No. It wasn’t possible.
“I still remember that day—you told me I would sacrifice my talents to third world shadows over your dead body. You said you’d have nothing to do with me if I took the offer.”
“So I did.”
If Jared hadn’t already been sitting, he’d definitely need to pull a chair now. Every limb felt heavy, worn with years of fighting against a force he didn’t know until now existed. “You got me that first position,” he said, his voice strange to his own ears. “You’re the reason they took a chance on an unknown kid with a chip on his shoulder and an ego the size of New Jersey.”
His father threw his hands in the air and rose, beginning a familiar pattern of pacing that had worn a path in one of the Persian carpets at home. “So what if I did? It was what you wanted. You made the choice to leave. Not me.”
Jared had only one question, uttered with cold undertones: “Why?”
“Why, what? Do you want to know why I helped get you the job in the first place? Why so many promotions were practically shoved down your throat? Why the reporters keep calling for interviews?” His voice took on an eerie calm. “Or are you asking me why they’re pushing so hard for the directorship now?”
Oh, God. All of that? All him?
His heart clenched, held by an icy fist that forced the blood to keep moving against the organ’s will. Keep beating. Keep going. Take the job. Dance, monkey, dance.
But his father wasn’t done.
“They haven’t closed the offer just yet,” he said, his voice soft. Almost paternal. Almost real. “Take your time. Meet a few of the people interested in serving under you. There’s going to be a dinner in Philadelphia next week...small, mostly friends.”
“You mean mostly the board at Make the World Smile.”
He inclined his head in assent. “At least listen to what they have to say before you make a decision. I think you owe them that much.”
Jared sat back, head still swimming, heart still propelled by a force that was not his own.
“No.” He had a new practice. He was settling in. He was happy. Wasn’t he? “Not now. Not for you.”
“Of course it’s not for me. I know I haven’t always been an ideal parent, but I did my best.” His dad finally stopped pacing, his body unnaturally still. “And if there wasn’t a huge part of you that wanted this so bad you can practically see the title attached to your name already, you’d have thrown me out by now.”
Jared shot to his feet, dizzy from the closeness of the room and his father’s presence and the overwhelming realization that he was right.
Because even though the ground was opening beneath him, ripping away years of hard work he thought had been his own, he did want it. He wanted the power. He wanted the position. He wanted the job to be enough. He wanted to end this relentless search for meaning that never came.
“I think you should go.”
“It’s too late.” His father smiled tightly. “I’ve already seen the glint in your eye. You’ll consider what I said?”
Jared raised his hand in what might have been assent but had its roots in a complete and utter inability to form an articulate sentence.
As if sensing that his son needed solitude more than anything else, his dad beat a hasty retreat, pausing only to take one last look around the living room and muttering something about hiring a stager before he could sell it and move to Washington.
It wasn’t until the older man left that Max came out of hiding, nudging his head underneath Jared’s hand, licking his fingers as if to convince himself that life still existed inside them.
The feeble scratch he offered was enough to convince the dog, but Jared had his doubts. Because if everything he’d ever believed was a lie built by his father’s hand, there was a good possibility life had never existed inside them at all.
Chapter Seventeen
Gretchen unwrapped the plate of scones and offered one to Pauline. It had been five years since one of her sisters had made it across the threshold, and she could tell that the state of the house came as a shock.
“Why is all this stuff in the dining room?” Pauline asked, taking a bite. She let out a low moan and pushed a crumb from the corner of her lips into her mouth. “This scone is amazing, by the way. Did you make them?”
“With my very own two hands.” Gretchen was unable to stifle her smile. People were always surprised to find that she had a skill set outside of menial tasks and roller skating really fast. Say what one might about her lack of accomplishments in this world, exceeding low expectations was an unfailing source of self-confidence.
“You should go into business or something.” Pauline turned the scone over and inspected the back, as if searching for a copyright. “Seriously.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gretchen said. “And to answer your question, the stuff is in the dining room because I refused to pile any more furniture in the hallway. I can strong-arm Gran into maintaining decent fire safety routes, but that’s the extent of my influence inside these walls.”
“Is she really that bad?” Pauline looked through the chairs until she found one that looked stable enough to sit on.
“It’s not a matter of bad or good,” Gretchen said. How to explain the situation to someone who had happily existed on the outside for decades? “Gran has always followed her own code, which exists somewhere in the middle. You have to understand, Pauline. If there’s one thing Gran enjoys most in this world, it’s wielding control over other people. Unfortunately, the older she gets, the less she has. Even more unfortunately—she knows it.”
“That sounds like a horrible way to live.”
She shrugged. “It’s no worse than someone who’s obsessed with work. Or money.”
Pauline shifted uncomfortably. As Gretchen knew she was the least grasping of all her sisters, she softened and added, “I think holding on to all this stuff is her way of retaining some of her control. The furniture is hers and no one else’s, period. Which is why every time Janice or Mary threaten to battle ram the door to get at it, she holds on that much tighter, acquires more things. You don’t even want to know what happened when I asked her point-blank about the will.”
