Black Diamond

By Havana Adams

Two sisters.

The PRETTY one.

And the OTHER one…

Abandoned at birth, identical twin baby girls lie side by side in an orphanage cot.

Until the arrival of Hollywood film star Scarlet Wilde, desperate to adopt a baby.

Chubby beautiful Lola is the chosen one.

Sickly, weak Grace is left all alone.

One pastor’s daughter
Rescued from the orphanage by a violent pastor, the sense of abandonment haunts Grace still. She knows there’s not one person in the world she can ever rely on.

One Hollywood wild-child
From her tangled and publicly played out love life, to her first arrest, Lola Wilde has lived in the spotlight as long as she can remember. And the paparazzi know, and care, more about her than her washed-up starlet of a mother…

Two strangers, both unwanted and unloved.

Two worlds are about to collide.

Two sisters about to discover dark secrets and unlock their destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins UK
• Release date: Jun 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781472096401

Book preview

PROLOGUE

A shriek pierced the still night air and then moments later a single hoarse word was screamed out.

Fire!

In the ramshackle township of Ivory Crossing, on the outskirts of Cape Town, no word could provoke panic and fear quite like this word. Even as the voice shrieked again, Fire, Fire, the word was gathering pace on the night air, repeated now by a growing clamour of voices. The silence of the night had been ruptured.

Bodies spilled out of their makeshift homes. Babies wailed. Women screamed. Men began to run, gathering their meagre possessions even as the flames grew. By now orange flames fanned out, leaping from house to house. A blaze lit up the inky blue-black of the African sky. Panic had seized the township.

As they ran, a crush of bodies tripping over each other, pushing and shoving and jostling, few turned back to look at the small tin-roofed shack that seemed to be the epicentre of the blaze.

Hours later, in the watery grey dawn, a scene of destruction greeted the survivors. A half-mile radius of homes had been levelled, the scorched earth still smouldering in the cool morning air. An old woman, her shoulders hunched over the precious bundle in her arms, stood barefoot and stared unblinking at the devastation. The shawl around her shoulders had slipped to the ground but she continued to stare at the shack where it had all begun. A faint mewling sound drew her attention to the bundles in her arms, to the two babies, mirror images of each other, that she cradled against her. The mewling subsided and the babies settled back into deep sleep. The only evidence of the terror in which they had been caught up was the dark sooty smoke marks that marred their brown skin. The woman turned to the tall uniformed man who stood alongside her.

This one is Grace, the woman said indicating the baby in the crook of her left arm who sucked her thumb in sleep. And this is Lola. The officer barely afforded the twin babies a glance, his eyes focused on the smouldering remains of the rest of the township. Finally, he turned to the woman.

Where are the parents? The old woman shrugged, tilting her head towards the charred, burnt-out remains of what had once been the twins’ home.

The fire started in their house, they didn’t make it out, the woman said with a long deep sigh. There had been many fires in the township but the ferocity of this blaze, the speed with which it had spread, tearing through homes and destroying lives, twisted the woman’s gut and she knew she would never forgot this day. What will happen to the babies now? she asked, remembering their beautiful and yet serious mother, a teacher, who had worked tirelessly to ensure that the children in the township received some kind of education. She thought too about their father who had worked in the mines. The old woman had always been struck by his kindness, he had a gregarious charm that drew people to him and yet he was the first to help her fetch water and offer her extra kerosene to light her lamps.

In her arms, one of the twins stirred and the woman looked down at them. What will happen to them now? she asked again. The police officer shrugged, barely sparing the tiny babies a glance.

They are orphans now, he answered already turning his back.

A small jet taxied down a private airstrip, slowing before it finally came to a complete halt. On board the jet, Scarlet Wilde stared out at the open landscape of rusty red sand that was visible, in every direction, for as far as the eye could see. The sun blazed down on the tarmac, bouncing off the runway to create a blinding glare. Even with her trademark white blonde hair swept back away from her face and wearing only a minimal amount of make-up, Scarlet was still recognisable as Hollywood’s favourite fallen angel. For every peak in her short and yet prolific screen career, there had been a corresponding crash in her personal life. The Oscar win had been followed by love affairs gone bad, lovers that sold their stories and most recently a marriage heralded with fanfare that had faltered after a mere 73 days of what the papers had christened unholy matrimony. It was true to say that for Scarlet Wilde, success and strife went hand in hand.

