“Tell…you…whole truth.”

Dahlia knows these are not the words of a woman issuing a directive. These words escaped Sylvia’s lips like a jailbreak—a last-ditch effort to free herself of a guilty conscience moments before becoming unresponsive.

Sitting in a windowless room, Dahlia prays loudly to drown out the beeping, buzzing, hissing, and whining from the machines keeping Sylvia alive. Dahlia can’t get the sight of the black dahlias spilling, the sound of shattering glass, and the intake of Sylvia’s gasp out of her head.

The door to the hospital room opens, spilling light around the man standing in the doorway of the otherwise dark room, bringing Dahlia back from the abyss of her thoughts. She doesn’t want to move; she is finally comfortable; instead, she sighs and smiles as Roland finds his way to the empty chair beside hers and hands her a cup of hot coffee. She whispers a soft thank you in his direction, but he only nods and stares straight ahead. He still isn’t speaking to her. He wants her to tell him what happened at the river. Does she dare? She doesn’t know what happened after she and Sylvia left, and she has no idea who sent the black dahlias.

Dahlia needs to consider her words carefully. She doesn’t want to be lied to, left out, or misled; she refuses to treat Roland differently then she expects to be treated. However, something tells her the less he knows, the better.

The following morning, leaving the hospital for only a minute terrifies Dahlia, but she and Roland need showers and a change of clothes almost as badly as they need to clear the air between them. While leaving the ICU, Roland is greeted by several staff members and asked to pose for a photo, while Dahlia is assured they will call her with any change in her mother’s condition. Walking out of the hospital and into the parking garage toward Roger and the waiting SUV, she is grateful they are hidden away from the prying eyes and cameras of the news reporters. How did this happen? Who sent the black dahlias? The stress on Sylvia brought on by her health issues, her change in residence, and pending divorce, Dahlia’s novel, kidnapping, and unforgiveness over Sylvia’s lies, Bob’s disappearance, or a combination of all the above led to this. Dahlia knows it.

Roger eases the SUV out of the garage and away from Santa Barbara General as Dahlia stares up at the ICU floor and assures herself that her mother is in safe hands. Dahlia needed to turn her cell phone off while in the hospital due to the requests for interviews, news, and social media notifications. Her concern for Daniel’s whereabouts had to take a backseat as she set by her mother’s bedside. Daniel didn’t answer her calls before Sylvia collapsed. Dahlia is positive that he would reach out to her if he has heard the news of her mother. He’s been adamant about staying close to her family even after their divorce. Turning her cell phone on, it rings immediately. Her hope of it being Daniel quickly fades when she sees her interior designer’s phone number, and answers, “Hello.”

“Ms. Frost, this is Suzanne Valencia.”

“Yes, Suzanne, how can I help you?”

“I have great news. The contractors finished the lake house last night, and I have the “all clear” to begin moving in your furniture and decorating. I need your go-ahead.”

“Yes, definitely. It’s perfect timing since I will be staying in California longer than anticipated. Pay overtime to have it completed by tomorrow if at all possible. If you want to meet, I’m on my way out there now. Goodbye, Suzanne, and thank you.”

They travel the fifteen minutes from Santa Barbara hospital up the California one-fifty-four toward the ranch Sylvia and Dahlia bought. They drive through majestic mountains and undulating landscapes surrounding the two-hundred-plus acres that were once a golf course as it wanders along the river bench of the Santa Ynez River. Dahlia enjoys the scenery, but misses New York and wishes she wouldn’t have returned to talk to Sylvia. If she hadn’t Sylvia wouldn’t be in a hospital fighting for her life. Dahlia wants to leave this God-forsaken place immediately, or at least did, until finding out her house is finished. Staying in Sylvia’s house is a reminder of what has happened. The lake house reminds her she was learning to like it here and enjoying her mother’s company.

When they arrive at the ranch, Roland is amazed by the speed at which the security company he contracted installed the security gate and shack. It is all but finished, excluding a few finishing bricks. The gates rise, and Roger passes through, waving at the security guard.

“That was fast work, wasn’t it, Roger?” Roland asks.

