Tangled Thoughts

by Cara Bertrand

  I felt myself frowning and worked my face back into a neutral expression. Were we all part of a game? Maybe everything was a game to men like Harlan, born into the laps of luxury and the pressure of keeping it. But that described my uncle too, and he’d never once pressured me to do anything for him.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

  “Don’t suppose you play poker, do you?”

  “Not really.” Nobody wanted to play cards with the guy with a photographic memory.

  “When you come to Texas, we’ll play. I can teach you all about cards.”

  “I look forward to it.” Not that it would ever happen.

  After a few steps in silence, Harlan said, “It was you who found the Marwood girl, isn’t that right?” as casually as he’d ask about the weather.

  My mouth went dry. I swallowed before saying, “Yes, sir.” It wasn’t accurate, but close enough. And now I knew why he’d asked for this tour, from me.

  “I’m curious about her. What’s she doing now?”

  “She’s in Boston, sir.”

  “You keep in touch?”

  “No.”

  “Shame. I’m a little disappointed the senator has been unable to convince her to join. Seems like a job he could have used your help with.”

  “Apparently,” I told him, “I wasn’t convincing enough either.”

  “I’m taking it she broke your heart?”

  Broke? No. She stole it, trampled it, then tossed it back at me in a fiery heap of ruin. “Something like that.”

  “Well. That is a shame. She must be something special.” He already knew these things, I realized, every detail. Of course he did. In fact, I was certain Harlan Waites knew more about everything than he’d ever admit. “Who do you suppose is her father?”

  “You mean Allen Young? He’s dead.”

  “Yes, sure. I mean who is he. Who was his father?”

  “There are no records, no testimony from anyone who knew Virginia about a boyfriend or anything. I’ve searched. I even met his adoptive mother. She said she didn’t know and I believed her.”

  “Do you have a theory?”

  “He was a Diviner. Wealthy. Likely married, or about to be. He knew she was pregnant even if no one else did. And he’s dead too.” Otherwise he’d have come forward when she claimed the Legacy.

  “Sounds about right. You ever see him, Allen Young?”

  I almost said no, Lainey wasn’t a picture person, not like that but: “I did, once. In a picture at his mother’s house, Chastine Young’s house, I mean. He was a kid. Dark haired, like Virginia.”

  “Mmmhmm.” Harlan nodded, stroking his chin in a way too practiced to be entirely natural. The same way Uncle Dan made his lopsided scholar’s grin that charmed the world.

  We continued in silence for a while. We’d rounded the reflecting pool and were headed down the Mall. The grass was dry, brown in patches. It was strange being here almost daily, among the icons and monuments that seemed so grand and untouchable from far away. Up close, they weren’t perfect, much like the people who lived and worked here. It made me feel better, somehow, not worse. This place was as real as anywhere else.

  I was pretending not to be sweating and Harlan, a true Southerner, didn’t appear to be at all. I was no longer sure I was leading. Probably I hadn’t been the whole time. His next question confirmed it.

  “How well did you know Senator Astor the senior?”

  “Not that well,” I answered, before I registered the tone in his voice and knew that was not a random change of subject. I froze. Was he suggesting Jacob Astor…was that possible? And that would mean Lainey was…Too late, I realized what my standing there, mouth open, had given away.

  “I guess you didn’t know him that well.”

  “I—” I shook my head. No, I didn’t. I’d met him once, but I was too young to remember more than how he’d ruffled my hair and asked me about my soccer game. I knew the stories my uncle told and what little Grandma Evelyn told me. I knew what had happened to him. But.

  He was a Diviner. He was wealthy. He was dead. He loved secrets. He was…a possibility. How had I never seen it before? He was a philanderer, I knew that. Everyone knew that. Virginia Marwood would have been young, but she was beautiful and she was the last Marwood. She’d have been a trophy, a power play. God, it fit too well. It was so obvious I’d ignored it. Maybe everyone had.