Gran had lifted a finger and pointed it at her, not saying a word. As she hadn’t put in her teeth yet, all that had been missing was a cauldron and a crow flying by to make Gretchen feel like she’d just been cursed to bear demonic children and wander the earth for eternity.
Naturally, she’d made her escape without further ado. With Gran, it was good to know when you were losing.
“I hadn’t realized we were making things so much worse for you. Why don’t you just—” Pauline shook her head before she finished the sentence. Not that it mattered much. Sisterly subtext wasn’t difficult to read.
“Move out? Get a life?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You did, but that’s okay. I’m used to it. You guys look in the window and see an old woman who’s got one foot in the grave. She looks out the window and sees a bunch of grandkids who only care for what they can get out of her. Nobody ever asks what I see.”
“What do you see?” Pauline obliged her by asking.
“I see my family.” She waited until the meaning settled in. Gran had taken her in when no one else would, had offered her sanctuary from a life that had never felt quite right. “I know you guys think I’m some kind of boomerang generation parasite, but I’m not about to walk out that door without making sure someone is here to take care of her.”
“We’re your family too, Gretchen.” Pauline ran a finger along one of the gold leaf veins in the table, not looking up. “I know you think we’re boring and silly, but we really do care. About you and about Gran.”
“We?” Gretchen asked doubtfully.
Pauline’s lined face fell into a smile as she looked up. For a flash, Gretchen saw the expression of her twelve-year-old confidante, her one-time ally, and it was difficult to remember why things had gotten so distant between them. “Well, I care. Gran might be right about the other two.”
Gretchen slid a hand over the table. “I don’t think you’re boring. Or silly.”
“I’ll never be as cool as you.”
She had to laugh at that. “I’m not cool, Pauline. I’m just really good at dressing the part.”
Her sister pushed back from the table and stood, but when she looked down at Gretchen, there was no snobbery in it. “Seriously? You’re the gorgeous sister, the fun one. You look ten years younger than you really are. You remember to laugh. You take time to play.” She paused, a smile lingering on her lips. “You’re a freaking roller derby girl, Gretchen. There’s nothing about you that’s not cool.”
“We should hang out more. That’ll dispel you of all your romantic notions.”
Even though she’d been half kidding, stammering under a wave of compliments she hadn’t expected and wasn’t sure she deserved, Pauline nodded happily. “I’d love that.”
She made to leave, pausing over the plate of scones as she grabbed one more for the road. “Thanks for letting me stop by today. I’ll let them know you haven’t made any progress with the search for the will and do what I can to stall the lawyer. It’s not going to be easy, though. Janice is already looking at vacation homes she plans to buy with her millions.”
“I’ll figure it out,” Gretchen promised. And she would. Somehow.
“I meant what I said before, by the way. You’re a really good cook—it’s a shame you decided not to do anything with your degree.”
Even though all the things Pauline said were kindly meant, Gretchen felt her stomach coil until she saw the back of her sister’s head bobbing past the dilapidated gazebo and into her car.
That person her sister saw—the cool girl, untouchable, impervious to life? As flattering as the portrait might be, it wasn’t her. With the exception of Gran and Caitlyn, she doubted anyone saw beyond the façade.
She’d spent so long building up her exterior, showing the world she wasn’t afraid of it, she’d somehow forgotten to take care of the inside. Her emotions were a crumbled heap of mismatched furniture and hoarded memories. Her dreams were a winding trail of clues and skeleton keys no one cared to solve.
Her phone rang, and she noticed Jared’s name on the screen with a mixture of anticipation and dread. As much as she longed to hear his voice, to maybe get another one of those low, rumbly declarations of affection he seemed so fond of bestowing lately, she was drained.
She couldn’t be his bad-girl fix right now. She didn’t want to pretend anymore.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing?” he asked, once again forgoing a greeting.
“This exact moment?” She looked around the room, hoping for inspiration. None came. “Staring at the dining room table and realizing I need to repaint my fingernails. They’re chipping.”
“Well, do it quickly. Come out with me tonight.”
She didn’t bother hiding her sigh. “What did you have in mind? Should I take you skinny dipping in the water reservoir at midnight? Egg the principal’s house? Maybe we can pay a visit to the tattoo parlor and I can convince you to get a big heart with MOM written on your arm.”
“Now that you mention it, I did almost get a tattoo once.”
He couldn’t have missed the point by any wider a margin if he’d tried. “I swear, if you tell me it was some honorary tribal initiation rite, I’m going to scream.”
He paused. “Gretchen—is something wrong?”
She bit back a sob. Of course something was wrong. It was one thing to play along with this seedy little game of theirs, to be a willing passenger on Jared’s midnight train to self-debasement. It was quite another to keep riding now that she realized the lengths to which Jared would go to thwart his father.
