Winter White

by Jen Calonita

  “Who cares about the Ingrams?” Izzie cried. “What I care about is the truth. Why were you there?” Their dad didn’t answer. “It doesn’t matter. Everyone already knows what a joke I am. I just can’t believe I fell for the joke, too. Well, not anymore. I shouldn’t be doing cotillion and pretending to be someone I’m not.”

  “Cotillion!” Callista tried to change the subject. “Now that would be a super place to smooth things over.”

  “Not now, Callista,” Mira’s mom warned.

  “You can forget about cotillion,” Izzie told Callista. “I don’t belong there.” She stared at their dad. “And I don’t belong here, either, if you can’t be honest with me.”

  “Isabelle, please try to understand.” His voice was strained. “If you would just give me a few days till this new feeding frenzy dies out, I can tell you why I was at the community center, but right now there is too much else going on to worry about Harborside!” Izzie was taken aback by his tone. “I need us to weather this new storm first. Then maybe if we can go to cotillion together, this will all blow over,” he said, lowering his voice. “You have to trust me.”

  Mira stared at her father as if she didn’t even know him. “Trust you?” she asked. “Like we did with this campaign? Dad, ever since you decided to run for U.S. Senate, our lives have been turned upside down. We haven’t even made it past the primaries, and every other day, there is a story in the papers about our family or someone is talking about us at school. When are you going to give it up, already, and put us first?” His face looked pained.

  “Who cares how we look to the rest of Emerald Cove?” Izzie agreed. “We’re miserable! We’re barely talking to each other. Who are we trying to kid by showing up at cotillion? Half the room is going to be talking behind our backs, anyway.”

  “She’s right,” Mira said, the depressing reality dawning on her. “Want to know what’s even sadder?” Her dad looked at her. “That you want us to go, after everything that has happened, just to save your stupid campaign. When you took us dress shopping, I thought maybe you were doing this for us.” Her eyes welled with tears. “But you were just doing this for yourself. I’m not going, either.” She hurried down the hall and flung open the sliding glass doors to the backyard. She had done enough talking for one day.

  Mira heard someone run out behind her. It was Izzie. They stared at each other wordlessly.

  When the back gate opened, Mira whirled around, ready to tell off her parents or the first photographer who got in her face. She had so much anger that she didn’t know what to do with it. But it wasn’t the press. It was Kellen.

  “Hey,” he said, pulling off the parka hood that was obstructing his face. He smiled. “I almost didn’t get in, but then I saw Hayden, and he said to head around back. It’s a mob scene out there. Are you okay?”

  He didn’t seem to notice her tear-stained face in the dimming light or how angry she must have looked. But she was angry. How could he betray her like that? She wished she could hit him, but that wasn’t her style.

  Kellen put his arms around her, not noticing how she steeled herself against him. “I called and called when I saw the story on the news, but your cell kept going to voice mail. I got here as fast as I could.” His face was full of worry, which made her almost laugh. He was a good liar.

  Izzie’s cell phone rang, and Mira was surprised to hear her pick up. “Hello,” she said in a dead voice, and walked to the other side of the patio to talk.

  “Is it true?” Kellen asked.

  “Is what true?” Mira eased herself out of his arms. It was funny to hear Kellen use the word true, considering what he had done.

  Kellen glanced at Izzie. “Is Izzie not actually your sister?”

  “I have nothing to say to you, Brayden,” Mira heard Izzie say with a hint of emotion slipping into her voice. “I was wrong about you and me.”

  “You want the truth?” Mira said calmly. “Okay. The truth is, Izzie is my sister. The papers made the story up, and my parents have the sealed lab results to prove it.” Kellen looked relieved, but she kept going. “But truth is a funny thing, don’t you think? Because if we’re talking about the truth, then maybe there is something you want to tell me, too.”

  “I don’t belong in your world,” she heard Izzie say to Brayden. Mira looked at her face, so strong despite how hard it had to be for her to say those words. “I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not. Table settings, cotillion dresses, waltzes… it’s not me. You let your family run your world. I’ll never let my new family dictate mine.”

