Part of the issue was that Elizabeth had been so damned good at living the life I now inhabited. She’d had no problems navigating the upper echelon of New York society—she’d been born into it. That was the kind of person billionaires married. Not women from poor Michigan backgrounds. Another, more significant, part was the irrational feeling that Neil had another family, like my father. Which was ridiculous, since at the time of Neil’s marriage to Elizabeth, I hadn’t even known his real name.
Neil’s ringtone sounded, and I answered the phone.
“If you don’t like it, we can get rid of it,” he said in an easy extension of our text conversation. “Christie’s would sell it.”
I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “Nah. It’s no big. My eyes won’t bleed from looking at it. What are you doing?”
“Reading.”
“Reading.” I smiled to myself. “Reading those papers from North Star?”
“No,” he said, immediately defensive. Then, “Yes, fine. I am.”
“For someone who’s retired, you do an awful lot of work,” I pointed out.
“Early retirement,” he replied, leaning heavily on the first word, “doesn’t mean a person loses all interest in working. I simply work less.”
“Okay, that part is true,” I conceded. Neil used to work excessive hours, trying to control every aspect of his company. Though North Star Media wasn’t technically his responsibility, he did own a sizable share in it. Since his late father had founded the company, it seemed only natural that Neil would maintain an interest in it.
“Actually—”
“No,” I said automatically. I knew what he was about to say. The amount of time he’d been “interested” in the company had increased incrementally over the last few months.
He jumped immediately to the defensive, proving my suspicion correct. “It would only be part-time. And a few weeks out of the year, I would fly over to the main offices and sit in on some board meetings—”
“The point of you retiring early was so I could be the one obsessed with work,” I reminded him. “Plus, what’s that going to do to Olivia, you being gone a few weeks out of the year?” He’d already been gone long enough. While I knew many, many people found themselves separated from their children for long stretches of time, I felt like Neil had used up all of his absentee grandfather days while he’d been in the hospital.
“I’ll just line those times up with Valerie’s custody dates,” he explained.
“What happened to using that time to see El-Mudad?” That was something I wouldn’t budge on. It was difficult enough to see him. We couldn’t sacrifice the only opportunities available.
“Darling, these are all things we can figure out as we go along,” Neil insisted. “And I haven’t made any permanent choices. But you know it’s difficult for me—”
“To just walk away,” I finished for him. “I know. Maybe I could use some of that, myself.”
“You sound rather mopey, for someone who’s just come from a party.”
I put the call on speakerphone and went to the refrigerator. “Yeah, well. It was hard to summon up a lot of enthusiasm to celebrate something you had absolutely no part in.”
“You’re not being very fair to yourself.” If anyone on the planet was a Sophie Scaife cheerleader, it was Neil.
But I couldn’t let him cheer me on when I was on such a losing streak of my own making. “No, I think it’s very fair. I’m hardly ever at the office. When I am there, I have no idea what’s going on. There were employees there tonight that I’d never even seen before. I’m surprised Deja hasn’t revoked my security pass.”
“Is there something going on that you’re not telling me?” Neil asked cautiously. “Have you fallen out with Deja?”
“No. Just the usual. Except Holli commented on it. She’s getting a little touchy about the fact that her wife is constantly overworked because I’m underworking.” The refrigerator wasn’t stocked the way it used to be when we lived here, but there was fruit and cheese and my favorite salami, which I only ate as a treat. “Aw, look what I just found in the fridge.”
“I can’t look. We’re on the phone. But, yes, I know.” He sounded pleased at his surprise. “I thought you might need a post-party snack.”
“Post-party stress eating,” I corrected him. “And you could see if you would be willing to FaceTime me.”
“Not from a phone. You know it makes my face look fat,” he grumbled. “If you want to work more, you can. I hope you don’t feel like you have to fill a gap at home. I’m not being neglected. Olivia certainly isn’t being neglected. I don’t want you to feel tied here, to your detriment.”
“I don’t feel tied.” I just didn’t feel like working. “This is all just different than I expected it to be.”
“Expectations sometimes have that dismal effect on reality.”
We lapsed into a pause.
“Well, I won’t keep you,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Keep me from what?” I forced a laugh as I looked around the kitchen, empty of all but the most impersonal of decor. When Neil had lived here full-time, there had been pictures on the walls and paintings he liked, music playing almost all the time in one room of the house or another. The silence around me was disquieting, not just from a lack of sound, but a lack of life that penetrated every corner of the place. It wasn’t haunted; it was haunting.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised. “We’ll pick you up.”
“That seems silly. You’re going to have to backtrack—”
“I would rather not be alone.”
Right. I could be such an idiot, sometimes. “I get it. And it’ll give me a chance to say goodbye to Olivia before she goes. What time will you be here?”
“I’ll try to be there by nine. I’ll bring breakfast. Maybe that quiche from Lafayette?” he suggested, trying to brighten up his tone.
“Florentine, if they have it.” My stomach rumbled as I reached for a plate. Now that I’d thought of the quiche, salami and cheese and grapes wouldn’t cut it. “I think I’m going to take all of this food into that great big bed—”
“Oh, please don’t!” he begged.
