He and Avery were engaged, my conscience reminds me, what the hell are you thinking?
“Some good times up here,” Jackson says, derailing my guilty train of thought.
“Yep,” I reply lamely, looking out over the same old grounds. Not a thing has changed about my parents’ house. It’s like a museum. Or a crypt.
“You know this is how Avery used to sneak out, right?” Jack goes on.
“Over the railing, down the trellis, I know the drill,” I reply, “She wasn’t the only one sneaking out, you know. I just didn’t end up at the same parties as you two.”
“Except for that one time,” Jack corrects me, “What was it, your sixteenth birthday party or something?”
“You remember?” I reply, secretly thrilled that he does. Maybe that almost-kiss meant more to him than I thought. Just knowing that he recalls it at all is satisfaction enough. Certainly, now is not the time to start expecting the world from Jackson Cole.
“I remember it perfectly,” he says pointedly, his eyes fixed to my face.
“Yeah?” I ask, trying not to shiver—with delight and cold. I seem to have forgotten my jacket once again.
“Yeah...” he says, slowly. “Actually. I don’t want to embarrass you, but...Isn’t that the same dress you were wearing at that party ten years ago?”
I glance down at the black dress, then back up at Jack. In unison, we burst out into uproarious peals of laughter, clutching onto the railing as our bellies start to ache. It’s positively ridiculous, trying to keep up the act that anything about this night, this conversation, or any of what’s going on here is normal. A good laugh is exactly what we’ve both been needing, I think.
“Same old Callie, huh?” Jack says warmly, wrapping an arm around my shoulders there at the railing.
“Or something like that,” I reply, fitting myself into his muscular side. A bit more experienced, I want to add, but bite my tongue. This is neither the time nor the place for flirtation, I remind myself for the millionth time.
“Listen,” Jack goes on, looking down at me with sudden earnestness. “I want to fill you in on...well, everything. Everything that’s happening with my work, and my life. Everything that was happening with Avery before she... But I can’t do it here. If I spend one more minute cooped up in one of these Westchester mausoleums, I’m gonna snap. Can we meet somewhere else?”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Uh. Sure, Jack. Where?”
“There’s a bar back at my hotel in the city,” he tells me. “Will you come and have a drink with me? Tomorrow?”
I blink up at him in the half-light, mesmerized by his face being so close to mine. “Are you asking me out...at my sister’s funeral?” I ask him slowly.
He rolls his eyes, tugging me playfully against his side. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it that way, Cal.”
“Is there another way to put it?” I shoot back, suddenly tired of his hell-if-I-care attitude. “Sorry, but it feels a little off. You know? We haven’t seen each other for years. You were part of Avery’s life. Not mine.”
“Will you meet me or not?” he asks impatiently, just as tired of my attitude as I am of his.
“I...I don’t...” I stammer. Why is it so hard to say no to this man?
“Please, Callie,” he says, all of the arrogance in his expression falling away. “I really need to see you again.”
“I’ll...have to think about it. I guess,” I allow, confused by all the odd turns this conversation has taken. “It just feels a little weird, Jack. I hardly even know you anymore.”
“Yes you do,” he says firmly, his blue eyes locked hard onto mine. “You always have. Sleep on it, alright? I gotta get out of here.”
Jack turns on his heel and takes a step toward the door.
“By the way,” he adds, pausing at the threshold, “Happy belated birthday, Callie.”
I stare after him as he makes his exit, my mouth hanging open. At least one thing about that man hasn’t changed a bit since we were sixteen-year-olds making jokes about Shakespeare and stealing nips of vodka: I never, ever know what to expect from him next.
“And where did you disappear to?” my mother asks, as I descend the marble stairs once more. The reception guests have all dispersed, leaving me alone with my parents in this expansive mansion. The clicking of my heels on the steps echoes eerily around the empty halls.
“Just getting a bit of air,” I reply, my voice fraying at the edges.
