It takes me less than ten minutes to change into shorts and a tank, apply sunblock, and find the brand-new sneakers in my closet. I stop by the kitchen for a granola bar and bottle of water, waving bye to Lizzie in the process. She smirks and makes kissy noises at my back. At least Vivian isn’t around—her routine is the same as it’s always been. On Sundays she golfs in the morning and spends the afternoon at the spa.
Outside, Finn waits in the car for me, engine idling and music crooning through open windows. He doesn’t bother looking my way when I yank open the passenger door. I’m barely buckled in when he accelerates toward the gates.
“I didn’t realize we were in a hurry,” I mutter.
His eyes cut to me. “Are you always this cheery in the morning? What’s wrong with a little adventure?”
“Do you always shame women for perfectly normal responses to idiocy?”
“Ha! Good one. You sound just like my sisters.” He shakes his head, lips twisted wryly. “I have to say, I’m kind of amazed you have a backbone at all. No offense, but I didn’t think the Avellinos were in the habit of raising feminists.”
“They aren’t,” I snap.
For the briefest moments, I’d been enjoying our banter. Not anymore. The world dims a bit with the reminder of the only reason we’re together in the first place. We’re not friends. Not lovers. Barely allies, despite the weird pseudo-intimacy we’ve shared. And the phone call last night.
“I brought you coffee,” he says, nodding toward the center console. “Yours is the front one. Molly told me how you take it.”
“Thanks,” I say stiffly. “Are we seeing Molly?”
Finn shakes his head, and my stomach sinks. “Come on, princess, did you really think we wouldn’t have to spend any time together? We’re supposed to be diving headfirst into a serious relationship. That means we need to get used to each other. Trade information.”
I sip my coffee in silence, which is the only meaningful response I can give. Trade information. What a perfect way to describe what we’re doing—offering up pieces of our lives to build a fabricated bond.
I’ve spent six years—a lifetime, really—lying about my past to anyone who cared to ask about it. But now that I can tell the truth, I don’t feel any relief.
Because the truth is still entwined with lies.
“I have three sisters,” he says in the tense silence. “The youngest is three years older than me. That’s Michelle. Then Sydney, who’s two years older than Michelle. Abby is the oldest. Not to say she’s old or anything. She’s forty this year.”
He pauses, and I know it’s so I can say something. Ask a question. Pretend any of it matters, that I actually care. I don’t have it in me, though, so I only nod.
“All right, then. Let’s see… Abby and Michelle are nurses. Pediatric and ICU. Sydney is an elementary school teacher, like my mom was. All three are married with kids. I have seven nieces and nephews. The oldest is ten, the youngest a year and a half.”
“Seven?” I echo in spite of myself. I’ve never been around kids and wouldn’t know the first thing about handling one, let alone multiples.
He grins. “My sisters are rock stars. I don’t know how they do it. Kids kinda freak me out.”
“Me too,” I admit.
“Yeah? Well, there you go. We have one thing in common. We’re afraid of children. I blame too many horror movies when I was a kid.”
I nod. “The Omen.”
“Exorcist.”
“Children of the Corn.”
Finn’s whole body shudders. “Pet Cemetery.”
Laughter bubbles out of me. “Okay, we can stop now.”
He grins. “Another thing in common—not a fan of horror movies?”
“At least ones with evil kids.” I pause. “How did you know you wanted to be a photographer?”
Surprised eyes flicker my way. Hell, I’m surprised, too. Why did I ask that? Who cares?
“It was an accident, actually. I was a sophomore at UC Berkeley, majoring in journalism, when one night at a party a friend asked me to take some photos. It was the first time I held a Nikon.”
“Love at first touch?”
“And sight. I was hooked. When I looked at the world through a lens, it made sense in a way it hadn’t before. It was like magic.”
“And now?”
He shrugs. “What matters is that now I have the financial freedom to live how I want.”
“Wow. That’s sad.”
He stiffens. “Why?”