“I’m going to eat crackers and get the crumbs all over—”
“This is not the kind of dirty talk I want from my wife!”
“Mmm, I might even bring a jar of mustard in there with me.” I followed up with an orgasmic moan.
“You’re treading very dangerous waters,” Neil warned, his voice playfully low. “You know what I like to do to bad, bad girls.”
I laughed. “You make a lot of disgusted faces at them and tell the housekeeper to change the sheets.”
“Exactly right.” When he laughed, he sounded tired.
“It’s late. You go get your rest,” I told him, though my heart dropped at the realization of how not-lonely the apartment felt when I was on the phone with him, and how that barren loneliness would crash back over the place when we hung up. But I couldn’t keep him on the line forever.
“All right. Olivia and I will be there at nine. We’ll bring a tribute of egg and spinach,” he promised. “And if you masturbate tonight, please think of me.”
“I’ll be thinking of that quiche. Or Lana Parrilla.”
After we hung up, I piled up the food and carried few bottles of water under my arms as I shuffled to the bedroom. The lack of noise made the back of my neck prickle; it was all I could do not to suddenly break into a run from something that wasn’t creeping up behind me.
Growing up in a singlewide trailer with one bedroom had pretty much freaked me out on large spaces.
I didn’t breathe until I hurried into the bedroom and closed the door behind me. I double-checked the security alarm from the console beside the bed then unceremoniously dumped my plate, knife, and food onto the powder-blue duvet cover.
The master suite in the apartment was like a very nice hotel room. Built-in mahogany bookshelves framed the enormous bed, while
a settee and two armchairs grouped facing the television on the wall. I clicked that on for noise and went to the walk-in closet. Well, I guessed it was more like a walk-through closet, because the bathroom was tucked away behind it. I didn’t have to bring an overnight bag with me; despite living full-time in Sagaponack, we still had toothbrushes and toiletries here, as well as smaller—but no less functional—wardrobes. Once I was snuggled safely into some comfy cotton PJs, I headed back to my mini-feast and some late-night binge watching.
But even Once Upon A Time, my current Netflix guilty pleasure, couldn’t distract me from the unsettled feeling I’d been carrying around. Not just from the magazine or the empty apartment. From that weird encounter in Calumet.
I grabbed my phone and opened Facebook. Even though I’d known I would do this—and that I wouldn’t get another good night’s sleep if I didn’t—I had put off looking her up. I’d started to type her name into the search bar more than once. After finding Joey Tangen’s obituary, I wasn’t sure I would ever investigate the situation, again. But Joey was the least of my concerns, now that I had met Susan.
Finding “Susan Johnson” on Facebook wasn’t the easiest task. There were a lot of results. I went to my browser and typed in “Susan Johnson Facebook Iron Mountain,” though, and there she was. As the app loaded, I held my breath.
There she was. Susan Johnson, neé Tangen. She smiled out of her user pic, Lake Superior’s Pictured Rocks behind her, the wind whipping slashes of black hair across her face. How many pictures like that existed of me? I hated the way we looked alike. Not exactly alike, we both had Joey Tangen’s eyes, Joey Tangen’s hair, his chin and jawline. But her skin was darker than mine, and I had my mother’s nose. Her face wasn’t as broad as mine, and she had less forehead—not that it was a difficult achievement to pull off. My forehead always seemed massive.
I only realized I was touching her picture when I accidentally hit the “like” button.
Oh, god.
I had no idea what to do. If I undid it, would that also undo the notification she’d received? If it didn’t, would she see the notification then see I’d undone it? She would know I was spying on her and trying to cover my tracks. Oh, god. I was spying on her.
But if she was going to find out, anyway, and as long as I was already there…
I looked at every single picture. Cautiously. Pictures of family Christmases I hadn’t been a part of, family vacations that looked eerily like my childhood trips. People who were my blood, but who lived entirely different lives. Tribal events and cultural summer school programs. Hiking as a family with Joey Tangen, firefighter, smiling wide as he carried one of his daughters on his shoulders.
I thought about the last time—one of the only times—I had seen him in person. When he’d nervously approached me to thrust a graduation card in my hand and congratulate me in the parking lot of Calumet High School.
He hadn’t even made eye contact.
How could the man in Susan’s pictures be the same man who hadn’t wanted me? How could the little girl in those pictures, the woman in them, look like me but live an entirely different life?
My thumb hovered over the message button. But what would I say?
I closed the app and set the phone beside me gently, as if it were an old, unstable stick of dynamite. Whatever decision I might make, it shouldn’t be in the middle of the night after a tiring party. Plus, the timestamp would definitely out me as a creeper.
Maybe you should just let it go. I wished I could listen to myself. I made pretty good points when I actually did. I’d lived my entire life without knowing about the existence of Susan or any of my other… Any of Joey Tangen’s children. And my life had been great so far. I’d met my soul mate, we lived in a seaside palace, I could have any dream I’d ever wanted.
Except for the one where I had a father. Sisters.
My heart hurt. I’d thought putting some time between me and that awful night at the class reunion would have brought me more clarity. I was only more confused. Why hadn’t Susan contacted me? Should I stand back and let her make the first move? Had she tried? What if she’d come to my Facebook page and found it protected and just given up?
