But Dominic was the oldest, the most experienced with their parents. He was a realist.
After dialing zero, Layla listened to the phone click as the rotary dial moved back into place. An operator came on the line. “May I help you?”
She sure as hell hoped so. “I’d like to place a person-to-person call to Dominic Rosas from Layla Rosas.”
“The number, please.”
Layla recited the number. Not that she called him often; she didn’t want to be a nuisance. After a series of pops and clicks, the phone rang on the other end. Just when Layla decided to hang up, her brother’s irritated voice came on the line. “Yeah?” he asked.
“It’s Layla. I’ve got a problem.”
“Hang on,” he said, his tone softening. She heard rustling and a female voice, then he came back on the line. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
“Do you remember when Mrs. C. took us to that movie when we were kids? Gaslight?”
“That’s your problem?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous.” Layla took a breath. She needed to sound as sane as possible. “Listen and don’t make any rash judgments until I’m done. Mother and Papà are trying to gaslight me.”
“They’re hiding your jewelry and moving around your pictures?” Dominic’s earnest voice registered confusion. Still, at least he was trying to understand.
“What? Did you even watch the movie?” she asked.
“That’s all I remember. I was sixteen and Patty Lagorio was sitting beside me. In her pink sweater. Man, that sweater.”
“Dom, focus on my problems for maybe five seconds? They’re trying to make me act crazy so they can have me institutionalized.”
Silence blanketed the line, and she could hear the connection crackle faintly. Finally, he offered a neutral but sober response. “I could believe that. Go on.”
Oh, thank God. He believed her. Or he didn’t not believe her, at least. “I inherited money from Grandfather. Hey, did you go to the reading of the will?”
“No, I sent my attorney. Why do they want your money?”
“I don’t know, honestly. Maybe because Grandfather didn’t leave Papà anything.” She paused in thought. “I really should have an attorney. Then I could’ve called him instead of you.”
“Are you really in trouble? I can be on the next flight home.”
“No, don’t come. I think I’ve got it under control. And, Dom, I haven’t hurt myself in any way. You have to believe me.”
“I do. But you can’t expect me to just sit here.”
“If I don’t call back by 9:00 p.m. there, you should do two things. First, call The Desert Palms and ask for Jace Russell. Like the candy company? Tell him I’m gone.”
“And then?”
“Then you get on a plane because it means they took me away.”
“I’ll do it.” He hesitated. “Layla?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t get into trouble. Play it safe, for a change.”
She couldn’t think of any other way this played out than with her confronting them. They’d gone to great lengths to get her out of the picture—probably because they knew Dom would rain fire down on them if they couldn’t prove she was a danger to herself. She needed to take back her life, to finish it.
“I’ll try,” she lied. “Bye.” Layla let the phone drop back into the cradle and took a deep breath. This was really happening now. By nightfall, she would’ve confronted her mother and papà and cut them out of her life for good.
In the lobby, Layla asked the front desk to call her a taxi cab, since Jace had driven her last night.
The clerk said, “Miss Rosas? We have something here for you from Mr. Russell.”
Layla took the piece of note paper with shaky hands. She couldn’t help the jab in her chest when she checked only to see he’d left no note. Nothing but the business at hand. Just as well, she supposed. She couldn’t help hoping for a change of heart on his end.
On the ride home, Layla did her best to strengthen her resolve. She wouldn’t argue with her parents; she wouldn’t become unreasonable or beg them to pretend to care about her. Wasn’t that becoming a theme in her life? Maybe someday, someone would care enough to meet her halfway.
After Stone left, Jace got up to head back to his office and stopped, on a whim, to see if Layla had picked up the note he’d sent to the front desk for her. They told him she had and that she’d checked out. Jace was equally relieved and saddened by this information. He’d been this close to heading upstairs to see her again.
Instead, he told his secretary he was going off the property and went for a walk in the desert heat. He walked aimlessly for a while. Layla didn’t know what she was asking of him. Or, not asking, really. It was all or nothing for her, and she hadn’t even asked him to compromise with her.
Still, he’d decided when he was eleven years old he would never get married. He’d been making his way upstairs after eating alone in the big dining room when he’d overheard his parents fighting. Their bedroom door was closed, and he edged closer. He’d sensed the disharmony in his home for a long time, but to have a chance to put a name to it, to say this is why we’re all so grim, was too tempting to pass up.
He sat down outside their bedroom and listened. His mother accused his father of cavorting around town with his secretary, flaunting his affair in the faces of all their friends and neighbors. And his father didn’t deny it, only screamed at her that men had needs.
Shock rooted him to his position. Now he knew, but he couldn’t just get up and leave. It would’ve been the smart thing to do. But Jace had adored his father; he’d been his hero.
To find out that they were living a lie, pretending to be a happy family because his father chased other women was more than he could bear. He didn’t even realize he was crying until his father stormed out of the bedroom and found him there.
“Jace! What are you doing there? Stop that crying this instant.” His father had been enraged. “Evelyn,” he shouted. “Come put this child to bed.”
