by Cora Brent
He fucked up and he knows it. “I’m sorry.” He hugs Mara again. “Uncle Danny is so sorry.”
“Don’t be sad,” she says sweetly. “I threw up from the bad tea but we went to Trentcassini’s house.”
Danny closes his eyes for a second. “They walked to your house, Trent?”
“They sure did.”
He stands up and he’s clearly distraught but I don’t have much pity for him right now.
A shadow falls in the doorway and Gretchen stands there, green-eyed and livid. She stares at her brother like she’s wondering which of his limbs she ought to remove first. Her long hair is swept up in a clip, exposing the graceful lines of her neck and even with the all the tension in the room I take the opportunity to admire the way her body looks in her tight black jeans.
“Gretch.” Danny’s voice comes out in a croak.
She cuts him off. “Not now.”
“Can I have my fruit bar?” Mara asks.
Gretchen moves smoothly to the pantry, extracts two shrink-wrapped objects and hands one to the little girl. “Come on,” she says. “Caitlin is already watching Frozen in the den.”
The two of them disappear.
Danny is miserable. He looks like he’s aged ten years today.
He swallows. “This is my fault.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“I should have just taken them with me.”
“Damn right.”
“I’m fucking terrible at this, Trent.”
“Then do a better job, Dan.”
He nods. I should tell him that the girls also got into the whiskey he left lying around but he’s already on the verge of tears so we’ll save that for another time.
Instead, I make a suggestion. “You should go in and watch the movie with them. They’d like that.”
He relaxes. “You think so?”
“Sure. They’ll expect you to sing along.”
“I can do that.” He heads for the door and pauses. “Hey, thanks for being around today. I owe you big time.”
“No problem.”
With Danny gone I don’t see much reason to lurk in the kitchen all by myself. They’ve got some family shit to work on here anyway so it’s better if I go. The living room is empty and I’m about to reach the door when I hear her voice.
“Trent.”
I turn and face Gretchen, looking as seductively lovely as ever in knee high boots and those sexy jeans. She’s removed the clip and her hair hangs loose. The girls are now singing along to their movie in the den and I hear Danny’s deep voice getting all the words wrong. Gretchen joins me near the door and now that she’s close I can see the exhaustion in her face, which pulls on my heartstrings in all kinds of unexpected ways.
“Are they all right?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“What about you?”
She laughs half heartedly and yawns. “I don’t know. I could use a nap.”
I bite off the urge to say something dirty. “Did you get your errands finished?”
“Yes and no. I was car shopping. The Toyota I’m driving is a rental but I need to return it. I drove to three different dealerships.”
“Sounds like you couldn’t find something you like.”
She grimaces. “I couldn’t find anyone willing to give me a car loan. Not the banks, not the credit union, not the dealerships. I’m currently unemployed and I have a mountain of student debt. On paper, I suppose I’m not a good risk.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I’m kicking myself for failing to realize the financial reality of her situation.
“Anyway,” she continues, “I was hoping to find something before Saturday. I need to drive to the prison to visit my father. Danny refuses to see him but I feel like someone ought to go. Jules used to visit every three months. I’m sure he’s grieving.”
I don’t even need to think twice. “I’ll drive you.”
She opens her mouth. Shuts it. I can tell her first instinct is to say no but she’s reconsidering. She rubs her arms and glances at the photo of Jules and the girls on the end table.
The same photo I knocked over on the day of the funeral.
I’m trying really hard not to remember how it felt to touch her in the only minute she’s ever been in my arms. It’s not that I’m hoping to get something out of Gretchen in exchange for a favor. No, that’s not what this is about.
Gretchen turns back to me. “I was thinking I’d ask the girls’ regular babysitter to watch them all day. She’s good with them, says she misses seeing them.”
It’s pretty clear she doesn’t want to give Danny the responsibility of looking after the twins for hours on end. After today, I can’t say that I blame her.
“Just let me know what time you want to leave on Saturday,” I say.
“Visiting hours begin at eleven. It’s about a two hour drive.” She eyes me, perhaps wondering if I’ll change my mind.
I won’t change my mind.
“I’m always up early. And driving never bothers me.”
Gretchen smiles. A real genuine smile, not the playful sort I see when we’re going back and forth, teasing each other on a mission to find out who can get the better of who.
