Pretending to be my mother, I called the insurance company to learn how to file a claim, and icy water slapped my illusions. Since the police were investigating the fire as suspicious, the insurance company had placed a hold on the insurance payout. The bad news bearer instructed me to get my sticky fingers on the death certificate while we waited for the outcome, which might take months. I hung up. Mental head bang.
I needed to cover my mom’s tracks. Just in case. I grabbed her phone out of my dresser, leaving my door ajar and music off in order to hear the front door. Dad’s reprimand to keep my door closed echoed in my ears, making the walls close in on me. Forcing his nagging voice six feet under to screech at the worms, I focused on the phone.
The mysterious N had a number my fingers itched to dial. N had texted Mom several times over the last three months. Many were about meetings here and there or daily affirmations as though Mom was also having an affair. The freakiest text read, “You know what you have to do. I’ll be there for you every step, and afterward.”
The confining walls pushed air from the room. What did the message mean? Had Mom gone on a Desperate Stepford Wife killing spree? Worry became my co-pilot, shifting me into a frenzy.
I snapped photos of all the texts, jotted down N’s phone number, and then erased the incriminating evidence from her phone. I zoomed to the kitchen and jammed the phone in the fruit bowl, leaving a corner sticking out where she’d find it between her pill-popping parties.
Watching the minutes tick by, doom swept over me in a band compressing on my insides. As I passed the front door on the way back to Dad’s office, keys jangled in the deadbolt. Mom entered, her hair escaping her twisted braid, skin pale under her perfect makeup, her blouse wrinkled and pulled out of her waistband.
“Mom?” I inched around the office doorway, hugging the wall. She stepped closer, leaving the front door open. Rex ran inside and curled around my ankles. I picked him up and cradled him to me, my one and only bud. “You’ve been gone a long time.”
“I couldn’t do it.” Her eyes dammed up.
I pinched the skin between my thumb and index finger, reveling in the pain to divert my ears from what I was about to hear. “Couldn’t do what?”
“Once I met them—Jesse and Jade—I couldn’t let them suffer for your father’s sins.”
Elusive air spun away from the room, and I set Rex down at my feet. “What do you mean? What did you do?”
“I signed up to be their foster parent.”
I slid down the wall, folding my knees close, burying my face in them. Obviously, she’d done soul searching and had actually found one. Surprise, surprise.
“Anita Bryce will be here soon to conduct a home inspection.” She sounded muffled and continued talking when I wanted her to shove a foot in it, or a vat of pretty pink pills. “Jade and Jesse will be with her. All the paperwork’s been expedited to get them here today. I’ll have foster parent classes and whatnot to do, but Anita says…”
I tuned her out. My worst nightmare was about to unfold. Dad’s betrayal, his affair, his disrespect, promised to haunt me forever in the guise of two bastard children thrust into our space every day. Surely, the Jerome kids felt the same, and this whole scenario reeked of idiocy. My bittersweet new life had evolved into my bittersweet wreckage. Thanks for taking us along for your ride to H-Town, Dad.
“Are you listening?” Mom crouched down to my level, losing her balance and falling on her butt. She must have an ass made of steel by now. Rex sniffed around the foyer, taking his command of the lunatic fringe.
“They need me. They need us. The likelihood of Jesse and Jade placed together or even separately in foster care is negligible due to their age. They’d end up in group homes until they’re eighteen. We can be a normal, loving family absent your father’s domineering influence.”
Refusing to look at her, I glommed onto Rex now lounging on the rug, his tail twitching up a breeze. “This is crazy. You can’t just take in kids off the street. You can’t even take care of me.” Anger shook my head into whiplash zone. “Get a dog if you want a normal, loving family.”
“You’re my rock. You’ve always been self-sufficient, wise beyond your age.” The dam gates broke, flooding her cheeks. “I apologize if I counted on you too much.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t need a mother.” I shot up, scaring Rex out the door at the same time as Anita Bryce’s “hello” sank into the pit of my queasy horror.
Mom greeted Anita in the doorway, wiping the evidence of her guilt off her cheeks. “Come in. Are the kids with you?”
Anita stepped aside to give clearance for the glum, sullen Jerome teenagers to enter our destroyed sanctum. Twenty tons of shock blasted my core at my first glimpse of Jerome-squared.