Sylvia waits for me at the foot of the stairs, a nearly-drained martini glass clutched in her skeletal hand. The strain of this ordeal is finally starting to show on her implacable face, but I know we’ll never say a word about it. I stop in front of my mom, returning her stony gaze. Of all the surreal things that have happened these past couple of days, the most baffling by far has been realizing that my own mother is now a total stranger to me.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she snaps, frowning. “Are you on drugs or something, Calista?”
“No Mom,” I sigh, “Just lost in my own thoughts, I guess.”
“Quite,” she replies, turning and walking away from me across the foyer.
I trail after her into the living room and find my father sitting on the antique sofa, reading over the day’s paper, a replenished cocktail at his side. My body goes stock still as my mother settles down across from him, rifling through her day planner. Looking at the two of them now, you’d think this was just an ordinary night in the Benson Home. They sit in silence, occupied with their own tasks, as if their daughter’s memorial service hadn’t just concluded an hour ago. As if their only remaining child who they haven’t seen in years isn’t standing before them now, utterly at a loss.
“Oh! You’re still here,” my father remarks, glancing up at me over his reading glasses.
“Yes, Dad,” I reply, acidic anger roiling in my core, “I’m still here.”
“I thought you’d gone back to the commune already,” he drawls, taking a catty swipe at my new town.
“Not just yet,” I shoot back, crossing my arms tightly across my chest, “I had to pocket some of your silverware first. Gotta make rent somehow, am I right?”
My parents look up at me sharply. Of course, the mere mention of their valuables being stolen gets their attention.
‘“Is that your ironic, roundabout way of asking for money?” my mother asks primly. “We’d prefer you just come out with it and—”
“I’m not asking you for money,” I cut her off. “I haven’t once asked you for money. Not from the moment I left this place. It’s something I’ve always been proud of, you know that.”
“We’re well aware that your pride trumps your common sense,” my father sighs.
“If you don’t need money, then what is it you want?” my mother asks testily.
“What I want, Mother,” I reply, my words gushing out on a swell of white hot ire, “Is to know what the hell you were thinking, inviting Daryl Hellman to Avery’s memorial service.” I can almost hear the air being sucked out of the room as my parents stare at me, unmoving. “You know that what he did fucked Avery up for the rest of her—”
“We are not having this conversation again,” my father says, his voice hard.
“No, you’re right,” I shoot back, “We can’t have this conversation ‘again’ because we’ve never had in the first place! You completely dismissed us every time we tried to tell you what he’d done. You told us we were lying, that we just wanted attention. You were more concerned with keeping up appearances at the country club than standing up to your daughters’ abuser. And even now that Avery is gone, you let that monster stroll into her memorial service as if nothing—”
“I will not be attacked in my own home!” my father roars, rising to his feet.
“But it was OK for your daughters to be?” I cry out, my hands balled into angry fists. “That’s quite enough,” my mother says, placing herself between me and my father. “Calista, you cannot speak to your parents that way.”
“That’s the only thing I have to say to you,” I tell her, “So if you won’t hear it, then I guess that means we’re done.”
“Yes. I think we are indeed done for the evening,” my father huffs.
“No, Dad,” I say, swallowing the hard knot that’s formed in my throat, “We’re not done for the evening. We’re done for good. You won’t be hearing from me again.”
“Oh please,” my mother scoffs, “Don’t be so dramatic. We’ve already had one actress in the family. We certainly don’t need another.”
“This isn’t an act,” I tell her, dragging shallow breaths into my lungs. “This is me, finally doing the right thing. What I should have done a long time ago. Avery and I needed you to stand by us, all those years ago. We needed you to protect us. Love us. And you just...didn’t. You failed at loving us.”
“Calista, for god’s sake,” my father murmurs, the very mention of the word “love” making him cringe.
“Not even losing Avery could make you own up to what you’ve done wrong,” I say, in awe of their cold-heartedness. “Well...Let’s see what happens after you’ve lost us both.”