The sight of that smile seals my opinion that this girl is fucking beautiful and has the potential to own me.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “That would mean a lot to me.”
“Glad to be of some use.”
She winks. “I’ll buy you lunch in gratitude.”
“And I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ll even keep my filthy suggestions to myself.”
A door opens and a child’s voice calls, “Aunt Gretch, come watch with us!”
“I’ll be right there,” she shouts back.
I open the front door. “You shouldn’t keep them waiting, Aunt Gretch.”
“Fine, but it’s too bad.”
“What is?”
She starts to walk away and delivers a searing look over her shoulder. “I’m very fond of your filthy suggestions, Trent.”
She turns the corner without waiting for my response.
Gretchen.
I’m smiling like a goddamn freak on the short walk back to my house.
Gretchen. Gretchen. Gretchen.
7
Gretchen
Violence wasn’t part of my early childhood, not at all. When people find out your father is in prison for murder there’s an assumption that you must have been raised in a maelstrom of blood and fear.
This is likely true for some, but not for me.
I thought of my dad as a sloppy teddy bear of a man who drank too much and complained loudly. But I had no fear of him. He never laid a hand on us kids and to my knowledge he never physically hurt our mother either. He was on a first name business with nearly every member of the local police force and there was nothing unusual about him receiving a ride home in a squad car when he was too drunk to drive himself. While Alex Aaronson was widely regarded as something of a local joke, he’d never been in any real trouble.
Not until that August night.
It was the day of the annual boat race on the lake. Long before I was born, my grandfather won the race for five consecutive years. However, by the time I was growing up most of the competing sailboats were owned by the summer people and rarely did a Lake Stuart local take home the first place trophy. Every summer my father would make a brash prediction that next year he would compete and next year he would win. The fact that he’d never owned a sailboat and possessed inadequate sailing skills was beside the point.
Danny and Jules were off somewhere with friends and my mother hated everything about the lake. My father and I stood on the boardwalk and watched the race together.
“Next year, Gretch. This lake is our birthright, goddammit! Next year we’ll bring the trophy home.”
And I remember nodding to make him happy even though I thought he was talking nonsense far too noisily and I hated the way people stared in our direction with irritat
ion.
Much later, I’d fallen asleep on the sofa while watching a Star Wars marathon and I was startled awake by the sound of the back door crashing open. There was no reason to be afraid. Danny and Trent would often go hurtling through the back door at odd hours, stinking of alcohol and weed and bonfire smoke as they raided the kitchen.
I wouldn’t have even gone to check if I hadn’t heard the unsettling sound of a grown man weeping.
My father stood in the middle of the tiny laundry room wearing only his underwear. At his feet were the bloody clothes he’d just stripped off and snot ran from his nose as he regarded me with bewilderment, followed by fury.
“Get out, Gretchen. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”
Like a panicky rodent, I scampered up the stairs, locked the door to my bedroom and hid beneath my bedsheets until I fell asleep.
The next morning, the news was everywhere and hiding became impossible.
Martin Reiser was the man’s name and he was some Wall Street bigshot who’d just completed construction on an opulent lakefront estate after tearing down four lesser homes. There was no known connection between him and my father until the fender bender at a Mill Street stoplight in the center of town. The accident was Reiser’s fault. He rear ended my father’s car and caused damage to the back bumper. It’s the kind of collision that happens all the time and should have been no big deal.
But both men were drunk. Tempers flared.
And in a comical twist of fate, Reiser was the latest winner of the Lake Stuart Sailboat Regatta. A witness said Reiser snatched the two foot high brass trophy from the front seat of his gleaming Bentley and waved it around. Reiser was a small man and there was really no threat. That’s what multiple witnesses said and the jury agreed. There was no good reason for my father to seize the trophy from Reiser’s clammy hands and deliver four skull-crushing blows. Even after Reiser was on the ground and people were screaming, Alex Aaronson didn’t stop.
Which is why his prison sentence was so harsh and has never been overturned on appeal.
I told Trent I’d be ready to leave for the trip at nine and I am ready. In fact, I’m sitting on the cracked front step with my handbag in my lap, my legs tucked under me and my eyes glued to the house down the street. At eight fifty nine a.m. I watch his Range Rover back out of the driveway and roll slowly this way.
We are going to visit my father in the state penitentiary. This shouldn’t feel exciting but it does because I’m spending the day with Trent.