  “Mira?” Kellen tried to get her attention. “I asked you why you keep talking about the truth.”

  Mira heard Izzie arguing on the phone, but she blocked it out and forced herself to do the uncomfortable: Confront Kellen. “I’m bringing it up because you haven’t been truthful with me. What happened to my painting? Did you sell it?”

  “Sell it?” Kellen sounded flustered. “You told me to hide it in your closet. Remember?”

  “I remember. I also remember telling you what was going on with my dad. How much Bill Monroe’s daughter hates him is for me to know, not the Post. My painting is going to be on the front page tomorrow,” she said bitterly. “How could you do that to me? I thought you liked me.”

  “I did, until you just accused me of selling you out,” Kellen said. The words stung, but she tried not to let on. Instead, she lashed back.

  “I know you said money was tight, but if you needed a loan that badly, you could have asked me,” Mira told him. “You didn’t have to make a quick buck selling my painting to a tabloid newspaper.”

  Kellen’s face crumbled. “Is that what you really think of me?” His voice was eerily calm. “I didn’t sell your painting, Mira. I’m not a thief. If it’s out there, then maybe you should ask yourself who would want to hurt you like that. It’s not me. I don’t need your money. I don’t need anybody’s money,” he said angrily. “But if you really knew me, you’d know that.” Kellen turned and walked back to the gate he had entered only a few minutes before.

  Despite willing herself not to, hot tears plopped down her face.

  “Don’t call me again, Brayden,” she heard Izzie say in a steely voice.

  It was hard for Mira to hear anything over her own crying. She’d lost her friends, her trust in her dad, and cotillion, and now she’d lost Kellen, too. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around. Izzie stood there, her cell phone hanging limply in her hand. Her lower lip was trembling, and one big, fat tear rolled down her cheek. It was the most upset Izzie had ever been in front of her. Mira wished she had a tissue so she could wipe her nose.

  Izzie offered her the next best thing: her hand. Mira looked at it for half a second before taking it. She held on tight as they walked to the pool house.

  Twenty

  Izzie had never spent much time in the pool house. That might have explained why it took her a minute to figure out where she was when she woke up late the next day on top of a bunch of outdoor cushions. Then the night before came flooding back to her like a bad dream—the cringe-worthy dinner party at the Townsends, walking out on Brayden, fighting with Bill, wondering if he really was her dad, finding out he definitely was her dad but that he was still a big, fat disappointment, and telling everyone she wasn’t going to cotillion.

  She heard loud snoring and rolled over. Mira was asleep a few feet away, so many seat cushions and throw pillows stacked beneath her that she looked like she was auditioning for The Princess and the Pea. Her one arm was thrown across her eyes in a dramatic fashion befitting Mira even if the snoring was not. Izzie thought about taking out her phone and capturing the image on video but decided against it. Mira had been through enough of her own drama the night before, too.

  Izzie threw off the pool towels she had used as blankets and tossed the pillow that had substituted for Lambie onto the couch. She couldn’t figure out why this place was called a pool house when it was big enough to be someone’s real house. It ser
ved as a shed for the outdoor furniture in the winter, but if the Monroes ever had guests, it could be a great guesthouse. There was a small kitchen, a changing area, a full bath, and a living room that had huge windows that overlooked the pool and the main house. Izzie could see movement through the den windows, but she wasn’t worried about anyone spotting her. Earlier that morning, Hayden had brought out a tray of food Aunt Maureen had prepared. Both girls had told him they weren’t ready to talk to anyone yet, which was code for “Keep Mom and Dad away.” The pool house was eerily quiet. Maybe it was the exhaustion from the wave of fights they had both been through, but it was now almost one in the afternoon, and neither of them had gotten up yet.

  There was a brief snort, followed by several more snorts, and then Mira shot up, seeming as confused about her whereabouts as Izzie had been. Her normally shiny, perfectly groomed hair was all frizz and flyaways, and she ran a hand across her mouth to stop the drool. But it was too late. Izzie had spotted it.

  “Morning, sleeping beauty. Or should I say, good afternoon?”