  Everyone but Harlan Waites.

  He clapped me on the back and started walking again, a comfortable, leisurely pace that said he was enjoying everything about this walk, even the way it was making me sweat. “Know who did know Jacob Astor? My daddy. Pretty good guess, don’t you think? Now my real question is: how well did your uncle know his daddy?”

  “Mr. Astor liked his secrets.”

  “Don’t we all, son. Secrets are like wine. You save them until they’re just the right vintage, however long it takes. Too early and you waste them, passing up the best drinking time. Too late and they’re spoiled.”

  “Is this the right vintage?”

  “Hard to say. But this one tastes pretty good to me. Aged almost fifty years now.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m not telling you anything. This isn’t my secret, just a guess. And I had a feeling you’d be interested.”

  “Why me?”

  “Besides the obvious?” He gave me one of those grins that was meant to convey sympathy in the face of being punched in the gut. The strangest part was, I believed it. Harlan Waites felt bad for me, which felt worse than anything.

  “Besides that. I’ve moved on,” I lied, Lainey’s note burning in my pocket. “But I’m sure you know that too.”

  Harlan chuckled. “I might have heard. The Morrow girl is a rare gem too. But to answer your question,” he said, turning to look me in the eye, “I like your skill set. You’re smart as they come, but there’s not an ounce of natural manipulator in you. We could really use a Hangman, and I’m betting on the last Penrose to find another one or convince the one we’ve got.”

  Find one. God knew I’d been searching the world for years. “I’ll do my best.”

  We’d strolled nearly the entire distance of the park, the Washington Monument now looming. Harlan stopped and put his hand on my shoulder like we were old friends.

  “I don’t doubt you will. Well, Cartwright, it sure has been nice talking to you, but this is where I’m going leave.”

  “Are you sure, sir? It’s a long walk back to the Capitol or where are you staying?” The Council usually met at the private offices of one of the Perceptum’s official charities.

  “Don’t you worry. I know exactly where I am and where I’m going.”

  I was sure that was true. I put out my hand. “Mr. Waites, it was nice to meet you.”

  “I doubt that. But I bet it was interesting.”

  “It was definitely that.”

  “Son, before I go, can I give you some advice?”

  “I’d be glad for it, sir.”

  “You know, you’re just smooth enough you might make a politician yet. But don’t try. It wouldn’t be a failure. That’s what I’m telling you.”

  THE WALK BACK to the office was long, but I needed it to collect my thoughts. Harlan Waites was not what I expected. He was every bit the Southern Gentleman, and everything my uncle had warned me about, but it was hard to dislike him. He wasn’t lying to me. He didn’t see all the way through me, either. No one ever did.

  Manipulation might not have come naturally to me, but I did it. Every hour of every day. Secrets were my best friends. They kept me alive and I treated them like lovers, not wine. They weren’t for sharing.

  I didn’t know yet what to do with Harlan’s secret, but for now, I planned to keep it.

  By the time I returned, I thought my uncle would be gone. But I could see he was still there, sitting with his feet up on his desk and leafing through a file. He’d replaced the original heavy wooden door with a glass one as a nod towa
rd transparency. He worked for the people and everyone could see it. Then again, he could see us too.

  When he saw me outside, he waved me in.

  Truth be told, I loved and hated my uncle’s office. It reflected him. He eschewed the common heavy, formal style except for the requisite flags, country and state, flanking his window. He favored instead a room that felt like a cross between a Montana lodge and my own bookstore. If not for the barely controlled mess, I’d have wanted to spend more time in it. Files and books were everywhere, great, precarious stacks of them.

  Uncle closed his folder and tossed it onto the closest pile. “You were gone a rather long time. I wasn’t sure if I should be worried.”

  “Isn’t worrying part of your job description?” I poured water from the pitcher on the sideboard and sank into my usual chair.

  “When it comes to the Waites family, absolutely.” Uncle Dan grinned and propped his feet back on the desk. “So, what did you think?”