Whenever you’re ready, ma’am.

The First Officer hovered at the entrance to the cabin but Scarlet barely afforded him a glance and instead continued to stare out of the window, noticing that from within a single-storied building men in suits were hurriedly emerging, scurrying out like ants towards the stationary plane. Scarlet watched the flurry of activity in the otherwise still landscape. Amongst the group of men stood a small woman, her assistant, Riley. Scarlet allowed herself a smile as she watched her and the men slowly advance towards the plane.

It was rare for Scarlet to travel alone without her trusted assistant by her side. But, in this matter, Scarlet had known that she could trust only one person to go ahead and smooth the waters for her. Scarlet let her thoughts drift through what had brought her to South Africa. The news had broken just as she had been flying out of LAX; Scarlet Wilde was adopting a baby from Africa. Scarlet shook off the tension and melancholy that had settled over her during the flight. She shook off the memory of that last argument with Jared, her husband of 73 days.

You can’t take care of a pair of shoes, let alone a child, he’d screamed and she had lunged for him then, tearing at him. The vintage claw ring on her finger ripped into his face, immediately drawing blood. At the sight of his blood she had gasped and stopped, shocked, but the damage was done. It was not the worst fight that they’d ever had but she’d crossed a line and within the hour Jared had filed for divorce. Scarlet took another deep breath and shook away the memories. She centred herself back in the airplane cabin and thought of what lay ahead. She was beginning a new chapter in her life and she would show them all. Scarlet Wilde was ready to prove everybody wrong. She deserved to be a mother; she would be a good mother. Scarlet rose quickly to her feet. She grabbed the cashmere wrap that had warmed her through the flight, picked up her tote bag and strode towards the exit.

Thank you, she said with only a momentary glance at the pilot and before he could respond, she was gone.

Scarlet emerged into the close heat of the mid-afternoon sun and even for a girl raised in the humidity of South Carolina, she blanched. She pulled her sunglasses off her head and onto her face as Riley moved towards her, engulfing her in a momentary hug.

We all set? Scarlet asked anxiously.

All set, Riley replied with a smile. We’re going to three orphanages today. Riley gave an apologetic nod towards the men in suits. I couldn’t stop them coming, official welcome brigade from the government. Scarlet nodded and turned to shake the hands that were offered to her, accepting the greetings and congratulations. As they moved towards the terminal building a car pulled up. As Scarlet stepped into the car, Riley was already instructing the driver about their destination. Moments later, a partition went up, allowing them privacy and Riley turned to face Scarlet as the car pulled out of the airstrip.

Are you ready for this? Riley asked. After only a split second’s hesitation Scarlet nodded. She was ready to be a mother.

The Matron was running.

As she dashed as quickly as her thick bowed legs could carry her, a buzz took up and spread through the Tumaini orphanage. Matron never ran. Nobody ever ran at Tumaini House. Not the three hundred or so children cramped in the inadequate, dated facilities and not the staff, not unless they wanted to be rewarded with one of Matron’s hot slaps. Running was reserved for outside during football games or for escaping great danger. Nobody ran indoors and yet here she was, Matron, lumbering down the long corridors, past the cracked walls, the boarded-up windows, the constant stench of urine, her breath laboured and panting noisily out of her. The children stared at her in amazement and then looked away for fear of inviting her anger but they knew at once that something momentous must be afoot.

Matron burst into Mr Peters’s office without knocking, another first. Mr Peters leapt up, a look of irritation giving way to one of concern as he took in the panting form of Matron, her heavy breasts heaving up and down in seismic shifts beneath her patterned, brightly coloured kaftan. Mr Peters watched as she fought to gulp down air.

What is it? Peters asked. He watched as Matron sucked in air and prayed she wouldn’t keel over dead in front of him before she could give up her news.

She’s…coming…here. Matron finally pushed the words out.

Who? Peters asked none the wiser. Matron shook her head.

