was small and cold to the touch. When she looked up, her mother’s eyes were large in warning. She was not to react, she understood. Turning to look out the window, she pretended she hadn’t seen anything at all, but it made sense now, the way Dawn had behaved. Her mother must have shown her the gun to scare her. But where had she gotten the gun? She must have snuck off to buy one while she was on a mission trip and hidden it, waiting for this day.

  And the cab that had shown up at exactly the right time. That one seemed easier to explain; her mother must have secretly called for it from the compound somehow. Why hadn’t she told Summer the plan?

  “Where are we going?” she asked eventually. Her nose, still tender, was hard to breathe through. They were passing Red’s, and the straggly little town, Friendship, that was built around a famous cactus.

  “New Mexico, to Grandma and Grandpa.” There was no dread in her mother’s voice when she spoke about her parents this time. It sounded nice to Summer, who wanted to be anywhere else.

  She was looking earnestly out her mother’s side window now at the row of pastel houses, one of which had broken toys in the yard.

  “What is it?” Lorraine snapped.

  “I buried something there,” she told her mother, “by the cactus.” She thought Lorraine would ask what, but she was the one looking behind them now, checking the road. Summer watched the depressing little patch of buildings pass by.

  “Does it matter?”

  She didn’t know. She hadn’t told her mother what she’d taken, just what she’d heard. Despite who she had stolen from, she still felt the shame of being a thief, and—even more so—the shame of what she’d seen in the photo.

  Her mother began to speak then, quickly and very quietly. She had managed to sneak into Taured’s office one night and call Summer’s grandparents. They’d gone to the bank and put money in Lorraine’s account so she could buy plane tickets. They were going to board a flight to Albuquerque, where they’d be picked up in her grandparents’ minivan. Lorraine told her the rest of the details in a voice that didn’t sound like hers at all.

  “What did they say when you spoke to them?”

  Lorraine looked at her hands, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

  “That I was in a cult. That they’d help me.”

  Summer frowned considering her mother’s words. A cult? Could that be true? What was a cult, anyway—rules and religion?