“He asked you to find me? That’s really rich.” I shook my head. “So in other words, you didn’t give a crap about finding me. Not until it was important to him. Congratulations! Mother of the year.”
“Jordan.”
“Jordana! It’s Jordana!”
“I don’t think I deserve to be spoken to this way.”
“Don’t you? Oh really? Well, I don’t think I deserved to be abused as a child. I don’t think I deserved parents who let me run away and never came looking for me. I expected that from him. But you? Obviously you figured out where I was at some point. And you still chose him over me!”
“Is that what you think?” Her voice was barely audible. I’d bruised her. I didn’t care.
“It’s the truth!” My tone was fierce. “I was a child, for God’s sake! You were supposed to protect me. He was a monster.”
“Don’t talk about your father that way, Jordan.”
“Jordana!” I shrieked. “And I’ll talk about him any way I’d like. I’m an adult. I get to do that. I’m not scared of him anymore.”
“I’m sorry.” She was sobbing now. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough,” I admonished, even though I knew, deep down, that the last thing she needed was another person to rebuke her. She’s had quite enough of that. And in the end, I was the one who ran. The one who left her behind without so much as a proper good-bye. What must that have felt like for her? To lose her daughter. To be alone. With him.
“You’re right. I was just as bad as he was.”
“That’s not true. You know that. You were his victim, just like I was. But you made a lot of mistakes. Maybe too many mistakes.” What if I let my resentment fade away and I don’t recognize myself anymore? What if all I can feel is pity?
“I shouldn’t have threatened you,” she volunteered.
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have gone to your apartment.” She swabbed the corners of her eyes with a cloth napkin.
“Honestly, that reassurance isn’t worth much. You got me here against my will.”
“I know you have a new life now. Very glamorous.” If only she knew.
“Please don’t be a martyr. I worked hard to get where I am.”
“No, I’m happy for you. I always wanted that for you. Something better. Something bigger. You were destined for that.” She was still crying, but softly. “I couldn’t give you that here. As much as I hate to say it, you did the right thing by leaving. I just wish—”
“Please don’t.” I held up my hand. I didn’t want to have to feel remorse.
“Sorry.” She sniffed one last time, cleared her throat, and then lifted her head. If nothing else, my mother’s learned how to recover. “When I said things changed after you left. I want you to know they changed for the better.”
“That’s fantastic to hear. So basically, once you got rid of me, life was suddenly one big fucking party?”
“No, not at all. That’s not what I meant.” She looked me in the eyes. “I was heartbroken when you left. That’s not something a parent just gets over, Jordana. You weren’t the only one in pain.”
“And again, Mom. I was a child. You were an adult. Don’t serve me that bullshit.”
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Fine, then just tell me what you want. I’m here now. What do you want from me? Money? I can write you a check and be on my way.”
“No!” I’d insulted her. “I don’t want a dime from you.”
“Then what?”
“Please just stay the night.”
“Are you joking?”
“No, I’m not. I’m asking you. I know you don’t owe me anything.”
“That’s for sure.”
“But I am still your mother. So, please,” she implored. “Even if you never do another thing for me again. And even if you don’t want to see your father. It’s been so long. And your room is ready for you.”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t pack any clothing.”
“You can borrow something of mine.”
“You know your stuff will be way too big on me. And anyway, I’m extremely busy at work.” I had plenty of excuses.
“Please, Jordana. If you do this for me, I’ll never ask you for another favor. You’ll never hear from me again.” She was desperate.
“Let me call my husband and my office. I’ll see what I can do.” I held a stern face. “But I am not going to see Dad. And that is not negotiable. I hope you can respect that.”
“I promise it’ll be worth it if you change your mind.”
“He’s already dead to me.”
She cringed. “I understand,” she said, even if she didn’t. “And thank you.”
26 KERRIE
I consulted the calendar to make sure I was right. There are less than three weeks left until the Doonan-Blunt wedding.
Ilana, the bridal assistant at the Oscar de la Renta atelier, has left four messages on our answering machine attempting to confirm that Tatiana’s two gowns are to be delivered to our office. In the last one, she said it was her final day on the job and that her colleague Melissa will be our point person moving forward. The thing is, Tatiana has three gowns, which presented me with an easy opportunity to carefully delete each message. By the time Jordana figures it out, Ilana will be long gone. And my hands will remain completely clean.
Now that I’ve disclosed my real identity to Sara and we share the common purpose of destroying Jordana and Arthur, it’s pretty much all I’ve been able to think about. I reached into my purse for my wallet and pulled out a passport-size black-and-white photo of my nana. I keep it tucked into the compartment behind my cash, so I can look at it every so often, specifically in these moments when I’m doubting myself. I sat there for a few minutes just staring at her placid smile, the way her eyes glinted. It may have been the flash of the camera, but I prefer to believe it was her inner spirit shining through, as it always did.
I thought about how, when I was younger, I yearned for something to segregate me from the people who said things like, “My mom is my best friend.” Or, “I’m such a Daddy’s girl.” The people to whom these things were givens. And these givens were irrefutable, because their memories were functioning archives of their shared pasts spiraling through the present and into the future like a spool of cotton candy. Sweet, airy, light. Easy. I’ve never been any of those things.