The actress, the famous one, from Hollywood. She’s here, in South Africa to adopt a baby. Scarlet Wilde… Peters’s eyes widened as he grasped Matron’s words. He had only a vague idea of who Scarlet Wilde was, his interest running more to African dramas and Bollywood musicals rather than Hollywood blockbusters, but he knew as well as Matron what an adoption from an American star would mean. In a neighbouring town some American pop star had adopted a boy and they had seen the flood of money that had poured into that orphanage. Peters had watched the head of that orphanage swap his modest Peugeot for a Mercedes. White people adoptions meant money and famous white people adoptions; well, the sky was the limit.

Matron had slumped into one of the chairs, her breath almost completely back. She has already been to Tiberi and Kaluu, she said, referring to the neighbouring orphanages. But she hasn’t seen what she wants there. Peters nodded slowly.

Then we must make sure she finds what she wants here, he finally said. In his mind’s eye he was already sifting through the babies they had in the dorms upstairs – the beautiful ones, the ones that didn’t cry, the ones with nicely kept hair and the right shade of black for white people – not too dark. They were short of boys, but white people Peters had learned were different, often they actually preferred girls. And slowly, a smile crept across Peters’s face. He had it.

In a room filled with twenty-five cots, most over-filled with three or four babies, Peters and Matron zeroed in on one. They stared down at the sleeping forms of nine-month-old Grace and Lola.

That one, Peters said, his finger pointing directly at Lola. Almost as though she knew that her fate rested on this man’s decision, Lola’s eyes opened. Thick lashes fluttered open to reveal wide, hazel eyes. Lola rarely cried and now she stared quietly at Peters and Matron as they stood whispering above the cot.

What about the other one? Matron asked in hushed tones and their gazes shifted to the still sleeping Grace. Lola’s chubby arm reached across to her twin, as though she might ward off the attentions of Peters and Matron. Peters shook his head as he stared at Grace. She was thin and in sleep, she gave a pitiful, hacking cough. That they were twins, mirror images of each other, was still clear to see, but slowly in their six months at the orphanage Grace had started to wilt where Lola had grown chubby, robust and healthy. There was little money for medical care at the orphanage and so nothing had been done to help Grace. She would get better on her own or she wouldn’t. That was all there was to it. Peters shook his head again and he turned back to Lola and smiled.

No, he said. Just this one. Lola was a beautiful child, there was no denying that and, with thoughts of the BMW that would be his should the adoption go through, he plucked Lola from the cot and turned and started to walk out of the baby room.

But sir… Matron began, her eyes darting to the still-sleeping Grace. We can’t separate them, can we?

Peters stared hard at Matron. The silence between them lengthened and in that instant Matron knew that to defy Peters would be an act of folly; he could make life very hard for her, she knew. And so she nodded and fell into step next to Peters as he carried Lola out of the room.

From the moment their eyes met, it was a done deal. Freshly washed and clothed and now housed in the other baby room that was used only when VIPs visited the Tumaini orphanage, Lola’s natural beauty was unmistakeable. Where other babies had smiled or wailed, Lola simply stared, her wide hazel eyes almost assessing. Slowly, Scarlet reached for the girl and Lola came to her willingly, without fuss. As she’d cooed at the girl, finally Scarlet had won a smile and she knew then that this was the baby for her. The paperwork was already in process and by nightfall that day Lola Biko, born in a shantytown, would be sleeping in a cot in the grandest five-star hotel that South Africa had to offer.

A week later, after all the excitement had died down, Peters heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction. It had all gone off without a hitch. The news outlets, always eager for human-interest stories and new angles on the apartheid story, had embraced their story. Peters had been interviewed by news stations, he had spoken of the plight of these parentless African children and what the outside world could do to support and help. Already letters stuffed with dollar bills, pounds sterling, German Marks had been arriving. All their fortunes were rising.

Peters strolled slowly through the darkened corridors of the orphanage and inhaled deeply on a cigarette. He thought about the changes he would make: the peeling walls would be transformed, they’d get more beds so fewer children would have to sleep on the floor, maybe they’d get a typewriter for the classroom. So what if he happened to get a Mercedes too? Or perhaps a BMW. Everybody wins, he thought to himself.

As he approached the baby room, he saw that a light was still on. Matron was completing her checks and now she lingered by the last cot in which Grace lay alone. Peters approached Matron and together they stared down into the cot. The girl’s hazel eyes were open, glassy and unfocused and she made a weak croaking sound.

She won’t eat, Matron said quietly.

