The Follower Kate Doughty (general ebook reader .txt) 📖

eight a.m., Cecily’s is exhausted and she knows her family is, too. Despite all their hard work, they are going to have to put tarps over some areas of the kitchen and living room. Mr. Cole finally stands up from where he’s cleaning and shakes his head.

“We’ve done everything we can,” he says. “This is as good as it’s going to get.”

Cecily looks around and knows that everything is not nearly good enough, but she doesn’t have the energy to disagree with her dad.

Cecily stares at her coffee with a bleary-eyed expression while her parents profusely thank Joseph for his help.

“No problem,” he says as he prepares to leave. “Consider it small-town neighborliness. I’m happy to help. I’ll be back in the afternoon, after the open house. To help fix up the rest.”

Mr. Cole nods. “Wait—in case we’re at the station.” He reaches into his pocket and presses the spare skeleton key into Joseph’s hand. “In case you can’t get in. One of us should be here, but just in case . . . feel free to let yourself in. We trust you.”

Joseph looks genuinely touched.

The moment Joseph is gone, Cecily watches as her mom takes in a breath, trying to collect herself. She’s attempting to salvage something from this disaster, Cecily knows.

Next to Cecily, Amber and Rudy are in similar states of exhaustion and despair. “All right. Damage control,” Mom says, trying and failing to snap back into her manager persona. She looks so, so tired. “Amber, I want extraglamorous photos of all the untouched rooms, and a teaser for the open house on Instagram. Then, look your best for the tours down here. Maybe Cecily can help with that,” she says, shooting Cecily a smile that manages to be both pained and simultaneously hopeful. “Rudy, same with you. When people ask you about the home—” Her voice falters. “We can’t let anyone—anyone—know about this. If the sponsors find out, if people start thinking that we can’t manage a simple kitchen renovation—” She cuts herself off. Cecily has never seen her mom this out of sorts. “But they won’t. We’re going to say that we had a problem transporting the counter-tops and flooring, and that they got damaged in transit, and that there are new pieces in shipment right now—but don’t talk about any of that unless they ask. Keep them off topic. Talk about your haunting if you have to.”

Cecily doesn’t have it in her to argue with her mother. She doubts that Rudy and Amber do, either. Besides, it’s not as if she’s going to be on the floor during the open house. She’ll be hidden away from the public—because it’s one thing for them to see a cracked countertop, but a scarred Cecily Cole? That might truly bring down the whole house of cards.

“Cecily, sweetheart,” Mrs. Cole turns to her. “Get some rest, please. You must be so exhausted from the hospital—and you’ve been up all night—”

“It’s okay,” Cecily says. “Really.” She looks at Rudy and Amber, and realizes that somewhere deep down, she wants to be at the open house with them. She almost says that, but her mom cuts off the thought.

“Lock your door from the inside,” her mom says. “We’ll be showing off Amber’s bedroom as an example, and the master on the third floor, but other than that people should stay out of the upstairs. Hopefully we won’t disturb you too much.”

Cecily nods. “You won’t. It’s fine; really.” She forces a smile. She watches her mom’s gaze stray to her bandages. She tries not to flinch, tries not to think about all the glamorous open houses that she’s been a part of. Tries not to think about how she’ll spend this one, locked away, disfigured and hiding, while party guests parade through the halls downstairs.

Her room was supposed to be the example one. It always has been. Now that, too, falls on Amber.

Minutes later, she’s in the bathroom with her sister, staring at Amber’s makeup collection.

“I checked it all,” Amber says. “It’s . . . safe. I mean, I can do it myself, too, but . . .” But she so clearly wants Cecily to do it. Cecily stares at the makeup, and her fingers tremble.

Then she gazes at Amber. Her sister looks so exhausted. So tired from doing all the posts, from doing everything for Cecily. Slowly, Cecily reaches toward the primer.

A while later—longer than it usually takes, due to Cecily’s insistence in triple-checking every product by dabbing it on her forearm before applying it to Amber’s face—Amber has the perfect smoky eye for the day, done in shades of brown and taupe, with a healthy-looking glow and a nude lip. Cecily frowns at the work. She can’t help thinking that her fear and hesitation show, but at the same time . . . she’s proud that she did it. Amber looks flawless.

“You look beautiful,” she says, giving Amber a smile. For a brief second, Amber smiles back. Then her face collapses back into exhaustion.

“There’s no way that we can’t do the sponsored hair post now, is there?” Amber asks. “I mean, I was hoping that maybe, if the sale went okay . . .”

Cecily shakes her head. “I think you’re right. Listen, Ambs. About your posting . . .”

Amber bristles. “What about it?”

Cecily tries to smile. “I—I’m glad you’re putting your own spin on things; I think that this could have been good for you, but now? With everything?”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t post the body-positive hashtags?”

Cecily struggles to find the words. “No, I just think that . . . there’s so much pressure on these posts, and then there’s the whole . . .” She trails off. She doesn’t need to say it. “I just wish . . . you’d be more careful. Not draw attention to yourself. Not do anything extra that could . . .”

“You don’t understand,” Amber says. “You never had to—” She cuts herself off as Cecily searches for a lip gloss. Why did Amber stop talking? Cecily wonders. Is it because she was she going to say something about how she’s the perfect one