It was the first time for as long as Jace could remember that his father hadn’t referred to him as his young man. A child, he’d called him, for having the audacity to cry because his father was a disappointment.
He could never do that, not to a woman or a child. Never to Layla.
After he’d walked a half a mile or so, he came across this old couple in front of The Stardust. They were carting around a big camera which reminded him of Layla. What didn’t make him think of her? Would that ever go away?
He sat down on a bench to watch them for a few minutes. They held hands, pointing at the new hotel. After a few minutes, the woman smiled indulgently at the man, leaned over, and smacked a kiss right on his lips.
Jace couldn’t help smiling. It seemed the couple didn’t care who knew they were in love. Had they been married all their lives or were they just now finding their soulmates?
He snorted. Damn him if Layla didn’t have him mooning after her, thinking about things like soulmates that he’d never believed in before.
“Excuse me, son. Would you mind taking a picture of us?” the old man asked. They explained how it worked while he tried to figure out the viewfinder.
“How long have you two been married?” Jace asked.
“We bought the camera as a fortieth anniversary gift to each other. We’re driving across the country.” The old woman gave him a huge, toothy smile.
Why couldn’t he have had parents like this? Sure, they’d bought a camera for one another, so they were hardly affluent, but he’d have traded that to see this kind of joy on his parents’ faces when they looked at one another.
Jace fumbled with the camera then snapped a couple more in case he blew one of the shots. “This woman I…well, that I know, she’s a talented photographer. I wish she were here to take your picture.”
The elderly lady said, “You have the most romantic, wistful expression on your face. Tell us the truth. You love her?”
Jace
took a step back. How could she tell by looking at him while he talked about Layla that he was in love? “I suppose I do.”
He struggled with the question in his mind for a moment. It was personal, but the woman had broken down that barrier when she’d asked him if he was in love. “Let me ask you something. How are you still happy after forty years?”
“Marriage requires respect, honesty, and love. After that, you make the choice to stay together, every day.”
“So, you’ve chosen one another, every day, for forty years.”
The old man nodded, offering a blissful smile to his wife. “Yes, son. That we have.”
Jace was, indeed, being an idiot. His parents had a bad marriage, but that wasn’t hereditary. They didn’t love one another, they weren’t honest with one another, and they certainly didn’t respect one another. Maybe he’d been wrong, all along. Maybe he simply needed to find the right person.
He took off at a run for his car parked back in the hotel lot, desperate to get to Layla’s parents’ house before she left forever.
17
When the cab driver dropped Layla off, she frowned up at her parents’ house. Right, then. Packing first.
Trekking around the house, she moved as quietly as she could. A part of her still held a very real fear that her parents would somehow poof men in white coats here and off she’d go for a bout of electric shocks.
But she’d been to see the attorney. He was filing the paperwork for her at this very moment. She’d even signed an affidavit that if something happened to incapacitate her, Dominic was to be notified and put in charge of her financial and medical care immediately.
Her car was parked in front of the garage, near the pool house. She fished the key from her purse and opened up her home. Home, for the next hour or so.
She packed all her cameras in a box and padded it with clothes she pulled off the folding screen she used for privacy. Privacy was awfully important when a person had spent the better part of her life cutting away at emotional pain. No more, she resolved. She hadn’t cut for years, but never again would she let someone hurt her the way her parents had done.
Next, she went to the rack of clothes and wrapped arms around as many as she could hold, trekked out the front door with them, and dumped those in the backseat. Then she went back for the cameras, took them outside, and carefully placed those in her trunk. Last, she grabbed an empty suitcase and pulled out then dumped all three drawers into it. Old letters from high school, panties, bras and support garments, and some nightgowns stuffed the suitcase. Layla sat on top of it and managed to send the metal latches home.
Once that was in the car, she knew she’d put off seeing her parents as long as possible. She hoped to sneak in and talk to Mrs. C. first, but if she had to encounter her parents, she wanted to be ready. From the big, black bag she’d taken with her last night, she dug around until she pulled out the envelope, worn from reading over and over until she could recite the whole thing from memory.
Layla stepped into the house through the sliding glass back door. Her parents argued so loudly she could hear every word like they were in the room with her.
She had to confront Papà. Her mother—she could’ve understood the behavior from her. For whatever reason, her mother hated her. That was a fact.
But her father? He’d betrayed her trust in him. Maybe she’d been foolish to trust him, but when a person lived in a viper pit, it made it harder to see an attack when it came.
And then she would show her father the letter. She’d never intended to show anyone, never wanted to hurt either of them. Even if she didn’t respect her mother, she’d adored her Papà too much for that. Now? She was done protecting Papà’s feelings.
She lifted a hand to Mrs. C. then put a finger to her lips. The housekeeper flew to her side and swatted her with a dishtowel. “Get out of here! You know they have it out for you now.”
Layla whispered back, “I’ve got this under control. I know it seems hard to believe, but you’ve got to trust me on this one.”
“Gattina…I hope you’re right.”