Peters stared at the girl. She looked even thinner than she had just days ago and her breath was loud and laboured. Grace stared intently, eyes identical to Lola’s stared straight at him and for a moment Peters felt a shaft of fear; he fancied that he saw something like reproach in her eyes. Then, he shook it off. He was a modern man, educated; he did not subscribe to old African superstitions. Slowly, her hazel eyes closing almost unwillingly, as though she was fighting it with as much strength as she could muster, Grace settled into sleep. And Peters gave a small sigh of relief.

What about her? What if anyone finds out? Matron asked softly. Peters sighed and stared at the girl again. That she was in decline was clear for anyone to see. Peters had seen the same thing time and time again, babies that came to the orphanage that simply wasted away. He took the cigarette butt from his lips and ground it out underfoot and then he spoke.

She is wasting. Look at her, she’ll be dead before the month is out.

And then Peters turned and walked away putting Grace firmly to the back of his mind.

In sleep, Grace reached out, her tiny fist grasping at air, where her twin sister had been.

PART ONE

BROKEN MIRROR

CHAPTER 1

SEVENTEEN YEARS LATER

By the end of the night, Lola Wilde would be back to her bad old ways.

But for now she was a vision in a sparkly Gucci mini dress that by her past form was remarkably modest. The terrace of her mother’s home in the Hollywood Hills was decorated in twinkling fairy lights and the lit pool sparkled an iridescent blue in the cool Californian night. The glass doors into the house had been thrown open and Lola stared at the gathered crowd of her mother’s people. To call them friends would be overstating, Lola thought, Scarlet never really made friends. She just seemed to collect hangers-on, ex-husbands, wannabes.

Lola stared at the tall Christmas tree that sparkled inside the house and she sighed deeply and wished she might be anywhere but here. The murmur of conversation drew Lola’s gaze and she stared without interest at the guests that had gathered for Scarlet’s annual holiday party. It was the usual crowd of industry people – actors and producers who had long since passed their peak, rather like her mother. The uncharitable thought caused a smile to spread across Lola’s face. As she continued to scan the crowd, a deep, masculine laugh drew her attention and she turned in the direction that the sound had come from. Lola stared at the tall, broad back of a young man in a white shirt who commanded the attention of a pair of blondes, all three were still laughing. Lola shifted slightly to get a better look at the man. He was tall and his Afro hair was shaved low. Something about his profile was familiar and a memory teased at the corner of Lola’s mind. As though sensing her scrutiny, the man turned to stare directly at Lola. Surprise lit up her face. It was Lucas, the pesky kid from next door who had followed her around one summer after he’d developed a crush on her. When had Lucas filled out and shot up? The last time she had seen him he’d barely grazed her shoulders, now he resembled some young male model fresh off the European catwalks. Not that she should be surprised. Lucas Carter’s equally beautiful parents formed the band The Carters, and they were Soul legends, Motown Hall of Famers. Lucas was always going to grow up pretty. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Lucas raised a glass with a small smirk and Lola had no choice but to raise her own back in a silent toast. For a moment, she thought he might come over but he turned back to his two companions and Lola felt an unexpected burst of rejection.

What the hell are you doing? Lola’s attention was wrenched away from Lucas and she barely had time to react to the words before the glass she held in her hand was grabbed by Scarlet. Lola watched as her mother took a sip from the glass that she’d been slowly nursing all night. She saw the grimace of surprise on her mother’s face. Water, Scarlet said.

Lola gave her mother a challenging stare and then her gaze drifted up and down to appraise Scarlet’s body, which was sheathed in an eye-catching red creation that made her look like Jessica Rabbit.

Nice dress, she drawled. Lola watched her mother’s eyes narrow and then Scarlet handed the glass back to her.

I paid a fortune for that rehab clinic, so stay away from the champagne.

Of course, Mother. The last word was laced with malice and Lola smiled as she saw her mother wince. They’d agreed, when Lola was five years old, that she would always call her Scarlet and there was nothing quite like going back on that rule to make Scarlet furious. And Lola suddenly realised that she wanted to make Scarlet furious, she wanted to goad her mother into some sort of reaction. Lola took another sip of water and flicked her long, straightened brown hair over her shoulders, turning her back on Scarlet. She stared at the glittering white lights that illuminated the grid of streets of downtown Los Angeles and forced a soothing breath out of her chest as she tried to relax. She’d spent three long months in the Arizona desert with no one to talk to, no phone, no TV, no contact at all with the outside world and she felt a seductive desire to lash out at someone.