“Amazingly fast. The workers arrived an hour after the poor frightened flower delivery driver, the police and you left, sir. There are still some workers here. They worked around the clock.” Roger parks the vehicle after dropping Dahlia and Roland off at the door of Sylvia’s house. Roger nearly reaches the bunkhouse but is interrupted after noticing a car pull up to the gates. Startled, Dahlia turns to see who it is, then relaxes as she watches the process of entry.

“Dahlia, are you all right? I installed the gate hoping to prevent seeing that terrified look on your face. Not just anyone can pull onto the property ever again,” Roland says as he squeezes Dahlia’s hand to comfort her.

“Thank you, Roland. I appreciate you installing a gate similar to the one at your house. I’m praying the fear will someday go away.”

“I understand, Whisky Girl. It’s been a hell of a year so far.” Roland wraps his arm around Dahlia’s waist before they recognize the visitor as Suzanne. Instead of entering the house, Roland climbs behind the wheel of the Mule with Dahlia sitting shotgun while they wait for the guard to check her credentials. Roger had already added her to the list of expected deliveries for the day. Followed by an eighteen-wheeler, Suzanne continues down the long drive toward the lake house. Before Suzanne parks her car, they reach the resort-sized home, larger than Dahlia initially intended.

Stepping into the new home with Roland quiets Dahlia’s desire to run. She’s not quite as desperate to leave California as she was moments ago. She’s been here for a week, but this is only the second time she has seen the progress of the lake house. She had no idea how magnificent the views would be from any of the four balconies looking out over the mountains and river. Opening the double glass doors exiting their master suite to their balcony, Dahlia suddenly feels small compared to the beautiful mountain view. She pulls Roland into her and buries her head into his chest.

“It’s beautiful, love. We will have wonderful family memories in this home,” he says.

Dahlia looks up at him before speaking, “We’ll see. I’m not sure I’ll want to be here if Mom doesn’t survive this. I may end up selling it before we get to enjoy it.”

“Don’t speak of such things. Sylvia is strong and will pull through. Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

Dahlia shrugs, “Are you going to stop talking to me again if I don’t?” Roland doesn’t answer. Instead, he grips her hand and leads her out of the house. Suzanne stops Dahlia assuring her that the house will be live-in ready by tomorrow morning, complete with groceries.

“Thank you. With Mom’s condition, I’m not sure what to expect, and it will be nice to have a place of our own,” Dahlia speaks to the interior decorator while looking at Roland. He nods in agreement.

Back at Sylvia’s house, Dahlia flops down, leans her head against the couch, and sighs. Roland sits beside her and grips her hand. She leans forward, releasing her pinned-up hair and guilt. Is this my fault? I shouldn’t have come here and confronted her or Bob. She isn’t offering any reason for the tears rolling down her cheeks. Roland provides her the safe space to cry, pulling her to him and letting her tears soak his shirt as he runs his fingers through her hair. She may not have anything she wants to share, but Roland does. After he dries her tears, he gently tips her face to meet his. He kisses her lips, wet cheek, and forehead before addressing his concerns. Dahlia’s love is not unconditional. She has mastered the art of giving and taking away. Roland asks his questions carefully, not wanting to be at the end of the taking-away spectrum again.

“Dahlia, you never wear this much makeup. The bruise you’re trying to conceal has only darkened. I didn’t believe you yesterday morning when you said you accidentally hit it with the car door, and I still don’t. What happened?” Roland tilts her face toward the light to get a better view. He wants to see if she will tell him what he already knows happened at the river. Sylvia told him that much. “I believe you’ve told me everything except what really happened.”

Dahlia sniffs, sucking back her tears and turning her head to face him, deciding how much he really needs to know. She pulls on his hand to rise and follow her, moving their conversation to the veranda. Once they sit, Dahlia folds her legs under her while Roland rocks the swing slowly. She stares out toward the lake house watching the workers carry box after box inside. She takes a deep breath and clicks her tongue, readying herself, having just decided to tell him everything, but where should she begin this story? “All right, what day is it? Let me think. Today is the twenty-third, right?” Dahlia wipes her eyes and runs her hands down her legs to wipe off the sweat and tears.

Roland shakes his head and answers, “Yes.”

