by Liz Durano
"I'd appreciate it if you don't tell Billie what to do, Harris," Heath says. "By the way, where are Ethan and Blythe staying? Small world to have them here having breakfast with you yesterday, and now, here we are."
And like a light switch that's just been turned on, the atmosphere around the table thickens with a tension that I can cut with a knife. But then, it could also be my imagination because I feel my body stiffen, wondering how to act natural.
Harris turns to face me. ”Feel free to walk around the grounds, my dear. I'm sure we'll be boring you to death in no time with our talk of business.”
"I'll get up when I'm bored, if that's okay," I tell him, flashing him the friendliest smile I can manage. Apparently, I’m being sent away from the table, but at that moment, another thought hits me. He’s just been with Blythe!
“You know what, while you guys are talking business, I’d love to speak to Blythe, but I lost my phone back in New York. Do you know where she is?”
Harris looks surprised as he pulls out his phone. "That's funny. Blythe lost her phone, too, just before coming here. In fact, I helped her get a new one. There's a place in town where you can get one here, and I can tell Heath where to find it. But let me call her for you, dear. I'm sure she'd love to hear from you. She has a new phone number anyway, so even if you did know it, I doubt you'd have been able to talk to her."
"Thank you," I say as Harris dials a number and waits as it rings. My heart is hammering against my chest, and I glance at Heath, trying hard not to look alarmed. We didn't plan this part, and it leaves me no choice but to get up from the table should Blythe answer the phone and decide it the best time for her to scream my head off.
"They're at Jade Mountain. She wanted all the spa treatments, from what I heard," Harris tells us as his face lights up, and he starts speaking. "Oh, Blythe! It's Harris. I hope it's not too early to have called. I've got your sister here. Yes! Your sister, Billie! Even Pam got up early to meet her—What? Oh, yes, here she is."
He hands me the phone and taking it, I get up from the table and walk away, barely looking at Heath as I leave. Blythe is already talking, and she's not happy.
“I can’t believe you have the nerve to follow me all the way here!” she exclaims. "You're such a bitch!"
"Blythe, listen to me," I begin, praying that she will stop her hissing and listen to me even for a minute. One of Harris’ security guys rounds the corner but stops when he sees me before disappearing again. “I don't care if you hate me, but you need to know that someone is setting you up. They've got four million dollars under your name in Geneva, which means if you're found guilty, you'll go to jail."
There's silence on the other end of the line, and I wonder if she hung up on me.
"Blythe? Are you there?"
"So I have four million. Ha ha. You know, I also have a Gold Card—"
"—that's been canceled, and as of yesterday, you no longer have access to company property, not even the penthouse. Do you know what that means?"
There's another pause, and I strain to listen but hear nothing, just the sound of a door closing.
"Of course, I know what that means, Bee. It means you're drinking Heath's fucking Kool-Aid, and he's got you good," Blythe says. "Are you that hard up for a man that you'll believe everything he tells you? He's doing this to get back at Ethan, isn't he? Did he say what Ethan found at your Mom’s house? Well, maybe I should let him tell you since that's the only thing you're willing to believe—his bullshit."
"You've changed," I whisper, and Blythe stops talking. "I never would have thought you'd say such things to me.”
"That's because I've seen your true colors, Billie Bee. You got so sick and tired of living in the boonies that not only do you screw the first guy you see, but you try to ruin me, too," she says coldly. "Jackson was right when he told me that he could tell you couldn't be trusted. The moment he saw Heath all over you that night, he knew just what kind of a bitch in heat you—"
"Now you stop that right now, Blythe Natalie Delphine," I snap, remembering how my mother used to address Blythe when she got her mouth running like this. "How dare you take the words of some man over your sister? If anyone should be talking about true colors, it should be me."