It was nice of you to visit me, Lola said as she turned around to face her mother again. As they stood toe to toe, Lola felt a thrill of realisation; she and Scarlet were now the same height, when had that happened?

Don’t turn this into a big deal, Scarlet muttered looking everywhere but at her. At her mother’s words Lola felt a wave of anger, she had an overwhelming desire to upend the contents of her glass over Scarlet’s head but instead she took a deep breath and tried to remember the calming techniques that they’d discussed in group therapy.

You look pretty in that dress, I picked that for you.

Lola shook her head with a small smile, always the same Scarlet. Why bother with an apology when a pointless compliment might do the job? Lola felt the anger drain out of her. She was done being Scarlet’s trophy, she had her own life to lead and a plan that she had set in motion months ago.

I’m moving to New York next year, Lola said firming her shoulders. I’ll get my GED and I’m going to NYU, to the drama school. For a long moment, mother and daughter stared at each other and then Scarlet spoke.

Do I get a say?

No, Lola replied and then stopped as Scarlet reached for her, her mother’s hand snaking out to grasp her forearm. They so rarely touched each other that it surprised Lola and she looked into Scarlet’s eyes surprised by what she saw. Scarlet seemed almost regretful.

Lola, the thing is…

Heeeeey! Both Scarlet and Lola jumped at the squealed interruption and even as Lola was stepping away from her mother, another body was launching herself at her, flinging skinny arms around her neck. You’re back. Amber. Lola smiled and turned to her best friend of ten years, barely noticing that Scarlet had disappeared back into the house, melting away into the throng of party guests.

I am fucking back, Lola replied taking a look at Amber who was spilling out of a Tom Ford for Gucci dress, with a giant cut-out side that exposed her tiny waist.

Six months goes so fast, Amber said. Lola grimaced.

Not if you’re the one locked up in hell.

Sorry sweetie, God was it awful? Did they keep you on lockdown and give you sponge baths, did someone try to make you their bitch? As always, words seem to leap out of Amber’s mouth, as though she didn’t need to pause for breath or even thought. Lola smiled, she was back.

"Amb, it was a $4000 a night rehab facility not prison. Trust me there were hot showers, cordon bleu chefs and more than a few Teen Beat heart throbs."

For real? Amber squealed. Let’s blow this place, get a drink and you can tell me everything. Noting the tightening of Lola’s expression, Amber shrugged. Fine, you’ve changed, I’ll drink and you can be our designated driver.

I can’t blow this place yet. Scarlet wants me to mingle and be the perfect daughter. Amber sighed.

Fine, I guess I can get wasted here.

For sure, Lola smiled as they moved towards the house together.

They were turning heads.

Lola and Amber had always turned heads, from grade school to high school, wherever they went. It was no surprise given that they were total opposites. Where Lola was black, tall with curves that supermodels went under the knife to achieve, Amber was tiny, only just hitting 5ft, with freckled, milky-white skin and fire-engine red hair. What she lacked in height, Amber more than made up for in curves and personality. It helped too that both Lola and Amber were as close to royalty as Hollywood got.

Lola, as the only child of actress Scarlet Wilde, always commanded interest and though Scarlet had largely disappeared from the public eye, Lola still raised interest among the Californian elite in which she’d been raised. Her adoption, her expulsions from various prep schools and her notoriously rocky relationship with Scarlet, who’d realised too late that you couldn’t back out of motherhood when it started to impinge on your social life, had become the stuff of legend. Lola’s first arrest had briefly made it on to the Entertainment Weekly round-up, on a slow news day. Like her mother before her, it was said that Lola knew how to put the wild in Wilde. As for Amber Logan, daughter of the renowned cinematographer Lucien Logan and the deceased Alicia Logan, Playmate of the Year 1987, she too had had a similarly documented childhood. Like her best friend, Amber was known to play hard but unlike Lola, Amber’s greatest skill lay in her ability to never get caught.

So you’re being a good girl tonight.