  Mira checked her watch, then fell back on the pillows, which made a squeaking noise—Izzie had forgotten Mira had a pool float under there, too. “Is it really one o’clock?” she moaned. “Why do I still feel so tired?”

  “Mental exhaustion—at least that’s what Dr. Oz would say.” Izzie started stacking the cushions.

  Mira sat up on her elbows. “You watch Dr. Oz?” She bit her lip to keep from laughing, which was a good thing, because Izzie glared at her.

  “Maybe. When I lived with Grams. You can learn some good stuff on there.”

  “I’m sure.” Mira glanced warily toward the windows. “If it’s day already, does this mean we have to go back inside?”

  Izzie sat down, as if the weight of that thought was too much for her. “Maybe they’re so busy dealing with the campaign fallout, they’ve forgotten about us.”

  “My mom would never forget about us,” Mira said wryly. “When I was little, my best friend, Joyce, lived three houses away, and we were always threatening to run away. We only made it as far as the bushes. By lunch, we were whining about food and sneaking in the house to use the bathroom. If I know my mom, she’s biding her time till dinner, when she knows we’ll cave.”

  “I would never cave for food. You can always scrounge up something to eat,” Izzie said, thinking back to her own runaway attempt. There was only one, right after her mom died. She spent a night in Kylie’s cramped apartment and Grams got her the next morning. They never spoke of it. It was almost as if Grams knew Izzie needed space to figure things out for herself. Maybe Aunt Maureen was the same way.

  “So what should we do, then?” Mira asked, arching her back and then turning into a yoga pose. “Hide out in here all day?”

  Izzie shook her head, staring out at the crisp, almost wintry day. Christmas decorations had started going up all over town. Not at the Monroes, though—everyone was so preoccupied, they hadn’t even bought a tree. Connor had been begging to get one.

  Hayden stuck his head in the pool house door. “Everybody decent?”

  “Don’t you know how to knock?” Mira asked.

  “You do know you’re sleeping in our backyard, right? I don’t have to knock.”

  Izzie could tell Hayden’s voice wasn’t its normally upbeat self. “What’s going on in there?” she asked.

  Hayden’s face twisted slightly. “A big decision was made last night while you guys were out here. Dad is pulling out of the race.” Izzie felt as if the air had been knocked out of her. “Callista pulled together a press conference for five PM today to announce it. He didn’t want me to tell you guys—he wants to tell you himself afterward—but I thought you’d want to know.”

  Mira and Izzie looked at each other, and Izzie wondered if they were feeling the same thing: guilt. She didn’t know why she thought her dad’s failed campaign was her fault, but she did.

  Izzie felt like the room was shaking. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Me, too,” Mira agreed, smoothing her hair. “I need a latte.”

  Izzie tilted her head. “I was thinking more like a jog or swimming a few laps.”

  Mira frowned. “Where? It’s freezing out. And besides, you’re still wearing your EP uniform.”

  Izzie groaned. She’d forgotten that. She turned to Hayden. “Could you…?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be back in five minutes with clothes.” Mira opened her mouth. “For both of you. But I make no promises your outfits will match.”

  Mira twisted one of her curls around her finger. “So you’re really thinking about going for a jog? I hate jogging.”

  Izzie just looked at her. “You play field hockey!”

  “But we don’t jog. We just kind of glide down the field,” Mira protested. “How about a walk through town instead? They had the tree-lighting ceremony last night, and I’m sure Main Street looks festive. It will cheer us up!” she suggested. “And we can get hot cocoa instead of lattes. Please?”

  Sometimes there was no fighting Mira. “Fine. We’ll walk.”

  By the time Mira got moving—she didn’t want to leave the pool house without makeup, which required Hayden to make another trip—it was almost two thirty.

  “Our last cotillion initiation starts in a half hour,” Mira realized as they neared Main Street. Her cheeks were pink, and Izzie couldn’t tell if that was shame, blush and bronzer, or the cold air.

  “I know.” Izzie put her hands in her peacoat pockets to keep them warm.