  “Honestly, I liked him. I’m not sure I can entirely trust him, but I did like him.”

  “That sounds exactly right. More importantly—what did he want?”

  “Mostly I think he was curious. He wanted to meet me. Because of Jillian.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And? I’m sure he was curious about you, but I doubt that was the whole of his motivation.”

  I swallowed. “And he asked about Lainey.”

  “Ah.” At the mention of her, Uncle Dan’s smile wasn’t fond. “I should have guessed as much. Everyone’s curious about the last Hangman, most assuredly him. What did you tell him?”

  I did not like keeping anything from my uncle. But Harlan’s “guess” wasn’t something to toss around casually. I needed to look into it. So I looked him in the eye and said: “There was nothing I could tell him that he didn’t already know.”

  “Well then,”—Uncle Dan put his feet down and closed his computer with a snap—“let’s not worry about it.”

  Out the window, over my uncle’s shoulder, a bird swooped into view and disappeared just as fast. From my perspective, I couldn’t see much of anything but the clear, blue sky. Harlan had been wearing a tie of the same color.

  “Carter? Did you hear me?” My uncle’s voice interrupted whatever I’d just been thinking about, something about Lainey, and fathers, and the color blue. I snapped to attention.

  “Yes, sir,” I said automatically. I’d heard him, hadn’t I? He wanted me to get my projections for the upcoming event. Harlan and some of the other Council members would be attending it. “I’ve done preliminaries, but Alexis hasn’t gone over them yet.”

  “That’s fine. I’d like to review them on the drive home.” He came around the desk to walk with me out of the office. “You seem distracted, son. Everything all right?”

  I shook my head, not sure it was true. I felt distracted, like the entire afternoon was rattling around in my head. “Sorry, sir. I was just thinking about…card games.” Uncle Dan raised his eyebrows. “Just something Harlan said. He invited me to visit him. Learn to ride horses and play poker.”

  Uncle Dan chuckled. “One little walk and he’s ‘Harlan’ now?” He rested his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be putting too much stock in anything from the mouth of Harlan Waites. Invitations from the Devil always sound the prettiest and end the worst.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lainey

  Got it!” I shouted and threw myself toward the spinning ball. My knees slammed into the ground, but I did get it. I passed it cleanly back into court and popped up just in time to see the super tall guy on the other team block our shot back at us. I dove to my left and got my wrist on the ball before it hit the ground. This time, we put it away, and my team hauled me off the ground and cheered.

  Intramural volleyball was actually hard core.

  “Yeah, Lanes!” Our captain, Wendell, grabbed my shoulders and shook them harder than necessary. He was Navy ROTC and excitable. I was taller than he was.

  “Secret weapon!” one of the guys shouted. He held out his fist, and I bumped it with mine.

  Everyone else hugged me or knocked fists. I was breathing hard and trying not to rub my hip. I knew it would hurt later, but I was feeling good, high on adrenaline and victory. We’d just beaten the best team in our group and I was proud to have saved the point.

  “Victory drinks at twenty-two hundred!” Wendell called while everyone was grabbing their things after we’d shaken hands with the opposing team.

  Annnd that was that. “Okay, so, I’ll see you guys next week,” I said, the same lame thing I said every week. Being the only underage undergrad on the team was kind of a downer at the end of the night.

  “Awww, Lanes, c’mon.” Wendell put his arm around my shoulder, which was kind of funny with the way he had to reach up. “Join us. If Sadler’s at the door tonight, I can get him to let you in.” He must have seen me preparing a variation of no, because he broke in, “C’mon! You saved the game! You can bring your boyfriend too.”

  “I’m sorry, who?”

  “Your boyfriend,” he repeated, not sounding excited about it. He pointed over his shoulder toward the court entrance.

  Standing there was Jack Kensington. Of course. When our eyes met, he smiled and waved.

  “He’s not my boyfriend! He’s my TA,” I said, but I could feel my already warm cheeks growing warmer.

