"Well, it wasn’t always like that. My parents loved me, and I loved them, and it wasn’t perfect, but it was home. I was safe."
"I’m sorry," Miranda said sincerely. "You were older than I was. You knew what you were missing. I—I just have a few little memories, here and there."
"You see, that’s the thing. There you go." He put down the glass. "The tragedy wasn’t when they died. It was right before. Because those things—they aren’t accidents are they?"
Miranda blinked. "Fine, if you want. But..." She couldn’t resist. "What does Alex have to do with any of that? He was your father’s friend."
She thought he shuddered just a little bit. "Some friend. I guess Alex was used to sharing everything that my father had, including his women."
Miranda froze. "His women? Alex was having an affair with your mother?"
Michael laughed. "Jesus, no. My mother hated Alex. She saw him for what he was—someone riding my dad’s connections to get what he wanted. He was doing that even when they were kids in school. I mean the other one."
She knew he was saying this to hurt her. "I’m sorry, Michael. I’m sorry your dad was such a dog that he was stepping out on your mother enough for you to notice. No one should have to grow up with that."
"Not exactly," Michael said with a sneer. "It wasn’t a whole slew of women, it was just one." He smiled and she didn’t know why, but she took a step back.
"Yeah, I guess that’s something Alex wouldn’t mention. I’m sorry there was...such drama in your father’s last days."
"You don’t get it, do you?" Michael stepped forward. "It wasn’t two separate things—my father had an affair, and then he died. It was all of a piece, and Alex wasn’t just looking, he helped."
The thought of the younger Alex in a love triangle with Stephen sickened Miranda, but she forced herself to think about it. Because she didn’t want to think about the other question which loomed so thickly between them that they didn’t need to say it.
But he wasn’t going to let it go. "You know you want to know."
"I don’t."
"Not even what she looked like?"
"You saw her?"
"I did." Another step closer. "The night he died. A car accident."
Miranda bit the inside of her cheek. "What did she look like?"
Michael stared at her. "She had a very nice body. I thought so even then. Much like yours, although I’m pretty sure you’re a few inches taller. She was blonde. Very pale. And green eyes. Maybe the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen."
Miranda slapped Michael so hard he stumbled back. He rubbed his cheek. "Didn’t you ever think," he continued, "that it was such a sad coincidence that they both were killed in a car accident? Didn’t you ever ask how she knew Alex, or at least, how well?"
"You’re lying." She tried to keep her hands shaking. "My mother wasn’t sleeping with either of them."
"Your mother was Alex’s whore," Michael spat. "And my dad’s. And that’s why it’s so fitting that you’d be here with Alex, after all these years. Why do you think he kept you around, hmm? He probably thought that you could be useful someday."
"No!" she said, and she couldn’t stop trembling now, all over. "That’s the way you think. That isn’t the way anyone else thinks."
"Go on; tell me that Alex loves you. Tell me that Alex would never do that to you. Because Alex isn’t so calculating, Alex isn’t so cold. Alex isn’t so ruthless, right? You’ve never seen him step on people and treat them like things."
"Not unless he was doing it for you!"
"And didn’t you wonder why? I know you did! It never occurred to you that Alex might be the one who needed to make something up to me?"
Miranda’s eyes welled up. "Pretend every piece of garbage you’re spewing is true. That doesn’t make anything you’ve done okay."
"Maybe. Maybe not. But you can understand now, can’t you? He robbed my father of his life over some piece of trash."
"You just stop!" She took a deep, slow breath. "Why—why do you keep insisting it’s Alex’s fault?"
"Because I heard them." He was right up in her face right now, so close that she could smell the martini. "He told my mother. And then my father left and that was the last time I saw him. He and your tramp of a mother got into his car, but they never got out."
Miranda sniffled and tried to smile to keep her lips from trembling. "Why should I believe you?"
"I wouldn’t expect you to take my word for it." His nose was touching hers. "Go ahead, check it out. Look him up, look her up, look my dad up. Ask Keith, I bet he remembers her. Ask Richard, maybe Lucy said something to him. Or don’t. Just go back to your perfect little bubble world. I’ll get what I want anyway."