“Besides the fact you just reduced the value of art to a dollar bill?” I laugh bitterly. “Who am I to judge, though. Good for you. Now you have the financial freedom to pursue other lifelong goals like blackmail and entrapment. And who cares about collateral damage, right?”
The air in the car turns frosty.
“Molly says I should trust you, Callisto, but it’s hard when you make me wonder what your motives are. Do you want the same things I do? Or do you want to stand in my way?”
26
The rest of the drive is tense and silent. It’s not a short trip, either, at just over an hour, and for the last twenty minutes we’ve been driving through L.A.’s version of the middle of nowhere—the Angeles National Forest. Contrary to the name, so far I’ve seen more tumbleweeds than trees.
Every time I have the urge to ask him what we’re doing, I bite my cheek until it passes.
By the time Finn pulls off the road into a small parking lot, I’ve consumed my coffee, water, and granola bar. Any curiosity about our destination takes a backseat to my screaming bladder. Thankfully there’s a standard-looking campground attached to the parking lot. With bathrooms—rudimentary but clean.
Agony gone, I slip my sunglasses on and step into the sun, finally able to take in details of my surroundings. Lo and behold, craggy trees dot the area, thickening to a forest behind the campground and rising in the distance to low mountains. I take a deep breath, greedily sucking the smog-less air and fading coolness of the morning.
Footsteps approach me, crunching over gravel. I don’t have to look to know it’s him. The way he moves is familiar. Like a song I hate to love and would never admit listening to.
“Have you been out here before?” Finn asks, handing me a baseball hat and a bandana. At my questioning look, he says, “To keep the sun off the back of your neck.”
“No, I haven’t been here,” I concede, pulling on the hat and trying unsuccessfully to attach the bandana.
Finn takes over, fingers gentle in my hair as he adjusts my ponytail and tucks the fabric under the band of the hat. “I used to come here a lot, years ago, when I lived in the city.”
I frown, turning to look up at him. “Where do you live?”
He smiles, but even though I can’t see his eyes behind dark lenses, I can tell it doesn’t reach them. “I like to think of myself as a nomadic artist. Versatile. Open to opportunities.”
“You don’t have a home?” I blurt, then realize the ridiculousness of me making the statement. “Never mind. I’ve lived out of a duffel bag for years.”
“We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
I sniff out a noncommittal, “Hmph.”
His smile grows a touch. “We’ll hit shade about a half-mile in, but this trail gets a little technical. You up for it?”
“I’m not afraid of technical.” I nod toward his backpack. “I’m assuming you have water and food?”
“Of course not,” he deadpans, “but I did pack crayons and a kite.”
My lips betray me, tilting at the corners. “What on earth made you want to bring me out here?”
I’m hoping for the quick, rational explanation that Molly told him he should. But in true Finn form, he doesn’t do what I want him to.
“I wanted to take you somewhere that would remind you of Oregon. Molly mentioned you did a lot of hiking in the forest up there, so I figured you’d enjoy this. It’s the closest I could get you to Solstice Bay.”
I have no words. Not
hing that doesn’t involve admitting what I don’t want to admit—that I’m floored. Touched. That were I a different woman and he a different man, I might swoon.
Instead, I say, “Thanks,” and set off for the nearby trailhead.
Finn wasn’t kidding—the trail is a bitch. But she’s as beautiful as she is sassy, thick with old growth trees, sloped and spiked from centuries of quakes and storms. She’s not my beloved, rain-and-wind swept Oregon forest, but she’s appreciated nonetheless. It doesn’t hurt that the jewel at her heart is a forty-foot waterfall.
By some stroke of luck, the trail isn’t too crowded, and when we reach the falls three miles in, there’s only a small group of hikers down by the pool.
“Hungry?”
My gaze veers from the water to Finn, standing on a flat rock-shelf some ten feet away with the backpack at his feet. His hat is turned backward, face flushed, eyes bright, sunglasses dangling from one hand. Sweat darkens his gray T-shirt, which clings to his shoulders and stomach. He looks like the center spread of an athletics magazine geared toward drooling women. He’s unnaturally, messily perfect. Knowing what he smells like, what his smooth, hot skin feels like only makes things worse.
