by Jen Calonita
Mr. Ingram, who reminded Izzie of a pudgy troll, dabbed at his mouth with his starched napkin. “Serves him right. If he had stuck with me on the coastal revitalization project, he might not have found himself in this sort of predicament.” Izzie wanted to lash out at him for that comment, but she knew it wouldn’t win her any favors in this room.
“Holden,” Mrs. Townsend said pleasantly, “why don’t we save the political discussions for after dinner? I know Chip has some Cuban cigars he’s been saving. You two can take them on the back veranda and discuss whatever nasty business is going on with our politicians.”
“What my mother is trying to say is, don’t bash Izzie’s dad when Izzie is standing right in front of you.” Dylan helped herself to a roll even though everyone’s plates were still empty. Brayden had taught Izzie that you never served yourself till your hostess was seated with her napkin in her lap. She suspected Dylan knew that.
“Isabelle,” Mrs. Townsend said, “why don’t you take a seat next to me?”
“Mom, I’d like to sit next to Iz,” Brayden said, surprising Izzie by opening his mouth, for once. “She is my guest.”
“But, Brayden, you were already sitting next to Savannah. You can sit across from Isabelle instead.” Izzie wasn’t about to argue. She took a seat next to Mrs. Townsend and waited to see what Brayden would do next.
He stood there for a moment, as if the words were on the tip of his tongue, then sat down next to Savannah, who smiled at Izzie smugly.
“Smart move, Brayden,” Dylan said as she buttered her roll. “Always do what Mommy says.” Brayden’s face flamed, but so did Izzie’s. Why does she have to make me feel so uncomfortable? Blackbeard clearly wanted her to stay. He took a seat on Izzie’s feet.
Brayden held up the Entenmann’s box and passed it to the housekeeper. By this point, Izzie had forgotten she had even brought it. “Iz brought this for dessert.”
“Is that boxed cake?” Savannah asked. The hint of condescension in her voice was noticeable only to Izzie. “You’re so sweet to bring dessert,” she added with a smile that reminded Izzie of the cat from Alice in Wonderland. “We got Mrs. Townsend a custom Butter Me Up cake, since it’s her birthday next week, but I hear the supermarket kind is good, too.”
“Oh, God, Savannah,” Dylan said, chewing her roll with her mouth open. “Don’t act like you’ve never had boxed cake before.”
Dylan was purposefully being over the top to get a rise out of her mom, and she was succeeding. Everyone at the table looked uncomfortable. Izzie might have had issues with people, but she tried to never take them public if she could help it. It made her wonder if she was as much like Dylan as she’d thought. She tried to make eye contact with Brayden, but he was too busy staring down his sister.
Mrs. Townsend motioned to her husband. “Would you talk to your daughter, please?”
Mr. Townsend shrugged, as if he were bored with the dinner already. He barely said a word about anything, Izzie noticed. Brayden said he couldn’t be bothered with family matters, and Izzie couldn’t help thinking of the differences between this man and Bill. Her dad showed up at his kids’ games, meets, and school events. In the few months Izzie had been in Emerald Cove, she couldn’t recall a single time she had seen Chip Townsend at anything.
“Dylan, I would like you to keep your comments to yourself.” Mrs. Townsend’s cheeks were pinched. Izzie stared at the bread to avoid the awkwardness. She was getting kind of hungry.
“Aww… am I embarrassing you? Too bad.” Dylan’s face was full of fury. “Why? Because I speak my mind? Or because I won’t kiss the ground the Ingrams walk on so they don’t talk about us behind our backs? That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it, Mother? To make sure you’re the one doing the backstabbing rather than being stabbed yourself?”
“Dylan, stop,” Brayden muttered.
Dylan glanced at the Ingrams. They seemed to be enjoying the family meltdown. “That’s why you still have these people over for dinner. Not because you actually like them, but because you don’t want them to dislike you even though your son dumped their daughter.” Mrs. Ingram’s arched eyebrows went higher if that were possible, and Savannah’s face paled. “You do know that, right? That Brayden and Savannah broke up weeks ago?”