“I arrived on the nineteenth, so the next morning, the day of your premiere, I drove to Bob’s house. What I didn’t tell anyone is what happened later in the day. After I left Bob’s house, I was so angry, Roland. My entire body was shaking. I told him he would die by my hand someday, and he told me he wasn’t finished with me yet, and I was positive after Bob participated in my kidnapping that he wasn’t making empty threats. I called Daniel after I left.”

“Why?”

“Because I needed someone to talk to. You and I still weren’t talking; even if we were, I couldn’t call you with a problem. It’s not like you would drop everything and rescue your ex-fiancé who left you in Scotland.”

“That isn’t fair, Dahlia. You have this misconception that you are alone or want to be invisible, but I am here to tell you that I see you. I always have, and I know why you ended us and why you left. I will be wherever you are for the rest of our lives. You didn’t believe it was over when you left, did you?” He pauses, waiting for an answer, but continues after she shrugs, “Commitment is what marriage is about. You need me, and I will come. You don’t need to call your ex-husband,” Roland says sternly, and Dahlia nods in agreement.

“Okay, I got it. Do you want to hear the rest of the story?”

“Yes, but do you want to call Daniel first, so he is here for you?”

Dahlia stares at Roland blankly, “This is not the time for sarcasm, Roland, and jealousy doesn’t look good on you. Besides, I don’t have to tell him the story; he was there.”

“Bloody hell, Dahlia.” Roland attempts to rise, but Dahlia holds on to him.

“You wanted to hear the story. I am telling you everything so let me continue.”

“Go ahead. I can’t wait to hear how Daniel came running to save your life for a second time.”

Dahlia rolls her eyes but doesn’t feel guilty. She needed someone to talk her down off that ledge. Dahlia continues, “Anyway, I left Bob’s house angry. I was so angry it seriously crossed my mind to bash his head in. Of course, I didn’t, but I thought of it. I’m not a violent person, Roland, other than the time I stabbed Bob in the leg, but the point is, I think I could’ve been. So, I drove to Daniel’s house, picked him up, and he and I drove around and talked. Well, he listened, and I talked. I needed to get it off my chest. I needed to shake the anger. I told him the story of my kidnapping. I told him about Bob’s part in it; then I told him what had happened once I confronted Bob.”

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he stares through her—Dahlia questions whether it is anger she sees or concern because she can’t differentiate. “Tell me what happened at the river. Tell me how Daniel once again came to your rescue.”

Hesitantly, Dahlia continues with her story, “I’ll give you the brief version of what happened.”

“This is the time to shape your story into a coherent and empowering narrative, Dahlia.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a writer. You know what I mean. If Bob is found dead, or Daniel for that matter, you need to know your story, especially in the worst-case scenario that your mom passes. In case everyone is missing or dead but you, know your narrative.”

This isn’t the first time she has thought of the worst case, but it is the first time it’s been spoken aloud. “When I saw that Mom was traveling toward the river,” Dahlia explains, “on the 360 app I have on my phone, I drove to the river to see what was going on. I arrived and saw that Mom was with Bob and in the boat. I was immediately concerned. The last thing I heard before I left Bob’s house the first time was that he was going on an overnight fishing trip. I asked what she was doing in that boat. Mom yelled back that she thought they were going for a ride in the truck, but he drove her to the river and insisted they go for the boat ride. Then Bob yelled at her, saying, ‘you wanted to go.’ Then he yelled out that he would bring her back before dark and on his overnight fishing trip. That’s when he and I had words. Then Daniel slid into the parking lot, driving Mom’s SUV. I was shocked when Bob said, ‘Hey, buddy, you need to get a handle on your ex-wife.’ As you can imagine, I was angry after everything that has happened.”

“I thought Daniel was with you. What happened, and why were you angry about them being buddies?”

Dahlia sighs, “I discovered she was at Bob’s house so I drove there first only to find, Mom’s SUV there, but neither of them. So, when I checked the app again is when I saw she was traveling toward the river, so I asked Daniel to get out of my SUV and drive Mom’s vehicle back to the ranch. I wasn’t sure why she went to Bob’s in the first place, but by taking her vehicle home, she had no reason to return. Before I  answer your second question, I need you to remember that I met Daniel for dinner before I came to Malibu.…”

“I remember that,” Roland interrupts.