My want is visceral, twisting my stomach into knots.
A dangerous thought wraps silken chords around my mind. What if I embrace the farce of being his girlfriend? Why shouldn’t I get to touch him? We’re obviously physically compatible, and he did say he wanted to—
“I’m asking if you’re hungry for food, princess. Not man-meat. But I’m glad you like what you see.”
Thank God my face is already flushed from the hike.
“Har har, asshole.” I make my way toward him. “Please tell me Molly made those sandwiches.”
“Pfft. I’ll have you know I make a mean sandwich. But yes, Molly made them. She said this was your favorite.”
I grab Molly’s signature chicken-salad on multigrain bread. “No more talking. Just eating.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I devour the sandwich and tank a bottle of water, then lower to my back and close my eyes. The waterfall churns nearby, dappled sunlight teases my face, and peace soaks into my body from the sun-warmed rock.
“Can I ask you a question?”
There goes my peace.
Shading my eyes, I frown at Finn. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“Probably not.”
“Whatever. Go ahead.”
“Why’d you do it? Fake your own abduction, allow your family and the world to think you were dead. It was so…”
“Elaborate? Extreme?”
“Yeah.”
My mood darkening, I sit up and shove my sunglasses back on my face so he can’t see my eyes. Pulling my knees to my chest, I stare at the waterfall.
“I told you about my second cousin, who was killed for being gay? Well, I had another cousin from that side of the family—this is my great-uncle’s branch, back east in Chicago. I’ve never met any of them. There was some old beef between my grandfather and his brother and the families barely speak. Anyway, my cousin wanted out. She was twenty-one and about to be forced into an arranged marriage. So she ran away with her boyfriend.”
“And it didn’t end well.”
“To put it lightly. She wasn’t stupid about it, either. No credit cards, nondescript car, left her cell phone and jewelry. Even cut off all her hair and dyed it. She could have been home free if she hadn’t called her mom a week later to tell her she was okay.”
“Her mom gave her up?” He’s incredulous, which only proves how differently we were raised. When I don’t answer, he asks more mutedly, “What happened?”
“According to the police report, black ice. Their car went off the road in Colorado.”
“How do you know it wasn’t an accident?”
“My father called me before the car was found. I remember it vividly. I was in my dorm room at Brown, and my roommate Jessica was bleaching her hair. It smelled so foul I had the window open even though it was freezing outside. He said he’d already spoken to Ellie and Lizzie and that I needed to listen carefully. My cousin had betrayed the family and no matter what I heard, I needed to know that what happened was because of that betrayal. When I hung up the phone, I just… couldn’t do it anymore. So I told Jessica I was going to fake my death. She knew enough at that point to know I was serious. It took a year of research and planning. Plus, I’m sure there’s a hole in my heart from all the stress.”
Finn whistles softly. “You have guts, princess. I’m not sure I would have had the same reaction. Or been able to pull it off.”
I stand and stretch a bit. Brush dust from my shorts. Finish my water. Retie my shoelaces. Watch two hikers strip down to their underwear and jump screaming into the pool. And I laugh and clap with the other bystanders, pretending my heart wasn’t just shoved through a meat grinder by admitting all that to Finn.
At eighteen, I didn’t consider the damage my plan would inflict on my sisters or friends. Not that I had many friends. Or any besides Rabbit. But I still thought only of myself, of the life I felt I deserved and the one I didn’t want.
“You ready to head back?” I ask over my shoulder, even though back is the last place I want to go.
“Hey, what you did was amazing.” His low, earnest voice comes from close behind me. “It took incredible courage and commitment.”
I shake my head. “Only vast self-centeredness.”
Finn’s hand on my arm is a shock. Before I can react, he tugs me gently around to face him. I stare blankly at his fingers, still wrapped around my bicep.