My fifteen-year-old half-sister, Jade, wore the typical Goth loser mask, from her purple-black hair to her black-rimmed eyes, dark purple lipstick, and small hoop through her little pink snout. Tattoos ringed each stubby finger of her right hand, circled her wrist, vanishing up her arm encased by a black leather statement jacket. She belonged to the Black Plague, as the kids at school tagged the Goth group living in the past, the kids we all ran screaming from before they dinked around the unsuspecting and infected us with their squirrely black disease. If she stripped the purple and black façade, she’d bear a resemblance to me, in the shape of her face, bow lips, and cerulean-blue eyes. Dad’s eyes. Proof of the bittersweet pudding.
Her lips curled in disdain, her slivered eyes billowing intangible smoke the way Dad’s eyes used to. A cigarette dangled from her lips, a plume of real smoke drifting to the top of the doorway. Anita swiped the death stick out of her mouth and stubbed it out in the flowerbed bordering the porch.
Bolstering her armor from behind, his head and wide shoulders taller, stood Jesse Jerome.
Absolute shock wrenched my mouth open, and I almost hurled my cookies. No. No. Hell to the big fat no. Sweat broke out on my boiling face of shame, and I wanted to sink down to the roasting pits of hell and kick my father around.
Jesse Jerome was none other than Jay. The boy who refused to leave my mind.
The touch of his lips still lingered on mine as his spicy cinnamon cologne constantly teased my memory. In that moment, standing in the foyer, he both compelled and repelled me, and those bands inside me tightened until I grew woozy on the way to passing out.
He stood in a gray T-shirt hanging off his lean torso, and faded holey jeans. Penetrating, dark, unreadable, his stare encompassed me, as if he dove into my soul and knew my every fiber in that one look. Yet he gave no indication he recognized me. No indication he’d kissed his half-sister. He had to have known my identity at the wake. He knew my name, knew the man we’d buried. What sick game was he playing? My pulse hammered in my ears, the sound of my dreams crashing down to earth.
My voice caught in my throat, and I wanted to sink my stained T-shirt and tangled hair into a dark hole in the ground, my dirty, stinky body right on its tail. I wished I’d taken a shower after my whirlwind of maddening housework.
The mystical line blurred between fantasy and reality, sending my head into a tailspin. Jesse was the type of boy I’d always fantasized about dating, knowing I’d never bag a boy like him in reality. Yet my fantasy stood in my house, forbidden to me in all ways. In my house! The boy my father had always wanted. No wonder he’d had a mistress. He got what Mom never gave him. Frigging karmic justice. Dad had to be gloating at us all from the tar pits. The day had veered into a bumper crop of train wrecks.
Mom nudged my arm. “Say hello, Ivy.”
I stuttered out a strangled, “Hello, Ivy. I’m Ivy.” As if they didn’t already know or had figured out, my brain had taken a stroll beyond the fringe into Lunatic Land.
Off to the side, Anita closed the space between my half-siblings and me. “This is Jade and Jesse Jerome. I’m glad you’ll all have a chance to know one another, regardless of the unfortunate circumstances.”
“Like I want to know tha
t lily-white Barbie,” Jade grumbled, granting me an insolent glower.
Jesse knocked his elbow into her arm. “Shut it, Jay,” he griped under his breath.
Jay? He’d used his sister’s nickname? What moron does that? I wanted to stomp on his toes and punch his face. I wanted to link his fingers in mine, run off to my fantasyland, and kiss him until we both forgot our identities. My clenching fists grounded me, rooted me to the stone tiles in the foyer.
“This is bullshit,” she lashed out, turning on him. “You want to stay, fine. Not me.” She pushed past him and raced out the door.
Anita stumbled after her. “Jade, please come back.”
Don’t let the door hit your Black Plague ass. The funny sayings “a brother from another mother” and “a sister from another mister” bowled through my rattled mind, ending the torture of reality pounding my skull.
An awkward silence pulled our gazes everywhere but on each other until Mom ushered Jesse into the house. I watched him, my curiosity killing my disgust. The tattoos that had peeked out from his shirt at the wake crawled up his arm, appeared to swirl around his torso and up his neck. I had a desperate need to see his naked torso and the vine tattoo. His ivy. Holy crap.