I don’t wait for a response. I don’t say goodbye. I know now that nothing will ever get through to Howard and Sylvia Benson. All these years, some tiny part of me was holding out hope that they’d admit their failings, apologize to me and Avery for not helping us when we needed it most. As I storm out of my childhood home, I feel that tiny spark of hope sputter out inside of me.
It’s over.
No one comes after me as I rush away from the house, slipping into my winter coat. My breath billows around me as I sink into the driver’s seat of my well-worn car. I have no more tears to spare, after everything that’s happened today. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I pluck my cell phone off the passenger seat and punch in the number of Bernadette, my downstairs neighbor back home.
“Hey Bern,” I say, as her answering machine picks up my call, “I know I told you I was going to be home late tonight, but something’s come up out here. I might be another day or so. Just wanted to give you a heads up so you don’t go filing a missing person’s report, or getting a search team together or anything. You know...like last time. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll see you soon. Give the dogs my love.”
I start up my car and peel away from the Benson estate. There’s no way I could have returned to my lonely little apartment tonight. It would be too hard, too lonely after everything that has happened these past couple of days. It’s back to the motel for me. Besides, come tomorrow they’ll be a drink waiting for me in New York City...
Along with the man who’s buying, of course.
Chapter Five
Eight years earlier
The Benson Home
Late afternoon sunlight spills across the pages of my script as I drink in every syllable of Shakespeare’s words, committing the lofty language to memory.
“What's in a name?” I murmur to myself, drilling the lines as I roll onto my stomach across the four post bed. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet...”
I glance back down at the script, moving along to the next bit of the monologue. Auditions for our senior year spring play aren’t for another two weeks, but I’m determined to have all my lines memorized as early as possible. We’re doing Romeo and Juliet this year, and it’s the first time I’m taking the plunge and auditioning for a role in one of our school’s plays. Usually I just sign up to help with props or costumes, watching from afar as Jack and the other thespians strut their stuff. But after years of longing to be on stage, I’m finally going to go for it.
And I’m scared out of my goddamn mind.
“Romeo, doff thy name,” I go on, swinging my feet onto the hardwood floor as I read from my script, “And for that name which is no part of thee...take all myself.”
I glance across the room and catch my reflection in the full-length mirror. At eighteen, I’m still as petite as ever. I’m decked out in my signature uniform of slouchy gray and black layers, chunky combat boots, and heavy black eyeliner. One thing’s for certain: I don’t look like anyone’s idea of Juliet. But I’ve given up trying to fit in among my preppy Westchester peers. High school graduation is only a few months away, and after that, I’ll finally be off to college. I haven’t decided where I’m going just yet, but my imagination is brimming with possibilities about what I want to study. I know I want to major in creative writing, but lately I’ve been dreaming about studying theater as well.
It’s always been a secret dream of mine to give acting a try. I love watching classic films and TV shows, going to see Broadway plays, and writing scripts of my own, too. Sometimes, I even work on monologues and scenes up here in my room, trying my hand at transforming into my favorite characters. I absolutely love the challenge of it, even if no one ever sees the fruits of my labor. I’ve never had the chance to explore my hidden interest here at home. My parents want me spending my time on “serious” activities. Model UN, the debate team, all that stuff. But once I’m in college? I’ll be free to try my hand at whatever I like, at long last. Even acting.
That is, if I don’t bomb this audition and prove to myself once and for all that I have no business being on stage.
I shake off my doubts, take a breath, and go back to the beginning of Juliet’s monologue. But as I open my mouth to start, a trilling peal of laughter rings out from the balcony. I peer through the french doors leading off my bedroom and spot Avery outside, having just burst out of her own room into the fading golden sunlight. Her long blonde curls cascade down her back, as she raises her arms in an overdramatic gesture of romantic longing.