Or did she just not want anything to do with me? That wasn’t a possibility I was ready to face.
I thought about calling Neil, but after witnessing the meltdown I’d had back home, he’d probably jump in a car and speed right over. I didn’t want that, so I curled up in bed and promised myself that I’d have the answers, or at least a new perspective, soon.
Any day, now.
Chapter Six
Woodlawn Cemetery’s Brookside Garden had a beautiful rushing stream and meandering pastoral paths. It was tranquil and idyllic. When a two year old wasn’t running around and around in circles, shrieking and babbling with delight.
Though Olivia lived with us most of the time, we’d worked out a visitation arrangement with Valerie that gave her time with her granddaughter and us a little break, now and then. Because Valerie still worked and had a life of her own, and because Olivia was still very young, we’d decided that a week every two months was just about right. Sometimes, we flew to London for the hand-off. When Valerie was in New York, we met in the cemetery.
Neil and Valerie and I tried our best to incorporate Emma and Michael into as much of Olivia’s life as we could. We’d started bringing her to visit their grave, a large rock on the bank of the stream with a bronze medallion set into it, as soon as the weather had warmed up. Valerie often remarked that it was good to bring her, so that Emma and Michael could see their daughter playing. I wasn’t sure Neil was so keen on those remarks; he had a rather dim view of spirituality, especially these days. He tolerated them, though, because they helped Valerie get by. That was really all any of us could do so far. We’d only been waiting about ten minutes when Valerie arrived, but Olivia was already red-faced and sweaty, her wispy blonde curls stuck to her head. She spotted her grandmother at once and ran, chubby little hands extended in front of her.
Valerie stooped and spread her arms wide. “Come to Grandma,” she cooed, and lifted Olivia into her arms. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”
“Hello, Valerie,” Neil said, rising from the bench he’d been sitting on. He held out a hand to shake hers. When Emma was still alive, he would have hugged Valerie and air-kissed her beside her cheek. Now, he was stiff and formal about everything. I didn’t know why, and considering our past difficulties, I didn’t really want to discuss Valerie any more than strictly necessary. The result of his unusually cool demeanor, however, was that I overcompensated by being way warmer than I ever would have to her under different circumstances.
I gave her a big smile and approached her for a hug I didn’t want to give and she probably didn’t want to receive. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Valerie. In any other life, I would probably have admired her. She’d done the single mom thing like my mom had, albeit with the financial benefit of a huge company with her name right in the title. She and Neil had started Elwood & Stern together and kept it going while co-parenting their daughter. He’d once described the arrangement as “less of a custody battle with each other than a battle of wills with Emma”.
She had been an awful lot like her mother.
“Any big plans during your week off?” Valerie asked, looking between the two of us expectantly.
“Not stepping on any toys,” I joked. “We have an old friend coming for a visit. What are you and Olivia going to do?”
Valerie adjusted Olivia on her hip and swung her auburn hair out of her face. She’d ditched the radical blonde highlights she’d gotten the year before but kept the same asymmetrical bob. “We’ll probably do a bit of shopping. Maybe go to the zoo. Would you like that, Olivia? Would you like to go see the penguins?”
“And you’ve replaced that baby gate at the top of the landing?” Neil asked. I almost elbowed him to correct his sharp tone.
She took it in stride, probably through years of having to deal w
ith him. “No. No, I just had them dig a large pit in the center of the staircase. Then, I filled the pit with vipers.”
“Well, if that doesn’t teach her not to crawl up the stairs, then she can’t be taught,” I said, giving Neil a sideways look.
He ignored me and addressed her. “If you need a good contractor for baby proofing—”
“She will be fine, Neil,” Valerie said with a roll of her eyes. “I swear, sometimes, it’s the nineties all over again.”
“Well, pegged jeans are coming back.” I felt like I was the child here, trying to please two battling parents.
“Well, we don’t want to rush away,” Neil said, casting a glance around the space. “But you’ll want time alone with her here, I’m sure.”
“Yes, I—” She turned toward the car. “I brought a picnic for Olivia and me. I would ask you to join us, but I doubt you’d be interested in splitting a juice box three ways.”
“We’ll just say goodbye, then.” My heart sped up a little in anticipation of missing Olivia. Neil assured me it would get easier as she got older, but I couldn’t see how. Two people I loved dearly had entrusted me with the care of their only child. I would never stop being nervous at handing her off. I leaned over and kissed her sweaty little head. “You be a good girl for Grandma. You’re going to have so much fun!”
Neil took Olivia’s hand and kissed it, adding, “Afi and Sophie will miss you terribly. We’ll have a surprise for you when you come home.”
I shot him a look. “We will?”
“I’m sure there’s something left in New York that he hasn’t bought her,” Valerie quipped.
“And if there isn’t, I can access many other fine countries.” His hand lingered on Olivia’s back, so I tugged at his sleeve.
“Come on,” I said quietly. If it was difficult for me to leave Olivia, it was about ten thousand times worse for Neil. But he’d done this before with Valerie. He should have had a little bit more trust.
The Sister (The Boss Book 6) Page 8