“I did so because he said he needed to talk to me. What he told me was Bob asked him to kill me.”

“Yes, I remember you telling me that as well.”

“I asked Daniel to go to the police with me, but he said Bob was angry over the novel. He wasn’t seriously asking him to kill me. But then I was kidnapped, and as we both know, Bob had a hand in it. So, yes, I questioned if Daniel and Bob were friends,” she says as her voice raises. “Back to my story. Once Daniel arrived and tried to smooth it all over, it only made matters worse. Bob and Daniel physically fought because Daniel was trying to assist Mom off the boat. Daniel knocked Bob into the water, then Bob dragged Daniel into the water and was holding Daniel under. I thought Bob would drown Daniel, so I remembered I put Mom’s gun in the glove compartment of my SUV, and I ran and got it out. I told Bob if he didn’t let Daniel up, I’d shoot.”

Roland searches her face. He’s not judging that she got the gun out and aimed it because he wasn’t there, but he wonders whether it was necessary. “How and why did Sylvia’s gun get in the glove compartment of your rented SUV?”

Dahlia thinks back and sighs, “After reading the letter from Mom telling me what happened between her and Dahmon, I realized why she didn’t want the gun I purchased for her in the house in the first place, so I removed it. I intended to get rid of it but never had a chance.”

“I see. Go on,” he says.

“Bob let Daniel up. I ran to Daniel to see if he was all right, and I guess when I knelt beside him, I laid the gun down. That is when I noticed the boat was inching farther and farther into the river, so I ran out alongside the boat, yelling at Mom to jump, but that is when Bob struck me, knocking me out.” Dahlia reaches, touching the tender spot on her face. 

“That son-of-a-bitch.”

She continues, “Apparently, that is when Mom jumped off the boat and pulled me from the water to keep me from drowning.”

“Where was Daniel at this point?”

“When I came to, he was standing on the bank, pointing the gun at Bob. I could smell the gunpowder.”

“So, he fired the gun?”

“Yes, Daniel did. He fired it into the air after Bob struck me. Then he told Mom and me to go, and he and Bob would settle this. She got in her car, I got in mine, and we drove back to the ranch in the downpour. You know all the rest.”

“All four of you were there? Why didn’t you and your mom leave together, thereby leaving a vehicle for Daniel?”

Dahlia pauses, and thinks about the question, “Yes, at one point we were all there. Daniel told us to take the vehicles and go. He and Bob would go fishing, work through the issues, and Bob would drive him home in the morning. I had no reason to believe otherwise, Roland. They are buddies, as far as I know. They had calmed down and were both alive and well when Mom and I drove away. But I’ve not heard anything from Daniel. I drove off believing Bob and Daniel would work through their anger, but I was selfishly just grateful Mom was away from Bob. After we washed all the sand, mud, and river water off us that night, we met up in the living room and watched you on the red carpet. The next thing I knew, you were knocking on the window, and you know all the rest.” Dahlia stands, resting her hands on her hips, and arches backward.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“I’m okay. The baby is resting on my bladder. I’ll be right back.” Frustrated with the entire situation and conversation, Dahlia rushes off to relieve her bladder and nerves.

Returning composed, she sits beside Roland and continues, “It wasn’t until the sheriff showed up saying Bob was reported missing that I became concerned for both Bob and Daniel’s safety and whereabouts. I tried calling Daniel after the sheriff left and throughout the day, but he didn’t answer his phone. I tried again today, but his phone is dead. Daniel could be dead for all I know. He and Bob could’ve fought, and both went overboard,” she says, exasperated, before continuing, “I just don’t know.”

Roland watches Dahlia’s abdomen shift left then right, reminding him of the life she carries inside—a life that is an extension of his own. “Dahlia, I’m sorry. I am grateful Daniel helped you.” Roland stands, pulling her into his arms. She stretches her arms around his neck while standing on her tippy toes and kisses him. When she pulls away, she leads him to the shower.

Exhausted from the last twenty hours and relieved to have told Roland what happened, they lay their naked bodies in bed. Roland moves Dahlia’s cold, wet hair out of his face before pulling her into the curve of his body. He spoons her, resting his hand on the swell of her belly, hoping his baby will move beneath his hand. “It’s going to work out, love. We need a quick nap and things will look different when we wake,” Roland suggests, smiling as he feels the baby kick.

