Chapter 2

Beatrice's POV

"Where exactly am I supposed to sit?" I snapped at Marcus.

Diane occupied the front passenger seat, her purse and a blanket spread across it like she was settling in for a transcontinental flight. Ashley had taken over the entire middle row, twins on either side of her, all three of them already absorbed in their devices. The back bench seat, the one that was theoretically mine, had disappeared under an avalanche of pink and white striped shopping bags.

I counted the bags. At least twenty of them, taking up every inch of space where a human being might sit.

Marcus rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere except at my face. "Yeah, seems like there's no space, so I was thinking maybe you should just stay home?"

The question came out so casually.

"Stay home. From our fifth anniversary trip."

"Someone needs to watch the house, right? And Mom's roses need to be watered every day. You know how particular she is about those roses."

Diane leaned out the passenger window, her expression dripping with false sympathy. "Beatrice, sweetheart, it's probably for the best. We'll do something special just the four of us next time. I promise."

Next time?

Ashley didn't even bother looking up from her phone. "Besides, you don't know anything about RVs. What if we break down in the middle of nowhere? You can't change a tire or check the oil or anything useful."

I stood there on my own driveway, waiting for Marcus to jump in. Waiting for him to tell his mother and sister that this was our anniversary, that I was his wife, that I deserved better than being uninvited to my own vacation.

He just smiled. That same apologetic, useless smile. "You get it, right babe? It just makes more sense this way."

I could feel burning anger and freezing dread pulling at me from within, and for a moment I actually couldn't catch my breath.

"Sure," I said. "That makes total sense."

I walked to the driver's side window where Marcus sat, his hands already on the steering wheel like he couldn't wait to leave. I reached past him and pulled the passenger door closed with a soft click.

"Drive carefully," I told Diane. "Watch out for deer."

Marcus actually grinned, "You're amazing, babe. Seriously. Oh, and don't forget about the roses. Mom needs them watered every morning before it gets too hot. Not too much water, just—"

"I know how to water roses, Marcus."

The engine rumbled to life. I stepped back onto the grass and waved the way I'd been trained to wave at family gatherings, smile fixed in place, the picture of an understanding wife who knew her role.

I watched the RV lumber down our street, Diane's hand fluttering from the window until they turned the corner and disappeared.

Then I walked into the garage, past Marcus's meticulously organized pegboard of tools he barely knew how to use, past the shelf of car care products he'd spent more time researching than he'd ever spent researching what made me happy.

The silver Range Rover sat in its designated spot. His thirtieth birthday present to himself. The car he'd told me I couldn't drive because I "wasn't comfortable with larger vehicles," even though I'd been driving since I was sixteen and had never so much as scraped a bumper.

I grabbed the spare key from the lockbox he thought I didn't know about.

Inside the house, I dragged my suitcase back to the bedroom and unzipped it with hands that had stopped shaking. I pulled out the gift box from where I'd hidden it so carefully, like it was something precious that needed protecting.

The baby shoes looked ridiculous now. Tiny and hopeful and utterly pointless.

I walked to the kitchen, lifted the lid of the trash can, and dropped the entire box inside. No ceremony, no second thoughts, just the soft thud of wrapping paper hitting the garbage.

My phone was already in my hand. I pulled up the Yellowstone reservation and hit cancel, barely registering the partial refund notification. Then I opened a new search.

Big Sur. I'd wanted to go to Big Sur since college, but Marcus always said it was too far, too expensive, too impractical for a vacation.

Ventana Big Sur came up first in the results. Luxury cliffside resort. Ocean views that looked like something from a dream. Adults only.

I booked their best suite. The one with the private terrace and the outdoor shower and the king-sized bed I wouldn't have to share with someone who'd just uninvited me to our own anniversary trip.

Then I walked outside to Diane's rose garden, the one she'd planted in our yard without asking because "Marcus grew up with roses."

The hose lay coiled by the fence. I picked it up, felt the weight of it in my hands, thought about five years of watering plants I never wanted, in a garden I never asked for, for a woman who'd just told me I wasn't worth a seat in a vehicle.

"Every morning before it gets too hot," I said out loud, mimicking Marcus's earnest tone. "Not too much water."

I dropped the hose in the dirt.

They could die. They could all shrivel up and turn brown and crispy. Diane could come home to a garden full of dead stems and dried petals and maybe, finally, something in this family would be exactly what it deserved to be.

I had a Range Rover to pack and an ocean to drive toward.