Despite his lean rocker looks, he seemed quiet and staid. No ego or arrogance bounced off him the way it did from the rocker boys at school. Nothing resembling Dad’s selfish, brutal, cold demeanor. In fact, he didn’t resemble Dad at all, except his six-foot height. No Lynwood traits graced his long, almost black hair, green-flecked hazel eyes, medium thick eyebrows, and thin, high cheekbones. His full, dare I say kissable again, lips defied the thin Lynwood lips only Kristen had thankfully won in the DNA contest. His discomfort showed as he spun his worn leather band around his wrist repeatedly, his hands reddening as if burning from a fire beneath his skin.
Anita and the glowering Jade returned, and we shifted the meet and greet to the family room. Mouth pulled down in disgust, Jade studied the house. What kind of house did they live in? Had Dad showered them in money along with all his love? I never noticed any regular outlays of money when I scoured the checking account. Maybe I’d find evidence in the box from his office.
Our Stepford Wife hostess poured glasses of iced tea and brought out a plate of assorted cookies left over from the parade of funeral food. In a silence dangling on the edge of inquisition tense, Jesse, Jade, and I sat far apart in a triangle, while Anita grilled Mom and toured the house and yard. The triangle remained seated, frozen in time, iced tea and cookies untouched.
Returning through the French doors, Anita grinned to put us at ease. “I must say your house is spectacular and impeccably clean. The backyard reminds me of a resort. I have no doubt this will be a great situation for all of you.” She gushed over Mom, thanking her for stepping up, for her generosity and empathy.
Son of a black bitch. Why did I clean the house? Why did I hide Mom’s pills? Did I just adopt two foster kids in my new parental role?
Too bad all this will crash to an end once Mom gets a load of our finances. We’ll all be living in the pool house and renting out the main house if the insurance doesn’t pony up our ill-gotten lottery prize.
Anita took Jade and Jesse to her car to grab their crap. She gave each of us her card and an invite to call anytime we needed to talk. Tomorrow soon enough? She departed, dumping Dad’s problems in a grim mess, leaving me losing myself in a million ways.
“Let’s get you kids situated.” Mom fake-beamed a smile and lifted Jade’s torn and worn suitcase. Black of course.
Jade snatched the bag out of Mom’s hands. “That’s mine.”
“Jade, she’s just trying to help.” Frowning, Jesse berated his sister.
“I don’t want her help. And I won’t share a room with Hollywood Barbie either.” She glared at me.
“Good, ’cause it’ll be twelfth of never before I share my room with a Goth freak,” I shouted, unable to hold my tongue any longer.
“Stop, both of you.” Mom stamped her foot. “Ivy, show Jade to Kristen’s room. Jesse will stay in the guest suite.”
“What?” I yelled. “Where’s Kristen gonna sleep?”
“She doesn’t need her room. She’s not living here anymore.” Mom rubbed my arm. “Go. The sooner they settle in the better things will be.”
I fumed and stomped up the stairs. Great, I’d have to share a bathroom with Morticia Addams. I opened Kristen’s door. “Don’t touch her stuff. I’ll pack it tomorrow.”
“Fuck me screaming. I’m stuck living in a bottle blonde’s pink-ass palace.” Jade tossed her overnight bag on the vibrant floral comforter. “Are you kidding me?”
Kristen’s fuchsia-pink walls covered in painted multi-colored flowers filled me with utter glee.
Chapter 11
Morning brought another sleepless-night-induced headache, and a new pain in my ass. After I showed Jade the bathroom situation last night, all four household inhabitants—I refused to call us a family—went to our respective corners to lick our mental and emotional wounds. Mom had reheated funky funeral food and left the spread on the table for us to nibble on or ignore at our leisure. I groaned, burying my face in my pillow. I wanted to slink into a fairy mound and seal it with cement. Was Dad smirking at us from the H-Town ash pits?
“You’re a piece of work, dumping this travesty on us.” Just when I believed I had a glorious and free summer to look forward to, karma had pulled a fast one on me. On all of us. I had little right to complain about the indignities to me, knowing how horrible it was for Jade and Jesse losing their mother too. My mother deserved a gold crown for taking in her husband’s bastards. Yet, the insult was a knife tearing through my intestines. Dying didn’t seem too bad in that moment.