"What do you want?"
Michael smiled. Before she could move, he kissed her and grabbed her hands behind her so she couldn’t stop him. She thought she was going to choke. She wriggled her arms free and punched his chest. He grabbed her hands and shoved his tongue down her throat, pushing her up against the wall.
Finally, he came up for air. "Did Alex ever kiss you like that?"
Miranda kicked his shins and punched him again. "Get out!" she screamed. He blew her a kiss before he turned and left.
Miranda rocked back and forth on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. Keith came in a moment later. "Is everything alright?"
She blinked. "Keith, do you remember my mother?"
He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, then stopped. That was enough.
Miranda ran out of the room, grabbed her coat and ran out of the house to the library. She’d loved going there so much when she was younger but now, even as she ran there, she dreaded it in the pit of her stomach.
The layout had changed since she was younger. She asked at the Information Desk in order to find the Reference Room. "Please, I need to find something."
The librarian smiled uncomfortably. "Of course. What are we looking for?"
She shook her head. "Who, actually, and a bunch of them. I need everything you have on Stephen Abbot, Alexander Sheldon, and Tatiana Hamilton."
It took an hour and a half, but they collected microfiche newspaper articles, Boston Magazine mentions, birth records and obituaries. "It looks like you’ll have to go to Magnolia to get Ms. Hamilton’s birth record, but we have Mr. Sheldon and Mr. Abbot’s right here." Then Miranda sat at the desk, poring over the details of everyone else’s past.
Stephen Abbot. Son of Michael Abbot and Regina Snyder. Alexander Sheldon. Son of Bryce Sheldon and Linda Stiles. Bryce Sheldon, deceased. Linda Stiles, deceased. Regina Snyder, deceased. Stephen Abbot, married to Annabelle Hendrickson. Michael Abbot, deceased. Alexander Sheldon, Black Monday Survivor. Stephen Abbot, father of Michael Abbot the second. Alex Sheldon, boy wonder renowned for business acumen. Alex Sheldon, the most eligible bachelor in Boston. Stephen Abbot, deceased. Stephen Abbot and Tatiana Hamilton Harel of Magnolia, killed in an accident on the Massachusetts Turnpike. Annabelle Hendrickson Abbot, widow of Stephen Abbot, deceased.
Miranda’s hand shook. She thought she had them all in chronological order, but something was missing. Where was it? There—the Boston Magazine blurb. "Alex Sheldon, Boston’s most eligible bachelor, accompanying Stephen Abbot, his wife Annabelle Abbot and an unknown female companion, to the AIDS Awareness Ball." She looked at the picture. "Can I get this blown up and in color?" Fifteen minutes later, she held it in her hand. There was dark-haired Annabelle, smiling for the cameras, while Stephen all but scowled at Alex kissing the forehead of his unknown female companion, who had her eyes closed. His blonde, pale, female companion. Wearing the same black dress she wore every time she appeared in Miranda’s dream.
Trembling, crying, Miranda couldn’t move for ten minutes. The librarian came over. "Is everything alright?" Miranda wiped her tears and tried to tidy up all of the materials. "Don’t worry—we’ll take care of that," the librarian said gently. "And these copies are yours to keep."
"No, I do
n’t think so."
Miranda walked home, looking straight ahead. She dried her tears before she walked into the front door. She went into the study and tried to open Alex’s desk. Keith came in as she was using a letter opener to try and pry open the drawers. "Do you have the key?"
"I don’t think Alex wants you in there," he said sternly.
"And Alex gets what he wants, doesn’t he? No matter what."
Keith left, and two minutes later Miranda’s phone rang. "Just like clockwork," she said in answer.
"Miranda, what are you doing?" Was that panic she heard in Alex’s voice?
"Just trying to see what other goodies about my mother I can find," she said.
She heard him inhale. "What are you talking about?"