“I’m not sure I’m up for a give-the-golden-god-a-night-of-debauchery evening, if it’s all the same to you.” What she really wanted was a giant cup of lemongrass ginger tea, her bed and Wally’s company.
“That’s not what I meant.”
She didn’t bother to reply.
“I’m sorry about being such a jerk yesterday—in fact, I’m sorry about being a jerk every day since I first met you.”
“You weren’t being a jerk yesterday and you aren’t being one now.” She’d known who and what he was right from the get-go, taken up the gauntlet before it even left his fingertips. “I’m just dealing with some stuff right now that I’d rather not have to.”
“Are you at home?”
“Yes. Well, technically it’s my grandmother’s home.” The words felt good leaving her lips—like gunfire, sharp and precise. “Did you know that? I live with my grandma, who is slightly odd and belligerent and may or may not be hiding the family fortune inside the crappy old house where I live. Instead of going out with you tonight, I’ll probably sit in my basement apartment with my pet lobster who is single-clawedly holding me back from my career and try to figure out the stupid clue my Gran left me on some kind of twisted treasure hunt. A treasure hunt, thank you very much, that I can’t tell my sisters about or ask for help with because then they’ll swoop in and try to force her into a nursing home, and who knows where I’d end up after that?”
She took a deep breath, feeling lightheaded from her outburst, only to be greeted by silence. And not the good, pensive kind either. This felt more like horrified, back-away-slowly-and-put-down-the-knife silence.
Well. This was a bit easier than she’d thought it would be—almost painfully so. She’d had the suspicion that showing Jared her not-so-seamy undersides would result in a loss of interest, but she thought there’d be at least a little lingering about the edges.
“I’m pretty good at treasure hunts,” he finally said.
She shook her head, clearing her thoughts and possibly her ears. “Excuse me?”
“Treasure hunts,” he repeated. “At the risk of invoking your wrath at mentioning my illustrious past, we used to take boxes of old dime novels with us on some of our trips—the schools appreciated having English books of any kind on hand. I got kind of addicted to detective stories.”
“You’re being serious?”
“I’ll even admit to picking up a romance novel or two, but that’s strictly between us.”
A half laugh, half sob escaped her. “I’m not kidding about this, Jared. It’s not exciting or dangerous at all. It’s the machinations of a crotchety old woman I happen to love to death and who is one hundred percent not impressed by you.”
“Does that mean I can come help?”
She cast a helpless look to the ceiling, a worn hand-pressed tin that had always made her feel like she lived in a castle. The house, with all its crowded, overflowing fissures, had always seemed to her a force more powerful than herself. Jared was exactly the same, overflowing fissures and all. “I can’t imagine what on earth there is here to interest you.”
That same heavy pause filled her ears. “Can’t you?”
Bereft of coherent speech, dazed with a longing she thought might rip her in two, Gretchen rattled off her address.
Apparently, lemongrass tea was out. Wally was out. All of her not-so-carefully-laid plans were out. She was going to search for the intangible instead.
* * *
Jared wasn’t sure what he expected when he pulled up to the address Gretchen had given him, but it wasn’t a decaying plantation-style mansion situated at the summit of a well-to-do neighborhood. Gretchen had mentioned to Paula that day in Java Rocket that her family had money—something to do with nuts and bolts or something—but it hadn’t registered that the remnants of success must still
surround her.
He parked his car—still unsold despite having placed a Craigslist ad that he feared was actually a code for sexual services—behind a half-rotted woodshed of sorts, feeling the error of his ways with each step closer to the front door.
What else don’t I know about this woman?
He’d never thought to ask where she lived. He never knew she had family problems that ran as deep as his own. It had never occurred to him that her life was anything but simple. Gretchen was supposed to be his reality check, his ego puncture. Yet he was beginning to get the sinking suspicion that he’d been quietly feeding on her generosity all this time.
The front door had once been painted a cheerful blue, but the color had been largely scraped away, revealing dull metal along the edges. He lifted a hand to knock, but the door swung open before he could make contact. Gretchen stood waiting for him, appearing small and tired and, if he didn’t already know her age, as young as he’d feared on that first day. Her hair was back in a sleek ponytail, her bangs pinned off her forehead. She didn’t have any makeup on—at least, not that he could tell—and she appeared to be swimming in a pair of pajama pants that looked made for an oversized eight-year-old.
He could have kissed her.
He didn’t, of course. This Gretchen was scarier than all the other versions combined.
“I hope you’re not allergic to dust. I think I’ve got the next clue narrowed down to the attic, but no one has been up there in years.”
He entered the foyer and did his best to keep his eyes inside his head. He felt as though he was walking into the basement at the Louvre. Piles of canvas-covered paintings and furniture lined the hallway walls, all of it stacked to give the appearance of neatness. The recessed area to his left was some kind of living room with actual space to spare—and about seven carpets placed on top of one another in the center—but the room on his right was taken up with an alarming amount of furniture.
“I’m not allergic to anything,” he said. “But I am a little scared to ask what’s in the attic.”
The Derby Girl Page 22
