“I’ll tell her to take a hike,” Gabriel said. “I’m not going to let her stir up this shit with Jimmy. He didn’t just hurt my mother—he hurt a lot of people in Cape Haven.”
“No argument here. If she oversteps, let me know and I’ll have a talk with her.”
“Thanks, Bill.” But Gabriel would take care of his own problems. He always had.
He walked Bill to the door, waited until he drove off, then went back to the kitchen and stared at nothing in particular.
Maxine Revere. Why the hell are you really here?
Chapter Four
TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO
“I love Hawaii.” Martha leaned back on the chaise lounge by the pool. It had rained most of the morning, but she and Jimmy had slept in and now the warm, tropical afternoon caressed her skin, relaxing her like very little could.
Jimmy sipped his drink and lifted up his sunglasses to look at her. “Why haven’t you been back? You talk about it all the time.”
“It was years ago, and it’s complicated.”
“It’s always complicated with you.”
“Stop.”
But she wasn’t really angry with him. She was in heaven here, and they had had the best time. Two weeks at the most exclusive Waikiki resort.
Yet she was getting antsy, and as if Jimmy could sense her pending mood, he said, “I have a surprise.”
“Oh?”
“Walter and Olivia invited us to their party tonight.”
She almost jumped out of her chair. “What? How did you manage that? Those two are the most arrogant jerks I’ve ever met.”
He laughed, and for a moment she wasn’t certain he was laughing at her or at his own manipulation of Walter and Olivia Fielding.
“Darling, they will not know what hit them. I’ve primed Olivia, and she is ready to take the fall. Plus, I learned something else—they have a prenup.”
“How did you get her to tell you that?”
“She didn’t. I found it when I was over at the house yesterday.”
Martha was always pleasantly surprised by how Jimmy got information. She stopped asking how because sometimes just having the information was far more fun than getting it.
“Sneaky,” she said with a sly grin. “I like that.”
“You did a terrific job convincing Olivia I have my own pot of gold. Subtle, smooth.”
“That’s me.”
Olivia deserved it. She had made Martha’s life hell in high school and Martha hated her. Olivia had no clue. She thought they were friends.
You hurt me, I’ll hurt you twice as hard.
Best, Olivia would never know. She’d think Jimmy was scamming them both. It was a perfect game.
“Walter is leaving for a business trip tomorrow at noon—all I need is for you to do your thing. It’ll be the tipping point. Then when I go over after he leaves, she’ll be ripe and ready.”
Martha wasn’t a jealous woman. That Jimmy would not only seduce Olivia but have sex with the woman didn’t bother her. Especially since in the nearly three months she’d been with Jimmy, she’d had more fun than she’d ever had in her life. He brought just as much money into their relationship as she had in her trust—he just had them work for it.
And working for it was almost as much fun as taking it out of her bank every month.
“You must tell me everything.”
“You can watch the video, darling.”
A thrill ran through her spine.
Jimmy leaned over. “You like the idea?”
She glanced at his swim trunks. “I see you like the idea, too. Of me watching or of you screwing Olivia?”
“It’s always about you, baby. Let’s go to the room.”
“Now?”
“Unless you want me to take you here with an audience.”
Another thrill ran through her and she laughed. They grabbed their things and ran down the path that led to their bungalow as fast as they could.
* * *
Jimmy stayed with Olivia all night. Martha woke early, antsy, and she didn’t know why. Everything had gone perfectly at the party. She took Walter into his den—alone. Nothing happened, he’d simply helped her with an accounting “error” at her bank—one she’d created just for him to solve. Martha noticed that Olivia—much younger than her husband—couldn’t keep her eyes off Jimmy. Who could? He was dashing, especially in the tuxedo he wore to this elite New Year’s Eve party. Jimmy and Martha had a “quiet” fight that they made sure Olivia saw. And then after Jimmy confirmed Walter had been on the flight to Japan, he went over to the house ostensibly to find the purse Martha’d left behind “accidentally.”
He’d called her once with a brief message.
Game on.
And she waited.
And waited.
She walked to the gift shop and bought Maxine a postcard. She hadn’t called yesterday for her birthday—she wouldn’t, either, because she didn’t want to talk to her mother. She scribbled out a message and put the card aside—she’d have to get around to mailing it.
At noon, Martha was tired of waiting for Jimmy. She ate in the bar, enjoyed a delicious Bloody Mary, then went to the spa and had the works—massage, facial, manicure, pedicure, and then splurged on a gorgeous, sexy white dress with a cascade of red flowers down one side. Shoes to match.
Jimmy found her in the bar talking to a tourist who was hitting on her. She wouldn’t have done anything with the young, sexy college boy, but he sure was appreciative of her pampering herself.
Jimmy slid into the seat across from college boy and glared at him. The kid left with a mumbled apology and Martha laughed.
“Now who’s jealous?” she teased.
“Game over,” Jimmy said. He pulled a disk from his pocket. “Want to watch?”
She was tipsy and horny from flirting with College Boy and a little bit (tiny bit) jealous that Jimmy had been with Olivia all night and most of the day.
“Maybe.”