"The library has only so much." She smiled; she was sure he could see that through the phone line. "You were never going to tell me, were you?" She hung up the phone, and pushed his monitor off the table. She threw his container of brandy at the fireplace. Keith came in, white-faced. Miranda calmly stood up. "I don’t care if you call him again," she said as she walked out.
She got into her car and programmed Magnolia, Massachusetts into her GPS. She hadn’t been there in so long; she’d even forgotten that it was part of Gloucester. Her phone rang. It was Alex. She ignored it. Again. And again. It rang again, and it was Richard. "Miranda, where are you? Alex is frantic."
"He can screw himself, Richard. Even more so because he called you." She got off the exit. "Is Jessie okay? Are you okay? Is Zainab okay?"
"Jessie is doing much better, but we can talk about that later. What is going on?"
"Richard, what do you remember about my mother?"
"Your mother? I’m sorry. I never met her."
She could still love Richard. "What about Michael? What about Lucy? What did they say?"
"Nothing worth repeating, or remembering, for that matter. What is going on with you?"
"Just remember that I love you and Jessie and Zainab, okay? Now don’t worry about anything."
She drove until she arrived at the tiny beach village. It was winter now and the town looked almost deserted. She parked at the beach and walked onto the sand. The way the cold sea air clung to her cheeks—it was a memory so old she didn’t remember the first time, it just felt like home. Her mother must have taken her on this beach, many times, maybe even during the winter.
She stared at the grey, choppy water. She reached out her hand, as if she could touch the sky and water and everything as it had been at some point when she was a small child. She held her hand in front of her and looked at it, trying hard to remember. Then she turned around and looked at the houses across the street. Her house, the house she’d lived in until she was five, must be one of those behind her. Her mother had been there, her grandmother too. They’d been a family, a real family. Maybe her father had been in that house as well...
Her phone rang again. It was Alex. Alex was once again coming to take her away from this place with the grey water, sky and truth. Once again trying to lure her and tell her how much he loved her and that he was going to make it okay. Rage overcame her, and she hurled her phone into the ocean. Then she sat on the beach, staring into the dark water for over an hour before it finally got so cold that she had to go to her car to keep warm.
She started her car and programmed the address into the GPS without asking herself why. She didn’t think anything the whole time she drove, only about the road and the cold.
She parked the car and walked up to the door. She rang the doorbell. No answer. She rang again. She knocked. It was past eleven. She didn’t care.
The door finally opened. Michael stood there with a glass of wine in his hand, his shirt pulled out of his pants. Miranda looked at him for a moment, remembering his cruelty just a few hours before. "Let’s go," she said before he could say anything.
She walked inside and took off her coat and threw it on his couch. She walked to his bedroom door and kicked off her boots. "What are you doing?" Michael asked. Miranda walked into the bedroom, pulling her sweater over her head.
"How drunk are you?"
She stripped naked while Michael stood in silence. She faced him full on. He looked her up and down, his mouth half-open, and then stared at her face. "Really, Michael," she said, moving to his bed. "Going once, going twice-"
"Sold," he said, closing the door and putting down his glass. He stripped just as quickly. She lay back on the bed. He put his hands on her breasts. She forced herself not to flinch. Then he brought his lips to hers. She put her hand on his mouth. "Just one thing… don’t kiss me."
CHAPTER 13
She lay in bed staring at the ceiling. She thought about Emily’s dress on the night of her reception. She thought about how pretty Emily looked, like an all grown up big little girl; which was such a joke because of course she was all grown up, and not a little girl at all, out of college and married. Miranda was a different kind of joke. She was a little girl who never grew up.
They’ll never forgive me, she thought, trying hard not to let on how painful this was. She turned her head to the side so she wouldn’t have to look at Michael’s face. He was...this wasn’t how she’d ever pictured it, and she’d never pictured it with him. She’d shuddered as his hands and mouth had worked over her body. She thought she should be grateful, somewhat, that he hadn’t lingered on her but had gotten to the point pretty quickly. She wished she’d turned the light off. It killed her to be there, but that was why she was there.