"Oh, please," she scoffs. "Don't make me laugh. At least now I know who you really are—"
"—like I know you for who you really are?" I snap, hating myself for playing Blythe's game, but I can't help it. She's nowhere near me to silence with a fist, though even that I would never do to Blythe or anyone after this morning. "Who bled Mom and Dad's account dry with requests for the money you said was for your rent when it was really for designer clothes so you could party all night? Who lied to them about having to work holidays when you were vacationing in Florida for the winter with your friends in the biz instead of spending Christmas at home? And when they died, and I was in the hospital, who breezed right through town with every intention to sell her share of the property even before the ink was dry on their death certificates? Who, Blythe?"
There's a deafening silence on the phone, and I hear her gasp. "Is that what you think happened? That I just breezed through town?"
"Well, wasn't that what you did?" I ask. "That's what Andrew told me—“
"Of course, you're going to believe Andrew, just like you believe everything Heath says. Just when I thought we'd spend time together this week, and bury the hatchet, here you go using another man to drive a wedge between us.”
"That's not true, Blythe.”
"Really? Why don't I tell you what's true, Billie, once and for all?” Blythe says. “How could you know that I just breezed right through town after the accident when you were in a damn coma the entire time? You never saw me sitting by your bedside, hoping you’d wake up. You never felt me holding your hand, massaging and stretching your fingers and every damn joint in your body so that they wouldn't curl up like they do in those books you read about coma patients? You never heard me talking to you because the nurses told me that hearing was the last to go and that maybe if I kept talking, you'd come back. I listened to all their shit about neurons connecting with one another at the sound of a loved one's voice, and it didn't matter if was all made-up pseudo-facts and they were laughing behind my back, but I did it. Every day for two weeks until they called to tell me you woke up, and I had to get the house ready for you because we lived in the fucking second floor and there was no way you could make it up those stairs by yourself.”
Suddenly, I’m speechless, ashamed of the things I had just said—and appalled at the things I'm hearing. Surely she can’t be making all this up. It's strange sometimes the things we never know when we’re so caught up with the stories we choose to believe.
"Well, I did that and more," she continues, "but did I even get an ounce of thanks from you the moment you got back from the hospital? Hell, no! You accused me, of all things, of sleeping with Andrew just because you saw him on my bed, and not only that, but you believed him when he told you that I was the one who came on to him! Did it ever occur to you that your so-called first love was a certified asshole? That because he had keys to the house—that you gave him—he turned into Goldi-fucking-locks and slept in my bed just because he felt like it? Did it ever occur to you that he's the one who lied?"
"You said it yourself then, Blythe, that he liked you first and that he settled for me," I say, but even my words are empty. I feel empty.
"What did you expect me to say?" She says as static crackles on the line. "That's what he told me when he was coming on to me, even at the hospital—with you right there in front of us! I figured you might as well know the truth about him rather than keep believing you were going to marry him and that he was going to love you forever."
There's a knock on the door on her end of the line, and I hear her muffled voice tell Ethan that she's okay and that she's just about to say good-bye.
Then hang up already, babe. We're leaving—now, I hear Ethan say.
"I warned you about
hedging your bets with the wrong man, Billie, but right now, I don't care. Your track record with men always sucked anyway, so this shouldn't be a surprise," Blythe says, exhaling. "And if you think you can play this game with me and win, think again. You're not ready for the big leagues, honey, and you never will. Oh, and as of today, Billie, I never had a sister, you hear me? Don't ever try to talk to me again because you’re dead to me. You hear that? You are dead to me.”
11
True Colors
It takes me almost five minutes to recover after Blythe hangs up though I have the foresight to memorize her phone number at least. Even my legs are shaking as I make my way back to the balcony, and I pray that none of the staff moving about the property notice how I need to hold onto a trellis as I force myself to breathe deeply—in through my nose and out through my pursed lips.
How could I have messed up on my one chance to talk to Blythe so badly? I shouldn't have lost my temper, or brought back the past, only to have it bite me in the ass because I was in a coma with no way to know what happened.