She followed the raised voices to the living room. Layla took a few faltering steps into the room, less confident about her ability to handle this than she’d let on. When her mother looked up from her place by the bar, a wicked grin spread slowly over her face. “Well, I didn’t think you’d have the guts to show your face after your performance last night.”
Ignoring Vivian, Layla continued into the room until she could see her father’s face. He hadn’t bothered to turn to look at her. “What did she say happened?” she asked him.
Papà’s hand contorted into a fist on his leg. “That’s not important. You’re out of control, young lady.”
“Oh, stop. I know, Papà.”
“Know what?” His features remained stony and impenetrable.
“Tell me what she told you. Did she blame Jace?”
“She told me the man you brought into this home made an indecent and unwanted pass at her.”
“She’s a liar. But then, I consider maneuvering me back into a life of institutions and electroshock therapy—maybe even a lobotomy— so you can take control of an inheritance you never told me about to be just as bad.”
Her father stood abruptly and crossed to the phone nestled into a nook with a bench. “This is absurd. I’m calling an ambulance. You’re talking crazy.”
“No, what you tried to do is crazy. The paperwork giving you control has already been revoked, and new paperwork is on file at the courthouse. And I told Dominic. He’ll be here by morning if you make that call. And he will help me tell everyone what you did. Won’t it hurt your business if your associates find out you’re a thief?”
“Don’t you ever threaten me, girl.”
“That’s fine. I think we’ve cleared the air.” Layla took a breath, hoping her father didn’t hear how shaky it was. He’d called her a girl. Another way of tearing her down. How had she never noticed her father was just as guilty?
She walked around the room, flaunting her freedom, her safety from their threats. “Why didn’t you spend any of it? Before I found out?”
She had to know this one last thing—had her father even struggled with the decision?
He could’ve said anything, could’ve made up a lie about how he didn’t know if he wanted to go through with it. Instead, he crossed his arms and looked down his nose at her. “I thought it best, for your brothers’ sakes, to have you declared incompetent first.”
Layla let her head fall back. She should’ve known. “You mean so they wouldn’t fight you when you took control of my inheritance.”
This had never been about what was best for her. Nothing in this family ever had been. That would make this so much easier. “You should know, it wasn’t Jace who made a pass last night. And it’s not the first time she’s betrayed either of us that way. I have proof that Mother slept with Ben.”
Vivian crossed to her in a second and slapped her across the face. Layla’s head snapped back, and she lifted a hand to her cheek, but otherwise didn’t react. Papà jumped between them, pulling his wife away from Layla. “Stop this, right now.”
“You would stoop to any low to hurt me, wouldn’t you?” Vivian snapped, jabbing a finger in Layla’s direction.
“Ben felt really bad.” Layla took a few steps back, just in case, because that tidbit was nothing compared to the bomb she was about to drop. “He wrote me a letter with every sordid detail. It made him feel better, confessing it. But he didn’t need to tell me… I caught them in bed.”
Layla dropped the worn envelope on the coffee table. Her mother’s eyes glistened with tears, honest-to-God tears. “Why?” Vivian whispered.
“Why? You’re asking me why? Why do you hate me, Mother? Why did you spend my whole life trying to break me?”
“Because you’re willful. And I knew things would come too easily for you, with your looks and your father’s money. Adversity builds character, figlia.”
“Don’t you dare call me daughter now. You should both be held accountable for what you’ve done, but you won’t be.” She lifted her chin. “Dominic knows. Anthony will, too. They deserve to know who you really are.”
It was liberating to finally stand up for herself, to assert her own power over her destiny. Maybe now she would finally have some peace.
It wasn’t the love, the future she’d wanted for herself, but it was something. And that mattered.
As Layla left the room, the shouting began again, only louder than before. In the kitchen, Layla stopped in front of Mrs. C. “Come with me.”
The housekeeper, the only mother figure Layla had truly ever known, the woman who’d brought Layla out of her mute shell, took Layla’s face in her hands. “You’re not responsible for me. You’re grown, happy, and in love. I’ve done all I needed to do here. I’ll find a new job. Your parents are, what do they say? Nuts.”
Taking the housekeeper’s hands in hers, Layla’s own tears began to stream down her face. “No. I mean come be my family. You can take care of me because we both know how awful I am at it. You know how messy and forgetful I am. And I can take care of you now and make sure you have everything you could want.”
“I can’t take advantage of your good fortune. Everything I have done, I did from love.”
“They wanted to take advantage. You, I need. Please, Zia.”
Mrs. C. started to cry then, too, as she wrapped her arms around Layla’s much taller frame. “Yes. I’ll come. I’d be honored, gattina.”
Jace screeched to a halt, half on the walk, outside of Layla’s parents’ house. He trotted out back, hoping to find her in the pool house. If he had to go into the house of horrors, he would. He just hoped not to have to deal with those insane people she called parents.
Out back, he spotted Layla and Mrs. C. staring at her trunk. She’d parked outside the garage, and the entire backseat of her convertible was packed full of things. She’d really meant it. She was leaving, for good. And taking Mrs. C. with her, he supposed.
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