“But…” Mrs. Ingram apparently didn’t. She looked from Brayden to Savannah, who wouldn’t make eye contact with her mother. “Aren’t you two going to cotillion together? Savannah, you said in Paris that…”
“Why don’t we discuss this later,” Mrs. Townsend said quickly. “The dinner is getting cold.” She picked up a bowl of collard greens and passed them to Izzie.
“I’m escorting Iz to cotillion,” Brayden spoke up and stared across the table at Izzie. She froze with the collard greens in her hands. “She’s the one I want to go with.” He glanced at Savannah. “We broke up a while ago. You had to know I would want to go with Izzie.” Savannah didn’t answer him.
“Well, I didn’t.” Mrs. Ingram threw down her napkin and looked from Mrs. Townsend to Izzie, who sat quietly, afraid to put down the bowl in her hands. She had never seen anyone argue like this over dinner, and that said something, considering all the reality TV she’d watched. “This is embarrassing, Abigail. I thought you told me Brayden was escorting Savannah. We agreed he would.” She pointed her finger at Izzie. “This girl is not even a real Monroe!”
“Excuse me?” Izzie felt the need to jump in now. The housekeeper rescued the collard greens before she dropped them.
“Oh, please,” Mrs. Ingram told her, losing the dignified air Izzie usually saw her maintain. “We all know the truth. My husband told us today! You’re not Bill Monroe’s daughter. He faked the lab results to get ahead in the polls.”
Izzie felt her hands go numb. “That’s not true.”
“The press is over at your house right now grilling him about it,” Mrs. Ingram said smugly. “And I plan on hearing all about their discovery tonight on the news. At least at home, I can eat without rude interruptions or animalistic behavior.” She glared at Dylan. “Let’s go, Savannah. We’re leaving. Now.” Mr. Ingram and Savannah quietly followed her out of the dining room. Savannah couldn’t help throwing Izzie one last death glare on the way out.
“Vivian! Let me explain,” Mrs. Townsend said desperately. “Would you do something?” she whispered heatedly to her husband before disappearing down the hall.
“Yes.” Mr. Townsend stood up. “I’m going to get something to eat and take it on the patio. I didn’t want to have them over in the first place.”
“I’m going to leave, too,” Izzie said, placing her napkin on the left side of her plate. She could hear ringing in her ears, and she felt queasy. Did her father really switch the lab results? Was she not actually Bill Monroe’s daughter after all? Where did that leave her? The questions whirled in her mind.
“I’ll go with you,” Brayden said, but Izzie put her hands up to stop him. There were too many emotions in this room, and she was having a hard time figuring out which ones were her own. “I think I need to be alone.”
“I hope you’re happy,” Mrs. Townsend said, flying into the dining room and surprising everyone but Dylan, who barely flinched. She stood up to face her. “The Ingrams are furious, and they have every right to be! You’ve ruined everything!”
“In my opinion, things are finally fixed,” Dylan said. “Brayden is taking Izzie to cotillion, and I made the Ingrams feel as small as they made me feel when they told everyone at the club that I had flunked out of Vanderbilt already and was slumming it with some guy in Harborside.”
Izzie looked up. Dylan was talking about Kylie’s brother. But didn’t she say she had left Vanderbilt, not failed out? Dylan glanced at Izzie quickly and looked away.
Dylan had used her. She thought she and Dylan were friends who had a lot in common, but apparently she was wrong. Dylan had cozied up to her to get under her family’s skin. Brayden had been right about Dylan, but it didn’t make Izzie feel any better.
/> “Why did you have to involve Iz?” Brayden shouted.
Izzie watched Dylan, Brayden, and Mrs. Townsend tear into one another again. All they did was fight and use one another. They have no idea how lucky they are to have family, she thought. Well, she wanted no part in their charades anymore. While they were distracted, she quietly walked out of the dining room. Ms. Norberry would be disappointed if she knew Izzie didn’t thank her hostess for a lovely evening, but the truth was, it hadn’t been one.