  “Good!” Wendell said, though he was still looking skeptically at where Jack lounged against the wall.

  “Um, I’d better see what he wants.” An awkward hug and goodbye later, I followed Wendell and the rest of the team toward the door where Jack waited.

  Jack. Damn him. Despite my vow to keep my distance, avoiding him, I discovered, was completely impossible. Jack was everywhere. I saw him in the student union while I was getting coffee and in the hallway after my classes. I bumped into him at the bookstore, and once, even, in line at the Post Office. And now he was here, crooked smiling at me.

  I stopped in front of him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were following me.”

  “I’d say you might be right,” he said, his dimple deepening as the smile spread. “Or, maybe, you’re following me.”

  He leaned forward, just enough for him to feel close to me, and his voice dropped in a flirty way. I became acutely aware of how little my volleyball shorts and tank top covered.

  “The team thought you were my boyfriend.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I think Wendell might have been jealous.”

  “Hm. Was that his name? I think you’re right. Do you want him to be jealous?”

  “Not really,” I admitted.

  “Because that could be arranged,” he said. “Your pretend boyfriend could show up every week.”

  “Talk about going above and beyond for one of your students.”

  Despite that it was ten o’clock, Jack leaned on the wall like this was exactly what he needed to be doing and where. He looked less put together than I’d ever seen him, in mesh shorts and a non-designer t-shirt, with hair hanging in his eyes. For the first time, I could see his legs. It’s a strange thing, to see a usually hidden part of someone.

  “There’s nothing,” he said, “I wouldn’t do for you.”

  I snorted. “What are you doing here anyway?” We were alone in court four, though they were still going in the court next to us.

  “Besides following you? Playing basketball.” Ah, yes. He’d mentioned that the night of the concert. And it explained the muscular legs, different from Carter’s long, lean runner’s legs. Jack was shaped for agility and bursts of speed. His clinging t-shirt made it obvious he spent regular time here.

  “How’d you do?”

  He chuckled. “I won the swearing portion of the game,” he joked, but I didn’t actually believe him. “You, on the other hand, are clearly some kind of volleyball ninja.” He reached out, almost like he was going to touch me, but his hand kept going, just brushing my shoulder as he tapped one of the knee pa
ds sticking out of my bag.

  Right about then the lights went out.

  I gasped. Because we were looking at each other, I watched Jack’s eyes as they adjusted to the dark. His pupils grew large, swallowing up the warm brown of his irises. When I was younger, I’d stand at the bathroom mirror watching my own eyes change as I turned the light on and off. It was a game, something childish, but this did not feel childish. It felt…intimate. The kind of thing you saw in bedrooms right before you were kissed.

  And I had the terrifying, thrilling feeling that he would kiss me. I leaned toward him, breaching the space between us. Close, closer now, and I was sure I could feel the gentle puff of his breath on my lips.

  Click. The lights snapped on and I jumped back as if I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t. Which I had. Behind me, an escaped ball from court three bounced across the floor and a girl called “Sorry!” as she chased it down.

  “No problem,” Jack said. Our eyes met again, but the moment had disintegrated. I became unsure it had existed at all.

  The neighboring player retrieved the lost ball and breezed back by us with a “Thanks!” though we hadn’t done anything to help her. “No problem,” Jack repeated and I laughed. He cleared his throat and a light fog of awkwardness drifted into the space between us. “So.” he said. “Are you supposed to meet your friends?”

  “No,” I admitted. “The rest of the team is mostly seniors and they always go for beers.”

  “Leaving you out after you save the game? That’s shitty.”

  I shrugged. “Wendell offered to get me in.”

  “I bet he did.” A sly grin crested like a wave across his features and a flush appeared on my cheeks in response. I would have hated him if I didn’t like that smile so much. It occurred to me that I might have had a thing for boys and their smiles. “How did you even end up on a team of upperclassmen?”