Lola grimaced as she felt the whispered words against her ear and a persistent hand stroking her shoulder. She should have stayed in the living room, in full view of the other guests. On the deserted back patio, Lola glared at Stefano, step-father number three or was it number four? She stepped away giving herself some distance from Stefano who, even in his days as her daddy, had always had a touch that lingered too long.

I don’t know what you mean, Lola replied sharply and looked back into the kitchen window, where she could see Amber was glugging down another Absinthe cocktail while holding court with some producers. Lola had had enough. I’m going, she told Stefano shortly and began to walk back into the house. She felt his clammy paw on her arm, pulling her back and she had no choice but to stop.

Lola, you break my heart, Stefano said, throwing a hand to his head in a melodramatic flourish. Stefano’s melodramatic flourishes had won him several awards as a musical composer but Lola had always been wary of him.

Stefano, I’m going, she repeated as firmly as she could without causing a scene. She tugged at her arm and after a moment Stefano let her go. Without a backward glance Lola marched towards Amber, determined to get them away from the party.

Oh Jesus Amber, Lola stepped back and watched as her friend emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. Lola held up a hand towel to her friend as Amber washed her face in the basin and then stumbled out of the en suite into her bedroom, where she sprawled onto Lola’s bed.

Sleep, Amber muttered and within seconds, her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling evenly.

Shit, Lola muttered and, with a sigh, she turned the lamp down, leaving only a small orange glow in her large bedroom and then she exited the room, closing the door gently behind her. From downstairs, Lola could hear the dull murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of glasses and bursts of laughter. She contemplated heading back to the party, when suddenly, in the darkened hallway, she felt arms on either side of her body. Immediately, Lola froze and then she began to struggle against the warm heavy bands that caged her against the door.

It’s only me. Stefano’s slurred words came against her ear and Lola recoiled as he tried to kiss her.

Stop it, she shouted but almost immediately his hand was against her mouth, smothering her words.

We don’t have to pretend any more.

With a muffled scream of fury, Lola forced her mouth open and she sank her teeth into Stefano’s fingers. He let out a scream and in that split second, Lola raised her knee to his groin and felt a wave of satisfaction as he doubled over.

You fucking bitch, Stefano screamed. He lashed out with one of his arms but Lola ground down on his foot with her stiletto and watched him yelp in pain.

You are a disgusting pig and I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth. I am going to New York and I don’t ever want to see you near me. You ever come near me again and I will call the cops. Lola started for the stairs, knowing that Stefano’s inebriated fog was clearing. It was the furthest he had ever gone and she could already see him starting to rationalise his actions.

Lola, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He moved towards her but Lola backed away, ready to strike out at him.

I’m warning you… Lola saw something leap in Stefano’s eyes.

You’re warning me. Stupid little girl, go to New York, go to NYU. Lola felt a muscle twitch in her eye and she saw the glint of triumph in Stefano’s eyes.

How do you know about that? The words were torn from Lola as a dark suspicion took shape in her mind and started to grow. Stefano gave a hoarse laugh still rubbing at his bleeding hand.

You thought you got in, on your own merit? Stefano gave another snort of laughter. Stupid, stupid girl. You didn’t even graduate high school. You’re good for nothing, fucking and screwing maybe, but not much else. Scarlet paid them, promised to build their new drama wing. She wants you gone… But Stefano did not get to finish his words because Lola’s closed fist had shot out and in a single focused punch she shattered his nose.

Lola staggered down the stairs reeling from Stefano’s revelations. She felt as though the walls were closing in on her and she darted out the front door, avoiding the party guests. She could not see Scarlet, didn’t know what she might do if she had to confront her mother right now. Lola ran towards her car, when suddenly a tall, solid body blocked her way.

Where are you going? Wearily, Lola speared Lucas with a glance.

Go away, Lucas. For a moment Lola thought he might heed her words but she saw the way his eyes darted over her, saw the tightening of his gaze as he saw the tear in her dress.

What happened? He demanded and Lola was startled by how much Lucas had grown. He was still only sixteen and yet he seemed older, commanding even.

Lucas, leave me alone. Lola stepped around him and wrenched open the door to her Porsche.

Whatever you’re going to do, don’t do it. Please. That last word stilled Lola for a moment, and she caught a glimpse of the boy that had trailed around after her one long, hot summer.

Lucas, stop trying to be my guard dog.