Nineteen
Since Izzie wouldn’t be back till after dinner, Mira had persuaded Hayden and Connor to take a long walk around the neighborhood after Kellen left. It was an unusually warm night for late fall, and after everything that had happened, Mira just wanted to get some fresh air. Izzie was waiting for them when they got close to home, but strangely, she was standing on a lawn a few houses away. Mira didn’t know why till she got closer.
“Who are all those people on our lawn?” Connor asked, watching what Mira knew for certain was the kind of media frenzy people usually saw on TV. “And why do they have cameras and those long microphones on sticks?”
Photographers were swarming their front porch, the driveway was packed with reporters setting up video cameras, and vans had trampled their front lawn. Mira stepped in front of Connor, worried the sight of all this would scar him for life. “Maybe we should go for another walk.”
“I’m tired,” Connor complained.
“Why don’t we call Mom and Dad and see what they want us to do?” Hayden suggested, and reached in his pocket for his cell phone.
Izzie laughed to herself. “Yes, let’s call Dad. Darling Daddy.” Her feet were tapping a mile a minute. It was close to nine at night, and Mira noticed Izzie was still in her uniform. Izzie hated the plaid skirt and itchy kneesocks and couldn’t wait to tear them off every afternoon. So why did she still have them on today?
“Are you okay?” Mira had learned asking Izzie that question sometimes brought on more problems than it was worth.
“I’m fine,” Izzie said, looking anything but. She ran a hand through her dark hair. “Considering I have no idea where I’m going to sleep tonight. Or the next night or…”
But there was no time to decipher Izzie-speak, because the next thing she knew, the pack of news people was heading their way. The four of them grabbed for one another, not hearing the SUV screech to a halt in front of them on the sidewalk.
“Get in!” Callista yelled, throwing open a passenger door.
Before Connor was strapped into his booster seat, Callista took off around the block, weaving in and out of their winding development before heading back down Cliffside Drive and pulling into the garage. The few reporters who hadn’t raced off after them stared in shock as the garage door went down in front of their faces. They were lucky the driveway was three cars wide. Callista didn’t take out any of their camera equipment.
“Super maneuvers, Jeff Gordon,” Hayden marveled. “You can drive my getaway car anytime.”
“Hayden,” Callista’s voice was strained. She hopped out of the car. “No joking about getaway cars, love childs, or lab-tampering. We’ve had enough talk like that for one night.” She glanced at Izzie. “Come inside. Your father needs to talk to you.”
Izzie slammed the door extra hard. “No, thanks. I’m going upstairs to pack.”
“What is she talking about?” Mira asked Callista. “Izzie, what is going on?”
“You’re even freaking me out,” Hayden said. “Can we do this inside? I’m getting a little nervous with all these heavy tools around for you girls to throw.”
Izzie went through the garage door that led to the family room, but she didn’t stop there. She kept walking and headed for the stairs. That’s where their dad was waiting. Mira’s mom hovered nearby.
“Thank God, you’re home. Did the news crews stop you?” They shook their heads. “Good. I need to talk to all of you about why they’re here,” he started to say, but when he saw Izzie’s expression, he stopped. He could tell she already knew what he wanted to talk about. “Isabelle, let me explain. Isabelle?” She tried to maneuver around him. “I know this sounds bad.” His hair was a mess, and he had dark circles under his eyes. Suddenly, Mira felt scared.
“Please don’t get upset,” Mira’s mom begged Izzie. She was disheveled, too. Her blond hair looked as if it hadn’t been combed, and even though she was wearing her tennis whites, Mira had a feeling she had never left the house. “The story isn’t true!”
“How am I supposed to believe you?” Izzie hurried upstairs. Halfway up, she changed her mind and whirled around, holding the banister. “I got ambushed by the Ingrams tonight! They knew the story about the mix-up at the lab before I did.” Her lower lip quivered. “They said I wasn’t really your daughter, and you knew.”
“Mix-up at the lab? What are you talking about?” Mira was perplexed. “Do you mean the story about the other love child?” Now everyone looked confused. “No? What are you talking about, then?” Everyone looked at Dad.