“Oh, you do.” He reached between her legs and grinned. “We’re going to make a lot of money from this disk.”
Revenge was definitely sweet, Martha thought as they went to their bungalow to watch Olivia and Jimmy’s sex tape.
When it was done—and after Martha and Jimmy reenacted much of it—Martha laughed.
“I don’t have the energy to move let alone laugh,” Jimmy said.
“Revenge is sweet, baby. So very sweet.”
Olivia would pay anything to keep her husband from seeing the sex tape. And the best thing? She’d never know Martha had set the whole plan in motion.
* * *
Maxine sat in the rose garden in the backyard, outside her grandmother’s library. It was a small area of the yard—well, small compared to the two-acre, well-manicured spread behind the deceptively modest-looking house. From the outside, the house looked like an old one-story rambler. Inside, the five thousand square feet were spread elegantly and seamlessly back into the yard, providing many places to relax or hide. Designed by an apprentice of Frank Lloyd Wright, the house was timeless and fluid.
But Max much preferred the rose garden and koi pond and watching the fish swim around and around and around. Where she could sit mostly undisturbed and listen to the fountain rain water down onto the fish.
She stared at the postcard in her hands. A generic tourist picture of a beach in Hawaii.
Max had always loved the beach. Beaches, lakes, rivers … anyplace near water comforted her like nothing else, and she’d never really figured out why. That her mother sent her a beach photo—no matter how generic (and really, from Hawaii there probably weren’t many postcard options that didn’t include a beach)—gave her some peace. That her mother had listened to her, that she’d known her—at least enough of her that she remembered Max liked water.
She turned the card over.
Hi, Maxie,
Happy birthday, baby girl! We’re having the best time. Jimmy and I have been living in this amazing beach house on Maui
for the last two weeks, after spending a month at a resort at Waikiki. You’d love it. Too bad you and Jimmy are like oil and water, we could have had a good thing going. Life is meant to have fun! Are you having fun? I am. We’re leaving Hawaii soon. Don’t know where we’re going yet, but that’s the best part of life! I can go anywhere. I’ll call later and we can chat.
XOXO
Martha
The card was postmarked January nineteenth, nearly three weeks after Max’s December thirty-first birthday.
She didn’t care.
Yes, you do. You care because your mother left you here with people you don’t know and who don’t know you and she hasn’t called or written in two months.
She hated her mother.
If you hated her you wouldn’t care. You’re mad, you’re upset, you’re a big baby. Grow up, Max. You’re ten years old now. Grow up and realize that your mother is never coming back. She’s having too much fun.
She folded the postcard and put it in the pocket of her jeans. It was cold, but the damp chill made her feel something. She’d been so out of sorts over the last two months that she didn’t know what to do. Eleanor wanted her to go to school, but Max refused. Ironic, perhaps, because she’d been begging her mom to settle down so she could go to school. Once, she’d even asked her to send her to a boarding school. Martha thought was the stupidest thing Max had ever said.
“You read better than most adults, you read what you want to know. School is boring. Trust me on that, you are too smart for school.”
Max had been pretty certain that when Martha got tired of Jimmy she’d come back and get her.
But she was still with him. For Martha, three months with one guy was an eternity.
The French doors opened and Eleanor walked into the garden. Unconsciously, Max straightened her spine. The horrific stories her mother had told her about being raised in this house, the strict rules and cruelty, had seeped in. Eleanor Revere was a forbidding woman who looked like she could be the evil sister of the Queen of England. Regal, perfectly dressed, face done just so. She hadn’t left the house today, but she still had put on makeup and jewelry and styled her hair. Max called her Grandmother, but most of their conversations were perfunctory. Eleanor telling her what she should do or say or what she should wear, and Max thinking that she was just as awful as her mother had always said. Why did Eleanor care if she wore jeans or read a book in her pajamas? Why did she have to get dressed to leave her bedroom?
Other times, Eleanor told Max about family history, about responsibility and school and college and ideas for the future. Then, Max was riveted. When Max met her great-grandmother, Genevieve Sterling, everything changed—but Max didn’t accept it, not then. Grandmother Genie, as she wanted to be called, was nothing like Max thought she would be as a wealthy matriarch of the family. She had a contagious laugh, eyes that sparkled with happiness that seemed to come from within, and she insisted that Max come to her house every week for tea and sandwiches so they could get to know each other. Just Max, without anyone else.
Max was already looking forward to her next lunch with Grandmother Genie.
Mostly, however, Max appreciated that Eleanor talked to her like an adult. She never once talked down to her. She never once complained that Max had been left for her to take care of. She never once acted like she didn’t want her. She expected a lot … some things that Max had a hard time living up to … but she told her from the beginning that she was a Revere, that being a Revere meant something, and she expected Max to act like a Revere.
Though Max had once complained to Grandmother Genie about the strict rules of the house, she secretly liked knowing exactly what was expected of her. There were no surprises. After living the first ten years of her life never knowing what to expect—or even where they’d be living week to week—the stability comforted her.
She felt safe. She could relax in her room, not fear that she’d have to leave everything at a moment’s notice because her mother wanted to visit friends in Vail or fly to Switzerland for a festival or New York for a new art exhibit.