  “That is not why I suggested we walk into town, of course. I know we’re not going.” Izzie watched Mira’s hands ball into fists. “We’re not dressed for it. It’s a shame, though,” she said, and dropped a dollar into a bucket in front of a Salvation Army worker who was ringing his bell. “I was looking forward to finding out who our cotillion captain was. I wanted to thank her for giving Savannah such a hard time.”

  Izzie glanced at the sidewalk. Now did not seem like the right moment to admit she knew the answer to that question. Izzie couldn’t explain her relationship with Dylan to Mira. She wasn’t sure Mira would understand. Izzie didn’t understand it, either. Dylan had used her to make her own mom more miserable.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mira said. “We’re not finishing our initiation, because we’re not going to cotillion, and we can’t go to cotillion unless we do our initiation.” She side-eyed Izzie. “I didn’t really want to go, anyway.”

  “Liar. You told me you thought about cotillion more than you’ve thought about your own wedding day. And you haven’t stopped talking about your Amsale dress, even though you haven’t let me see it.”

  “My dress,” Mira said mournfully. “What am I going to do with it now?”

  “Uh, save it for an actual wedding, which is what the dress was made for?”

  Mira missed the point. “It won’t be in style by the time I get married.” She sighed. “Maybe I’ll just wear it around the house. Even if I wasn’t still mad at Dad, it’s not like I have a date. I’m never talking to Kellen again.” She covered her eyes, and Izzie noticed her nails had tiny flowers painted on them. “When I think about the paper running that picture of my painting, I’m so embarrassed. If the girls wouldn’t talk to me before, imagine what they’re going to say now!” Mira frowned. “And I feel bad Dad saw it.”

  “I still can’t believe Kellen sold it. It doesn’t sound like him.” Izzie went over the details all night when she was tossing and turning on those uncomfortable chair cushions. “But then again, I don’t get how the Ingrams knew the fake story about my lab results, either.” Izzie scowled. “I don’t know how you can stand that family.”

  “They weren’t so bad,” Mira said thoughtfully. “When Savannah liked me, they adored me and our family. But now that we’re on the outs and you stole her boyfriend…”

  “I did not steal,” Izzie corrected her. “And he isn’t mine anymore, either.”

  “What happened last night?” Mira asked
softly.

  Izzie’s wavy hair whipped around her face like a mask. She could hear the wind howling against some of the windows of the stores they passed. “He didn’t want me.” She heard how hoarse her voice sounded. It had given out on her.

  Mira was flabbergasted. “He said that?”

  “No,” Izzie had to admit. “But it’s obvious, isn’t it? If he wanted to be with me, he would have stood up for me with his mom and Dylan.” She shook her head. “He was too busy arguing with them to even realize I’d left. Brayden belongs with someone like Savannah.” She tried to convince herself of that by saying the words out loud. “He’s better off escorting her to cotillion.”

  “He is not!” Mira hit her in the arm. “Please tell me that is not happening. Did he really let his mom pick his date?”

  Izzie hesitated. The conversation came flooding back to her. “Well…” She hesitated. “Not exactly. Maybe at first, but last night he told his mom in front of the Ingrams and Savannah that he was taking me to cotillion instead.”

  Mira stopped walking. “But then… wait. Why are you mad at him?”

  “Because! This is about more than just cotillion,” Izzie said. “He had so many chances to stick up for me, and he didn’t do it till Dylan forced him to. And she only forced him to in order to make everyone in their house uncomfortable.” She exhaled, the cold air visibly coming out of her mouth. “I told him last night on the phone. It’s more obvious to me than ever that we don’t belong together. Our worlds are too different. His mom makes me realize every day that I don’t fit into his.”

  “Why do you let her make you feel like that?” Mira asked.

  Izzie could still hear the soft jingle of the Salvation Army collector a block behind them. “I don’t know. I guess people like her intimidate me.” She looked at Mira wistfully. “Sometimes I wish I could be more like you.” Mira seemed surprised to hear that, but thankfully she didn’t gloat. “It doesn’t matter who you’re talking to—someone you like or someone who can’t stand you—you always manage to know the right thing to say. You always sound so together.”