“Did you say the Ingrams?” was all her dad could manage to say. Izzie headed upstairs again. Realizing his mistake, he ran up the stairs after her. “Neither story is true. It’s all vicious lies.” Mira realized Izzie was visibly shaking. “You are my daughter. There is no other child. There’s just you.” The two stared at each other. “You are my daughter,” he whispered, trying to drill the truth into her.
“I am,” she said more convincingly, and then she sank onto the stairs and shut her eyes like the whole thing was too much for her to handle.
Mira’s mom looked at the others. “Connor, why don’t you go watch Phineas and Ferb. I’ll read you books in a bit.”
“Even though it’s late?” Connor asked hopefully.
“Even though it’s late.” She held her smile till he was around the corner, and then her face fell. “The papers are running a story about the lab that ran Isabelle’s paternity test,” she explained to Hayden and Mira. “They claim that we falsified the results.”
“What?” Mira couldn’t hide her surprise.
“The story is bogus, obviously,” her mom said. “We’ve spoken to the lab, and they’ve given a statement testifying to the true results.” She rubbed Izzie’s back while she stared sadly at Mira. “Someone is trying to destroy us. I just wish I knew why.”
“I’m sorry,” their dad said, sounding defeated. “What happens in this family should stay in the family. You guys didn’t sign up for this fight. Mira’s painting shouldn’t be front-page news.”
Mira’s head shot up. “My what?”
Callista glanced at Mira’s dad. “Your self-portrait. Mira, I’m so sorry, but the North Carolina Post somehow got a hold of it. They’re running it on the front page tomorrow.”
“How?” Mira cried. Her dad and mom didn’t say anything, but it was obvious they had seen the painting, too. “It was in my closet. How could anyone get their hands on it?”
“We don’t know,” Callista admitted. “That’s what we wanted to ask you about. Who else knew about your painting?”
“Just you, Hayden, and Kellen,” Mira said.
“Kellen?” Callista thought for a moment. “The boy who was here yesterday?”
“Yes, he’s my date for cotillion,” Mira said. “Why?”
“Nothing,” Callista said hastily. “If he’s your date, then you trust him, I’m sure.”
“Does something concern you?” Mira’s mom asked, and Callista side-eyed Mira.
“It’s just…” She hesitated. “If we’re the only ones who saw the painting, and you know Hayden and I would have no reason to take it, then the only other person who could have would be Kellen. I watched you hand him the painting.”
“Kellen’s a good guy,” Hayden said. “He wouldn’t do that to Mira.”
“How much do you actually know about him?” Callista asked. She took off her glasses as if they were hurting her eyes. “I know you like him, Mira, but would he have any reason to do thi
s?”
“No,” Mira said right away.
Callista tried again, her voice softer this time. “Could he have needed the money for anything? I know you go to an expensive school. Is his family well off?”
“He’s on scholarship,” Mira said, and glanced briefly at Hayden, “but that doesn’t mean he’d—”
“The Post paid big money for your painting,” Callista interrupted. “The holidays are coming. If he needed quick money, there’d be no easier place to get it than by selling a story—or a painting—to the papers.”
Mira shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that.” But she felt confused as she tried to piece the story together. Then who did? a voice in her head asked. He’s the only other person who knew where my painting was, and he did say money was tight at home. She felt the tears coming and couldn’t stop them. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said, even though he clearly sounded frustrated. “I can’t believe what we’ve let happen to us. When did we start hiding things from each other?”
“Like the community center?” Izzie asked, and he looked at her. “I saw you there a few weeks ago with the director.” Their dad shifted awkwardly. “You never told me you were going. Why were you there?”
“I can’t explain right now,” their dad said. “I’m sorry.”
“You seem to say that a lot,” Izzie said bitterly. “You’re really good at saying ‘I’m sorry,’ but you never follow through. Is that because you’re just telling more lies?”
“Isabelle!” Mira’s mom sounded surprised. “Don’t talk to your father like that.”
“I have a right to know.” Her voice was rising. “Are you trying to save yourself by siding with the Ingrams on their plan for the community center?”
“I’m not—did you say before that the Ingrams knew about the story with the lab results?” he asked. “How could they if it hasn’t run yet?”