I had no idea she'd been there for me. I only knew whatever Andrew told me shortly after I got home. He claimed that Blythe had been too busy with other things to spend even an hour with me at the hospital, or that all she did was stay with him. But after waking up to the news that our parents had died instantly in a head-on collision on Highway 49 when a drunk teenager lost control of her car, I'd been too lost to know what to do or think. I couldn’t even remember that night, or what Mom and Dad talked about inside the car.
I wonder now if anyone else, like Kathryn, tried to tell me the truth only to have me refuse to listen. Or did choosing to believe Blythe drive her away from Nevada City forever?
In one of the open windows on the second floor, I see Pam waving at me. I wave back at her, my hand dislodging a few jasmine blooms from my hair and I shrug playfully for my clumsiness.
As I'm about to round the corner heading to the balcony where Heath and Harris are still talking, I spot a thick jasmine bush filled with flowers and stop to pick a few blooms to fill in the bare spots in my braid. It also gives me more time to collect myself as I hear their voices drift towards me though there is nothing friendly about their tone of voice.
“Now while I don't like to involve myself in sibling rivalry, Heath, I don't approve of this behavior from both of you. I'm quite disappointed-"
"I'm not the one who stole the letters.”
"Of course, I know that. I even told Ethan I did not approve of him taking his mother's letters and leaving the poor woman out of her mind," Harris says. "He knows those letters won't do him any good in getting the board to vote you out, though he’s hoping that you will step down voluntarily.”
“So he’s thinking blackmail will get me to step down, even when my performance has been anything but exemplary? Does Ethan honestly believe that the Board will vote him back in after his three-month performance?”
“Which leads me to the next behavior I do not condone, Heath," Harris says sternly. "Yours."
"Mine?"
"This whole embezzlement scheme involving Blythe is your idea, isn't it? Why else haven't you reported it to the Ethics Committee, or to the Board for that matter if not to allow the situation to get worse?”
“You know better than to accuse me—"
”You had all that time to tell me about this, Heath, your fellow Board member, and advisor. Instead, you and Tyler kept it to yourselves and only now do you tell me about it, but only because Ethan finally has something that forces your hand,” Harris says, chuckling wryly. “I am in awe of how far ahead you thought this over, Heath. I truly am. To blackmail your brother just in case he blackmails you first.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” Heath says, his voice cold. “That line of thinking is very flawed.”
“Flawed? Let me tell you what's flawed, Heath. That you had to involve an innocent woman such as Blythe in all this is despicable,” Harris continues angrily. “She has only ever been the sweetest woman I’ve ever met and because of that, I can’t even tell the Ethics Committee or call the Feds on this, not until I can prove that you are behind it, which of course, I can't, can I? And worse, here you are, dating her sister! Do you always have to have everything your brother has, Heath, even a pathetic copy of the woman who's going to be his wife?"
My hand moves up to cover my mouth as I stifle a gasp. Pathetic?
“I came here because you were Father’s best friend, Harris, and I trust—no, I trusted you to give me unbiased advice,” Heath says as I hear the sound of chair legs moving on the balcony floor. “But it is evident to me right now just what I am in your eyes, and there’s nothing that I can say or do that will change it.”
“That’s not true, Heath,” Harris says. “I care for all three of you, even you—no matter who or what you think you are...or what those letters claim.”
“Really? So how come I’m the only one you’ve decided has to be behind all this farce? What about Jessica? What about Ethan? What makes them innocent and me guilty?“
“C’mon, Heath, admit it. You’ve always been jealous of your brother, and somehow you’ve cooked up the perfect way to get him out of the way completely. And not only that but completely destroy his name-“
"Holy guacamole! You look like a princess with all those flowers in your hair!” exclaims a voice behind me and I almost jump a foot off the ground.
As I spin around behind me, I see Pam skipping through the garden with a lightness only a tween can exhibit, all arms and legs and a huge smile. She stops in front of me and touches my braid.