“I don’t think I can fall asleep, but I’ll try.”

Roland opens his eyes to peek at her, noticing the sun’s rays resting gently across the bed, highlighting the shine in her damp hair. Most anyone else would want the blinds closed but not Dahlia. Ever since the kidnapping, she is never in darkness. If she is outside at night, she is not alone, and lights illuminate every corner. She can’t sleep if it is dark in the room, and recently, he discovered she doesn’t really sleep if it is dark outside, either. She prowls at night unless he is lying beside her and holding on to her.

She falls asleep but wakes startled, immediately grabbing her phone to see what time it is. Jumping out of bed, she dresses quickly in the new maternity outfit she purchased a week before flying to California. Dahlia only brought one suitcase because she planned on staying a day or two max to have this overdue conversation with her mother. Throwing clothes out of her suitcase as she searches for her Louboutin trainers she thinks may still be in the bottom of the bag, she determines they are missing. Then it occurs to her that she threw them away along with everything she and Sylvia had on that day at the river. Why? Why did I do that?

Now, sitting on the bedroom floor, frustrated and trying not to wake Roland, she searches through her pile of belongings for a different pair of trainers, but he opens his eyes and watches her, “What are you doing, Whisky Girl?”

“Looking for some shoes to wear. I have to get back to the hospital.”

“What about the shoes you just had on?” Roland rolls over on his side and pulls his pillow down to support his new position, teasingly mocking her, “Oh, no, I can’t wear the same shoes today as I did yesterday.” His impression of her is nearly perfect. He sits up in bed before smiling that beautiful playful smile of his.

Dahlia tilts her head to look at him and replies, “You are not as funny as you think, Roland Hughes.” She finds a pair of flats in the bottom of her suitcase and slips them on.

“Yes, I am. I really am, love,” Roland says, raising his voice so Dahlia, who has left the room in a hurry, can hear his rebuttal.

Ensuring Roland isn’t watching her, she quietly opens the desk drawer and pulls the almond-colored envelope from her purse, the second letter Sylvia tried to conceal from her only four days ago. Suddenly, Roland exits the guest room, one hand carrying his overnight bag, and the other grasps her free hand. Dahlia drops the letter, kicking it under the desk before being led outside to watch him load his suitcase and say goodbye.

“Let’s try this again,” he says as he pulls her into him for a kiss goodbye. Dahlia breathes in his scent, capturing his strength to hold on to while he is away from her. She looks around, remembering the events of yesterday when he first attempted to leave, and she is grateful for the new security gate.

“I don’t want you to leave, but I know you have to,” she says while meaning it but needing to hurry him away.

She tries to focus on what Roland is saying, but all she can think about is the envelope and what kind of questions could arise if anyone finds out she knows the contents of it. She shouldn’t have taken it without Sylvia’s permission, but it had her name written in Sylvia’s handwriting, and after reading the first letter, Dahlia knew she had to know what was in the second. There is no way I could have predicted Sylvia collapsing only days later. I have to get that back in the drawer without anyone being the wiser. He needs to go. She focuses on what he is saying, “Do you want me to stay, love?”

“There isn’t anything you can do. You should go and take care of the things begging for your attention. That is what I’m going to do. I promise you that the baby and I will be fine. I won’t neglect myself. I will eat, and I will attempt to sleep without you by my side.” Roland lays his hand on Dahlia’s ever-expanding waistline and holds it there for an extended time. He sighs and kisses her again.

“I forgot my watch. I’ll be right back,” Roland says as he releases her.

“No, I will get it. You go ahead and get in. Where is it?”

“It’s on the dresser in the guest room or on the sink in the bathroom.”

“I’ll be right back,” Dahlia says as she hurries into the house. As she runs past the desk, she is relieved there isn’t anything to see.

Returning to the SUV, winded, Dahlia says, “I love you. See you soon,” before handing Roland his watch.

He puts the car in reverse, as they both pause, glancing at each other through the windshield, remembering what happened the day before. He backs away and she watches the gate rise and Roland drive away.