Sure, every now and then a flicker of a memory will ignite—a flimsy white blouse or a shock of brittle black hair—but I’ve come to realize that these flashes are merely recollections of old photographs or stories I was told by Nana. Even though, technically, I was an orphan, and we barely had the means to make ends meet, I always had a roof over my head.
Still, it wasn’t like Daddy Warbucks was mowing the lawn.
It was Nana—and Nana only—who stepped in to reprise the roles of mother and father until her final curtain call. When they found her, with her arms folded across her chest, as the world disintegrated around her.
I was twelve years old. Lost and alone.
And it was all Jordan’s fault.
I propped the photo on my computer keyboard and sat back in my chair, allowing the memories of that fateful night—when the sky was dim and the streets were clammy—to flood my brain. As I walked by her house, I had a direct view into the well-lit living room. They rarely kept their curtains drawn, odd considering all that they had to hide. Maybe her mother thought that if someone saw what was going on they’d report it to the authorities.
Everything happened in a heartbeat. Her mother and father were fighting. Gillian—I know her name now—looked like a modern-day June Cleaver in her yellow dress with pale blue flowers and a white apron tied around her waist. Jordan’s dad was wearing a thick green army jacket and grasping a rifle in his left hand. The kind of rifle you use for hunting. It looked like he’d just arrived home. He was red in the face, his finger er
ect, nearly pressed against Gillian’s forehead. I couldn’t hear what he was saying or make out the movements of his mouth, but—whatever it was—she was cowering.
That was when Jordan entered the room. She tried to insert herself in between them. To pacify her father, as best I could tell. But without warning, he pulled his free hand back and whipped his palm across her face in one fluid motion. She cradled her cheek and bowed her head. I couldn’t see if she was crying, but I wanted to cry for her.
What happened next was perhaps the most jarring. Jordan stood straight up to find her father’s gun pointed at both of them. I braced myself for the shot. Held my body stiff, like I could already sense the reverberations in my skull. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I just closed my eyes and waited. But nothing came. No shot. I opened my eyes again and, when I did, I saw Jordan lift up a chair and lunge at her father with every morsel of strength she had. She thrust all one hundred-something pounds of herself at him, until he tumbled to the ground and out of my sight. That was when she saw me. Standing frozen outside the window.
Our gazes fixed on each other’s, and I nodded. It’s going to be okay, I communicated, without actually saying it. You’ll be safe with me. I smiled and waved her toward me. And to my surprise, she came. She trusted me. Much in the same way she does now.
Jordan rushed out her front door and trailed me back to my house and—as I’d prayed she would—waited halfway down the block until my nana left for her night shift. That was when she knocked, and I invited her in.
“Are you hungry?” I asked. “Do you want a sweatshirt?” She was shocked and shivering. I didn’t mention what I’d seen. She didn’t either.
“Yes. Thank you.” I couldn’t take my eyes off her, this cool older girl who was in such dire straits, but I did, for just long enough to make her a grilled cheese sandwich and heat up a bowl of tomato soup. I stared at her while she ate, like she was some kind of otherworldly being. I couldn’t figure out what made her so impeccable. She had that something. Either you have it or you don’t. I don’t. I never have.
“Are you okay?” I watched as she nibbled on the crust and spooned the soup into her perfect pink mouth. I noticed the constellation of freckles that trailed across her cheekbones and over the bridge of her nose.
“I will be.”
“Do you have someplace to stay tonight?”
“Not really.” She shrugged. I’m ashamed to admit I was hoping she would say that. I wanted so badly to be an important character in her story. Someone she’d never forget.
“You can stay here.”
“Really?” She coiled a section of her long red hair around her index finger and gnawed on her bottom lip.
“Sure.”
“What about your parents?”
“I don’t have parents. It’s just me and Nana. And she won’t be home until tomorrow morning. You can sleep in her bed as long as you make it up before you leave.”
“That’s really nice of you. You don’t even know me.”
“We’re neighbors.” I smiled. I couldn’t tell her that I did know her. Or at least it felt like I did. “It’s not like you’re a complete stranger.”
“That’s true.” She smiled back. If she was wondering why I was so eager to please her, she never said as much. “That’s pretty.” She pointed to my necklace.
“Thanks. It’s my mother’s engagement ring.” My nana gave it to me on my tenth birthday, strung on a gold chain so I could wear it around my neck. It was my prized possession. The one thing I had left of my mom. I only took it off when I was sleeping.
“Is she . . .”
“Yes. She passed away. So did my father. Car accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Do you want to watch some TV?” I didn’t want to talk about my dead parents. And I definitely didn’t want her to feel sorry for me.
“Sure, that sounds good.”
For the next hour, we sat side by side on our old beige sofa, snacking on popcorn and drinking Sprite from the can while we watched sitcoms. Until eventually my eyes became heavy and I was fighting to stay alert.
“You look tired,” she said.
“I’m okay.” I didn’t want the night to end. I wanted more time with her. She seemed like the big sister I’d always wanted.