“Hey, Pam,” I say as I gather my composure.
"This is so cool!" she says, touching the flowers in my hair.
"Your Uncle Heath slipped the flowers in my braid," I say, forcing myself to stay calm. Behind me, I hear the sound of chairs being pushed back and footsteps approaching.
"I think it's romantic. I wish my hair were longer so I can do just that, and look like a princess, too," Pam gushes as Heath and Harris round the corner. Harris is grinning. There’s no sign of the tense conversation they've just had seconds earlier though Heath is unable to appear as carefree.
"But you already are a princess, Pammy, my dear," Harris says.
“You’re just saying that because you’re my Grandpa!”
“Well, he’s still right. You already are a princess,” I say, forcing a smile as Heath takes my hand.
"Thank you for breakfast, Harris,” Heath says. “Unfortunately, we have to leave soon.”
“But you just got here, Uncle Heath!” Pam exclaims. "I wanted to give Billie a tour of the grounds."
"Maybe next time, dear. It looks like your Uncle Heath is working again,” Harris says, squeezing his granddaughter's shoulders.
"He's always so busy,” she pouts. "Oh well, it's so sweet to meet you, Billie. Next time maybe my hair will be longer, and you can help me braid it. And if you're in New York, maybe you can come with me and watch One Direction. It would be so cool. My Mom can't stand them."
"Sure," I say as Pam rushes to hug me, and then Heath. Harris leans forward to kiss me on the cheek, before shaking Heath’s hand.
“I know you have to leave so soon, but I hope to see you in Santa Barbara, Heath," he says. "In fact, I'll arrange a meeting with you and your brother before one of you does anything you’ll both regret.”
Heath turns away and guides me down the path through the garden before I realize that I’m still holding Harris’ phone. “Hang on,” I say, pulling my hand from Heath’s grasp as I hurry back to Harris.
As I hand it back to Harris, he grips my hand warmly, though his eyes search my face. “I hope you got to speak to your sister.”
"I did. Thank you for calling her for me.”
"That's what friends are for, Billie, and just as Blythe is like a daughter to me, so are you,” he says, pulling me into a brief hug before taking a business card from his wallet and handing it to me. “If ev
er you need anything, even if it’s just to talk, my dear, do not hesitate to call me. Your sister does it all the time. My personal number is on the back.”
I can feel Heath standing behind me. “Billie, it's time to go.”
As I thank Harris, a part of me wants to be snarky, his words about me being a pathetic copy of Blythe still smarting, but I stop myself. I won’t stoop to his level, not when it wouldn’t change anything.
"Thank you for everything, Harris,” I say instead.
“It’s my pleasure. Remember, I love Heath like he's my son, so you're like a daughter to me now. You both take care now, Billie, and I hope to see you both in Santa Barbara. I’m sorry you have to leave so soon.”
Heath pulls me along the path towards the main house, and I have to tell him that I'm not his rag doll before he lets go. He's in a dark mood, and I don't blame him. I would be, too.
As we enter the beach house and round the corner leading to the living room, Heath stops and turns to face me. “How much did you hear?"
“Nothing. Why?”
He studies my face for a few more seconds before he exhales, frustration written all over his face. “Get dressed. We're leaving."
The realization that I failed to convince Blythe to come back with me hits me when I see a Lear jet on the runway after our helicopter lands at the airport. With a large black K and blue trim on its side, I can almost imagine seeing Blythe's face through one of the portholes looking back at me though I know it's my imagination because there's no way I can see her at all, not as far away as we are. But I tell myself it's her, Blythe with her thick-rimmed glasses looking back at me through the window because as perfect as she is, she's blind as a bat without her glasses or her contact lenses.
But it’s her last words to me that make the pain I’m feeling worse as if someone is twisting a knife deep in my gut as their plane speeds along the runway and takes off. Suddenly I scream in frustration, startling everyone around me except Heath.