To top off the cake of crap, my dream had flipped into a nightmare. I’d kissed my own brother. Eww times a million. And he’d known I was his sister. What kind of freak does that?
Could we pretend the kiss never happened, bury it deep? I touched my lips, dreaming of Jay—Jesse’s—lips against mine, tasting the martini on his tongue, dying to press myself against him and dig my fingers through his thick hair, something I’d always dreamed of doing to a boy. I massaged my aching temples and pressed down on my roiling middle. “Oh, dragon lord, I’m gonna hurl.” I sprawled on my back, raising my knees to settle my stomach until my cranky bladder forced me into motion.
“Let the games begin.” I rolled out of bed, pulling my tousled hair into a ponytail. I showered in Mom’s bathroom, afraid to run into Jade in our Jack and Jill bath. I doused myself in her peachy lotion and spritzed on one of her exotic flowery perfumes. Hair wrapped in a towel, my purple terry bathrobe pulled tight across me, I found Mom moaning under her sheets, her small frame hardly making a dent on the bed.
“Ivy? I promised to take them to their house to pack, pick up their mother’s car. I’m not up to it. Will you do it?” A pillow over her head muffled her voice. The bottles of inevitable pills bought real estate on her nightstand. “I swear I’m straightening up. But yesterday was brutal.”
I sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I guess.”
“Take some packing boxes. They’re in the garage rafters.”
“I know where the boxes are.” I bunched the sheets in my fist. “I’ve had to stash them in every frigging garage attic for the last four moves.”
“Don’t yell at me.” She tossed the pillow onto the floor, her eyes scrunched closed.
“This is your problem. You’re making it my problem. It’s not fair,” I ground out through gritted teeth.
Tears cascaded down Mom’s cheeks, her shoulders shook, and I regretted setting her off. Unable to stand listening to her excuses, I left, slamming the bedroom door. If I stayed, I’d unload, and she’d sink into her pill bottles and become one with the bed forever.
Jesse Jerome stood in the hallway outside the guest suite, staring at me. His intense eyes wanted to slurp me up and swallow me whole. The look I’d dreamed he saved for me. He’d showere
d—his wet hair was slicked back, and he wore only baggy jeans. Green and black tattoos twisted around his arms, winding over his Santa Cruz tanned shoulders and lanky chest. I noticed he wore a dangling silver cross earring in his left ear. His dark, defined eyebrows quirked up like wings. I wanted to stand there forever and gobble him up… until I remembered.
I pinched the skin between my thumb and index finger hard, sucking up the pain. “We’ll leave for Santa Cruz in a half hour. That work for you?” Mollified, my voice plunged to loner bookworm Ivy level. Scourge of my past life.
“Sure. Your mom okay?”
I waved him off. “Yesterday was hard on her. She’s not feeling well.”
“I get it.” The corner of his lips curled up for a second before his grief dragged them down. “Been hard on all of us, hasn’t it? I admire your mother for taking in strangers. She could’ve just ignored the sitch.”
Damn, he understood. “Thanks.” My surprise mangled the word. “Give me ten, then can you help me get boxes down from the garage rafters?” Why didn’t he mention the wake? The kiss? Me? I shuddered. The implications creeped me out again.
“Sure. Meet you in the kitchen. I made coffee. You guys have killer brew.” A smile flirted with his lips, showing a flash of white teeth, tugging something deep inside me, like Flowers in the Attic weird.
Why did my half-brother have to be so fine? Mortification filling all my voids, I ran to my bedroom, hearing water splashing in the shower. Fortunately for me, I’d snagged my makeup last night to avoid bathroom awkwardness with Morticia. Wonder how long it took her to slap on her death mask.
Something compelled me to pay Hollywood attention to my face, applying minimum eye shadow, eyeliner, and a blush-colored lip tint. I left my hair down in rolling waves, parted on the side. I wore my shortest denim shorts and a second-skin tank top, baring my tan arms and legs. I didn’t know why I needed to look better than Jade or to look good for Jesse. “Because you’re sick, gullible, and into yourself. You’re becoming Kristen.” I stuck my tongue out at the mirror over my dresser. A monster had taken over my body and slammed my common sense into the ether.
Bittersweet Wreckage Page 8