Michael groaned at last, and then seemed to fall on top of her. "Does that mean you’re finally done?" she said with a mixture of exasperation and relief. He didn’t answer, but Miranda pushed him off of her anyway. She stood up and grabbed her clothes, her back to him. She was in pain, but she wasn’t going to let on.
Michael turned over and she could feel him watching her as she put her underwear on. "So...huh. Wow. What was that?"
"I’m not much of a judge," Miranda said as she notched up her bra, "but I’d say that was pretty disgusting."
It sounded like he stopped breathing. "What is your problem?"
She zipped up her jeans and then put on her socks. She turned around and threw his pants at him, almost hitting him in the face. She didn’t want to look at his nakedness and the condom didn't cover enough. She already felt like she might be sick.
"Don’t act so hurt," she said as she put on her sweater. "How did you think this was going to work? ‘Oh, Michael, it’s you, it’s always been you, I was such a fool.’ Or whatever. I guess that would be sweet and I’d feel bad, except that we both know you never wanted me for me. You wanted me for Alex." She laughed. "Which is sort of sick, if you think about it."
She grabbed her boots and went into the living room to put them on. She heard him zipping up his pants and following her out. "I wanted you for Alex?"
She poured herself a drink. She didn’t know what it was, but it burned on the way down. She gasped gratefully, as if it could wipe away the last few hours. "Sure," she said, wiping her mouth. "And you know what? You can be the one to tell him, and you can make it sound any way you want. You forced me. No, that might get you killed, and we both know what a coward you are. I came and I begged. You comforted me. I realized I loved you, but you threw me away. Whatever you want, however you want it."
"Pity you didn’t say that when you came in."
"Pity it wouldn’t have made a difference to me."
He laughed and poured himself a drink of his own. "So I guess my story checked out?"
"It did. You were right. About everything. My mother, your father, Alex. Good job. Which doesn’t make you any less of a miserable excuse for a human being, but at least you get to be right about something."
She grabbed her coat. He was silent. Then he smirked behind her. "I’m so miserable, you’re so disgusted—what are you doing here then?"
"You know, I just thought this would be so efficient. We could do so much in so little time. You get to hurt Alex, I ge
t to hurt Alex. And you get to think you hurt me—again. But you don’t. Because I’m the one who really gets to hurt you, once and for all."
"Oh, I think my ego can handle this, with so many other consolations."
"Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that. Because I don’t think even you thought this was that great. No—you only ever wanted to do this with me, to me, because you wanted to make me feel cheap." His eyes hardened. "That and you’re a pig. And maybe taking something you thought belonged to Alex. Yeah, that was a big bonus. But really, I think you just always wanted to make me feel small." She shrugged. "And I guess you did, it did. Congratulations. But the truth is that I made you feel small too, and maybe that was my bonus."
Michael sipped his drink but didn’t take his eyes off of her. "So you think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?"
"Well, yeah. Maybe not everything but I don’t care. I’m done. You want Alex? He’s all yours. Torture him at will, and tell him I said ‘hi’. You touch anyone I care about and I’ll kill you. But otherwise, we’re done." She flicked her fingers on his shoulder. "Have a nice life, Abbot, or as close as you can manage."
"Where are you going?" He put down his drink and followed her to the door. "At this hour? And you just had a drink."
Miranda rolled her eyes and grabbed the door knob. "Yeah, I guess you’d know all about drinking and driving wouldn’t you? And I guess he can use that GPS to track me if he wanted to. You’re right, I’ll take a cab."
"You’re leaving your car?"
"Yep, one more present you get tonight. One more thing I really don’t give a good God damn about." She tried to close the door, but he blocked her. She shrugged. "Fine—freeze."
Without turning back, she walked quickly to Boylston Street and got a cab. It dropped her off at Zainab’s. It was past twelve when she got in. She threw off her clothes—she might burn those clothes—and then put on one of Zainab’s nightgowns. There were so many things that she could have thought about, but she didn’t want to think about any of them. It was all done.
The Family You Choose Page 10