“O Romeo, Romeo!” she sings out, twirling around in her tiny yellow sundress, “Wherefore art thou Romeo?” My sister stops short, glancing down at the script in her hands. The very same book I now clutch to my chest. She cocks her head at the page, looking up toward the doorway to her bedroom. “Why is she so hung up on where Romeo is?” she asks aloud, waving the pages around, “What the hell does it even matter?”
“She’s not, hung up on where he is,” I hear a familiar voice reply. My heart nearly bulldozes through my chest as I spot Jack striding out onto the balcony after Avery, a script of his own in hand. “‘Wherefore’ doesn’t actually mean ‘where’,” he explains, “It means ‘why’. So—”
“Well, that’s just stupid,” Avery says lightly, cutting him off.
“Tell it to the Bard,” Jack laughs, as she prances over the balcony’s railing.
I bite my lip as I watch her move to the very place I was standing that night Jack almost kissed me. It’s been years since that happened, but I still feel a stab of raw longing every time I think about it. Since that night, nothing remotely romantic has happened between me and Jack. We’ve each gone on to date other people, and I’ve done my best to stop hoping for another chance with him. But I have to admit, I’ve been nursing some pretty steamy daydreams about playing Juliet to his Romeo in our school’s production. Hell, that was the very play we were joking about the night of my sweet sixteen, when I thought for certain that something was starting between us. It seems like fate.
Or at least it did three seconds ago, before Avery stepped out onto the balcony, spouting Juliet’s monologue, looking happier than I’ve seen her in months. Though her life has always been haunted by past traumas, her demons have really started to get the best of her this year. Her drinking has been getting out of control, and she’s barely eating a thing these days. Her bones press up through her skin, her matchstick limbs looking like they could break any second. Nothing has been able to jostle her out of her depression—not senior year, not the prospect of leaving for college, not the steady stream of gorgeous boyfriends she’s had of late.
Nothing except rehearsing Romeo and Juliet with her oldest, best friend, Jack.
I refuse to let my eyes well up or feel let down as Avery launches into the rest of Juliet’s monologue. Jack looks on, so proud of her enthusiastic
, if haphazard, performance. He’s been as worried about Avery as I have, and looks absolutely elated to see her having so much fun with this. I know, as I watch Jack explain Shakespeare’s dialogue and meanings to Avery, watch her focus on and respond to what he’s saying, that I have to let them have this. Without me.
With trembling hands, I close Romeo and Juliet and slide it back onto my bookshelf. In a few short months, I’ll get my chance to reinvent myself, be whatever kind of artist I like. But this might be the only chance Avery gets. And I’ll be damned if I take that away from her. Even if that means giving up on Jack, once and for all.
I glance back through the french doors leading out onto the balcony just as Jack’s eyes swing my way. My heart clenches painfully as our eyes lock over Avery’s tanned shoulder. I manage to muster a weak smile before turning my back on them and resolutely walking away.
“Please, Callie!” Avery pleads, clutching my hands as she bounces on the balls of her high-heeled feet. “Just come with me real quick. I don’t want to look at the cast list by myself!”
“Ave, I’m gonna be late for student council,” I tell her, trying and failing to free my hands. She may be tiny, but she’s got quite the death grip, my sister.
Two weeks have flown by, and auditions for Romeo and Juliet are all wrapped up. The cast list was posted right after school ended, ten minutes ago. It wasn’t easy, watching all my classmates taking their cracks at Shakespeare while I signed up to be on the crew. Again. But after seeing how excited Avery was about the prospect of playing Juliet, I had to take myself out of the running. Besides, it’s not like I would have actually gotten the part. The only acting I’ve done has been for an audience of one (myself) on a very closed set (my own bedroom). I have no idea if I’m even any good.
“Couldn’t you blow off the geek squad just this once?” Avery goes on, fixing her brown eyes on mine. The gold flecks in her irises are glinting with hopes of stardom. Her excitement is more than a little contagious. “If I don’t get the part, I’m going to need a shoulder to cry on. And if I do get it, I’m going to need a drinking buddy!”
Damaged In-Law Page 4