For the first time, Max felt like she had a home, even if the people she lived with were strangers.
“May I sit with you?” Eleanor asked.
She shrugged.
“Did you lose your voice?”
“What?”
“If you can speak, speak.”
“Yeah, you can sit.”
“When someone asks you a question, even as simple as an invitation to sit, shrugging an answer is rude.”
Max didn’t say anything. She felt small inside. Eleanor had that effect. That nothing Max said or did would be good enough for her. Maybe Eleanor looked at Max and saw Martha. If that were the case, Max would never make Eleanor happy.
Or was that her mother’s twisted stories clouding her judgment?
Eleanor frowned and sat in the chair across from Max. There was a small table out here that Eleanor had said she liked to drink tea on warm afternoons, but it had been too cold this winter. Max didn’t mind the cold. Or the heat. Temperature never bothered her.
Eleanor wore a warm coat and still looked like she was shaking from the chill.
“What did your mother have to say?”
“It was a postcard—didn’t you read it?”
“The postcard was addressed to you. It would have been rude and disrespectful for me to read it.”
Martha lied so easily all the time that Max didn’t always know whether she could believe people, but she believed Eleanor. In fact, even though she was only ten, Max had gotten pretty good at knowing when people were lying. Maybe after living with a liar for so long she’d developed skills without even trying.
Max took the postcard out of her pocket and slid it over to her grandmother.
Eleanor picked it up, read it, handed it back to Max.
“You know this Jimmy?”
“Her boyfriend of the month. Only, he’s lasted three months. He didn’t like me.”
“I see.”
“No, you really don’t. My mom will get tired of Jimmy. She gets bored easily. Then she’ll come back.”
Her voice cracked. Even as she said it, she didn’t believe it. She didn’t believe that Martha would come back for her, even after she left Jimmy.
“If your mother walked through that door this afternoon, would you want to leave with her?”
“She’s my mother.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Max’s lip trembled. She hated to cry, and she’d gotten really good at holding back her emotions. Her mother didn’t like it when she got upset; Martha always said Max made her feel guilty, that guilt was a useless emotion.
Quietly, Max said, “I don’t know.”
Eleanor didn’t say anything for a long minute. Somehow, the silence didn’t bother Max. They both looked at the rosebushes, trimmed and flowerless because it was January. “The garden,” Eleanor said after a time, “is truly beautiful in the spring.”
“I saw pictures.”
“I’d like you to go to school.”
Max didn’t know what to say. They’d had this conversation twice over the last month, when it was clear that Martha wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Even Grandmother Genie brought it up at their last lunch.
“Do you want to go to school?”
Max shrugged.
“Maxine, I will try to be understanding because you weren’t raised with manners, but you’ll need to take correction. Shrugging is not an acceptable method of communication. I will not tolerate it.”
“I’m sorry.”
Eleanor frowned and Max didn’t know what she’d done.
“What did I do now?” Max said, irritated.
“Do not say you’re sorry, Maxine. First, you have nothing to be sorry about at this point. You are barely ten years old. A child. None of this—none of what your mother has chosen to do—is your fault. Second, if you ever say I’m sorry, you had better mean those exact words and truly have something y
ou feel remorse for.”
That sunk in. It made sense. “Okay.”
“You’re highly intelligent, Maxine. William is only a month younger than you and he’s in the fourth grade. While I suspect you will test high in reading—I don’t remember fourth-graders reading Charles Dickens—your math skills are atrocious. Whatever you’re struggling in, I’ll hire a tutor. William has friends, he’ll make sure you fit in and have a place.”
Max wasn’t worried about school. She’d been reading since she was four and figured she could learn anything that was written down.
“I don’t think William likes me.”
“William is family.” As if that was an answer to her unsaid question.
Max was worried about the family. How could she ever live up to Eleanor Revere’s high expectations? According to her mother, they were impossible to meet. Her cousin William looked at her like she was an alien, and William’s father, Uncle Brooks, hated her. It was clear as day, and she knew her mother felt the same way about him. What had happened between her mother and her uncle that they not only disliked each other, but Brooks didn’t like Max, either? She’d never done anything to him. She hadn’t even known him until two months ago.
They sat in silence for a while longer, and surprisingly, Max was comfortable in the quiet. Eleanor was everything her mother had said … and nothing like it at all. Maybe she was missing something. Or maybe, she should form her own judgment about Eleanor Revere. Try to start with a clean slate.
“What are the rules?” Max asked.
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“My mother said you had a lot of rules. I don’t want to break them.”
Eleanor didn’t say anything for a long time. “Your mother and I had a difference of opinion as to what constituted rules. I will tell you what I expect from you, which is what I expected from my three children, and what I expect from my other grandchildren. First, respect. Respect your grandfather, respect me, respect your teachers, and yourself. If you have no respect for yourself, you can’t possibly show it to others. Second, honesty. I expect you to always tell me the truth, even when it’s inconvenient. Honesty builds integrity, which is an essential character trait for a Revere.”
Abandoned Page 5