“I’m kind of exhausted myself.”
“Oh, sure. Do you want to go to bed?”
“I think so. I want to get an early start in the morning.”
“Okay. Follow me.” I walked her into Nana’s bedroom. “I can try to find fresh sheets.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can lie on top of the covers. It’s probably better that way.”
“You can borrow a pair of her pajamas if you want.” I knew she was way too tall to wear mine. “They’re in there. Help yourself.” I motioned to my nana’s dresser.
“Thank you.” She nodded. “You saved my life. I hope I can return the favor one day.”
“It was nothing.” I didn’t need anything in return from her. “Can I get you some water? Or an extra blanket?”
“Don’t suppose you have a lighter?” Jordan asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Matches?”
“Maybe somewhere.” I thought about where Nana might keep them.
“I guess you don’t smoke, then?”
“I’m twelve,” I replied, as if twelve-year-olds couldn’t smoke.
“Don’t start. It’s a shitty habit.”
“I can look in the kitchen drawers.”
“No big deal.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of her blue jeans and stuck one in her mouth. “I can use the stove.” She held the cigarette between her lips as she spoke. It looked so effortless.
“Okay, well then . . .”
“Good night.”
“Wake me up before you go. I’ll make breakfast.”
“That sounds great.” She smiled at me one last time. “And again, I really can’t thank you enough.”
“You’re welcome.” I smiled back.
I never did see Jordan the next morning. She never even slept over that night. It wasn’t until 7:00 a.m. that I awoke to a cloud of smoke filling my bedroom and spilling through the crack beneath my door. I jolted upright, as mind-bending fright permeated every cell in my body. There was a fire somewhere in the house. My instinct was to scream for Nana, but Jordan and I were the only ones there. I couldn’t open the door. And there was nowhere to stop, drop, and roll. That’s the first thing they tell you to do in the safety drills at school.
I reached to grab my necklace off the nightstand, but it was gone. I didn’t have time to look for it. I rushed toward the window, opened it, and climbed out, dropping the few feet to the ground, wearing only a knee-length T-shirt and no shoes. I thought about going back in. I’d saved Jordan once. She’d said it herself. How could I not try to save her again? But I knew better than to run into harm’s way, so instead I raced around the exterior of the house frantically, shrieking and crying at the top of my lungs. My feet carried me this way and that, through the muddy grass, which was sodden with dew. Until I couldn’t move any more. I just stopped in our front yard, fell to the ground, and hugged my knees to my chest, as I rocked back and forth, howling into the eerie silence. Why didn’t anyone hear me?
I don’t know how long I sat there alone, praying that she would appear. But eventually the blare of sirens sliced through the unnerving hush of my neighborhood as two fire trucks and a police car came pummeling to a stop outside. Before I knew what was going on, they’d invaded the house. I didn’t tell them that Jordan was in there, even when the cops questioned me. I was too shocked, and also too afraid to betray her. It didn’t matter anyway. She was already long gone. What I didn’t know is that Nana had come home early from her shift. And by that time, there’d been no sign of Jordan. My nana lit two candles in the kitchen, as she so often did. Then she went directly to sleep, unaware that the dial had been
left on low and the stovetop was emitting a steady stream of gas.
The fire never reached her room; they were able to put it out fast enough so that much of the house was still intact, including the dresser in her bedroom, without her hard-earned cash in it.
Still, my nana died that day. Of smoke inhalation.
And Jordan took everything from me. Nana’s money. My mother’s engagement ring. And the person I loved the most in the world.
I cannot let her get away with it.
The phone rang, jolting me from the past. Speak of the devil.
“Hello? Jordana Pierson Wedding Concierge. This is Olivia. How can I help you?” I answered through gritted teeth.
“Hi, Olivia. It’s me.” I seethed at the sound of her voice. It was impatient. As if someone was listening in. Clearly, she hadn’t gone to Boston. I knew that was a lie the moment it escaped her lips. “I’m just checking in. How’s it going?”
“All good here. Staying on top of everything.”
“Wonderful, thank you.” I heard her exhale.
“How are you doing?” I feigned concern.
“I’m okay. I guess.”
“I’m here if you need to vent.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that.” She spoke quickly. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Sure, anything.”
“It turns out that I’m going to stay the night. I have an old friend in Connecticut and I’m planning to stop there on the way home. So I need a little bit of clothing and my toiletries.”
“Absolutely.” An old friend?
“Great. So can you please take a cab over to my apartment right now? I’ll need my black silk pajamas. They’re in the top drawer of the dresser in my bedroom. The one closest to the bathroom. My undergarments are also there. Then I need the darkest blue jeans you can find—in the third drawer down. And a white cream L’Agence blouse, which should be hanging in the closet near the bed. And my toiletries . . . You know what? I’ll just text you a list. Okay?”
“Got it.”
“I’ll let the doorman know you’re coming and to allow you upstairs. He’ll have a spare key, too. Then if you could messenger everything to me, that would be amazing. I’ll text you the address. Tell them I need it immediately. My friend’s clothing is too big to borrow.”
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