“Let go of me,” I say hoarsely.
“Stop doing that.” His face bends toward mine, so close I can see the ring of darker blue around his pupils. “Stop undermining your own success. You got out, Callisto. You did what your cousins couldn’t. You should be proud of that.”
My chest shakes with silent laughter. “If what I did was so amazing, why did I throw it away to come back? I’ll tell you why. Because I never learned the lesson Jessica’s been trying to teach me for years.”
He frowns, hand finally falling. “What lesson?”
“Never kiss the pretty boys.”
I don’t know why I say it. It’s not the whole truth, obviously. But it is true. If I hadn’t met and kissed Finn McCowen, chances are I’d still be in Solstice Bay. Home. Not a whole woman, maybe, shrouded in secrets, chased by nightmares.
But I’d be free.
Tugging my hat down, I head for the trail.
27
Finn and I barely speak on the hike back to the car, and on the drive home he keeps the music too loud for conversation. All of which is fine by me. I have enough complications in my head and heart without him in the mix. Confusing, temperamental, annoyingly attractive man.
When he drops me off, in lieu of a goodbye he reminds me to secure him the coveted invite to family dinner. To, you know, move things along. He won’t look me in the eye when he says it, and speeds away before I can tell him about the text message Vivian sent to the family twenty minutes ago. Too bad for him, I’m feeling petty enough to leave him in the dark as to its contents.
The following morning, I’m still not feeling charitable toward Finn, so I don’t text or call him after saying goodbye to Vivian.
She’s leaving for two weeks of campaigning. In other words, greasing hands and pulling fingernails. While the former is all too likely, the latter is figurative. Hopefully. Then again, she is taking Enzo. Like Vivian confirming that my father had Anthony killed, I wouldn’t be the least surprised if it were revealed Enzo pulled the trigger.
There’s no spirit in his eyes. No kindness or any form of humanity I recognize. He’s always been that way, too. I don’t know what happened to make him so cold and hard, whether it was through personal tragedy or choice. I’m not sure I care, as long as he stays away from me and my sisters.
Lizzie and I are to remain in the house with a reduced staff, though Vivian said F
ranco would be coming and going. A clear warning that we shouldn’t be entertaining any guests or otherwise doing anything we’re not supposed to. We’re also not allowed to leave the premises without approval. If we do leave, we’re restricted to a driving service. Both edicts are familiar. Standard practice for our ultra-paranoid family.
Before they left, I asked Vivian about visiting the ranch. Her answer was dismissive. “We’ll talk when I get back.”
“I can go alone,” I suggested.
Enzo scowled, answering before Vivian could, “Paint your nails or get a tan or something. Leave the business to the adults.”
And that was that.
Vivian’s parting words for me were that her concierge doctor would be stopping by this morning to give me a physical.
So here I sit, waiting for the doctor on an embroidered bench in the foyer, frowning up at the painting of my father.
As frustrated as Finn will be when he finds out he has to wait another two weeks for introductions to the family, I’m just as frustrated I have to wait to visit my uncle’s ranch.
Maybe Vivian lied and there’s nothing there. Maybe she just wanted to see my reaction. Maybe she knows exactly why I came back.
Paranoia apples don’t fall far from the tree.
I’m also thinking about Detective Wilson. Her card lives in the same vent as my burner phone. The edges are bent, the text nearly blurred from running my thumb over it. I’ve read the handwritten cell number on the back so many times that it’s a permanent mental fixture.
I spent most of yesterday coming to a conclusion—when I get to the ranch and find whatever it is Vivian wants, I’m going to call Detective Wilson and hand it over, come what may.
Friday night with Molly and Finn—and even parts of the hike yesterday—brought into sharp relief how poisonous my brief time home has been. Though neither said it outright, I could see the worry in Molly’s eyes and knew it was for good reason. My appetite is gone, the clothes purchased recently already loose. I sleep fitfully and little, the dark circles under my eyes a daily reminder.
The Golden Hour Page 12