I also have a crush on Trent. A big one. I could blame that on our moonlight kiss or the fact that I’m lonely and haven’t had sex in over half a year but the reason doesn’t matter. Trent is a source of unpredictable color in my life and I like thinking about him. I like seeing him. I like bantering with him. And I like how he surprises me with friendship when he sees that I’m drowning and frustrated and in need of support.
The vehicle brakes beside the curb and I stand up. Trent doesn’t need to exit but he does, opening the passenger door in a move that reminds me I don’t always know what to expect from him. Trent Cassini is an exciting mix of coarse sexiness and gallant manners and I’ve never met another man like him.
“I wasn’t anticipating valet service,” I joke when I reach the curb.
He’s still posed beside the open door. The sweep of his eyes over my body is as strong as the stroke of fingers on my skin. “Well, you never know what you’re getting with me.”
Trent’s voice afflicts me like a shot of bourbon chased by a rough kiss.
I’m wildly attracted to him. Every day I’m finding this more difficult to conceal.
The collar of his flannel shirt is slightly bent and he remains still while I reach up to fix it. My hand is reluctant to disconnect from him so quickly and I can’t stop my palm from sliding down his broad chest, exploring the hard muscle. I’ve already pictured him naked in my head countless times. I’d perform any act of penance in order to see the real thing.
“Where’s Danny?” he asks and I withdraw my hand.
I glance at the blank windows of the empty house and sigh. “He went to the gym already. He couldn’t be persuaded to come along.”
“I know. I tried too.”
“He’s been quiet. I know he feels terrible. He didn’t even ask me to reconsider letting him watch the girls today. Barbara was very happy to see them, though. They’ll have a good day with her. Should we go?”
Trent repays the favor of fixing his collar by extending a hand and brushing a piece of hair from my cheek. The fleeting sense of his touch is like an electric current to my core. I lift my eyes to his and see a mirror of my own desire.
“Yeah, we should go,” he agrees and steps back, waits for me to climb inside, then shuts the door.
Once I clip my seatbelt closed, I wait with my hands folded and my purse at my feet, wondering what it will be like spending hours in such close proximity to him. It’s possible we’ll be trading taunts and highly sexualized innuendos all the way to the Central New York State Correctional Facility.
However, it turns out that Trent is in a serious mood today.
Instead of cracking jokes, he asks me questions. He wants to know what kind of law I was studying and if I miss life in the city. He responds thoughtfully when I explain that my former career path had been designed with an eye toward earning enough money to help my sister.
“Danny mentioned something like that too,” Trent says. “That was a big reason why he was so crushed when his knee injury sent him back down to the minors where the pay is shit. He planned to hand over a big check to Jules so she could raise the girls without worrying about money.”
I swallow hard and lace my fingers together in my lap. “I didn’t know that. I didn’t know he felt that way.”
I really didn’t. I’ve always thought of Danny as being only concerned with Danny.
Trent nudges my knee. “It’s a credit to Jules that you were both so devoted to her.”
The sting of hot tears never seems to be far away. “I miss her desperately.”
“I know you do.”
I dig in my purse for the small package of tissues that tends to sink to the bottom. I dab at my eyes and bury my latest tears.
Trent’s eyes are on the road. The day is overcast but he still wears a pair of sunglasses so I can’t quite read his face.
“You must miss your parents.” I hope I’m not raising a forbidden topic.
He doesn’t seem to mind answering. “Yes. Especially my mother.”
“She was gone too young.” I clearly recall the shock of hearing how she died during surgery for a ruptured appendix. I was twelve at the time so Trent would have been thirteen.
He nods. “Not as young as Jules. But yes, far too young.”
“Jules used to leave flowers at your mother’s grave. I don’t know if you knew that.”
“I didn’t. I wish I had. I’ve never been there to see her gravestone. And of course I didn’t have the chance to attend my father’s funeral.”
The anger is now thick in his voice and I see his hands tighten on the steering wheel. There was no funeral for Carmine Cassini. We would have gone if there was. We weren’t even aware he’d died until weeks later and then we heard Liam Cassini had arranged for his father to be hastily cremated. Trent knew nothing. He’d been sent to that reform school and even though Danny enlisted Jules’s help to try to get in touch with him, Trent wasn’t permitted to have access to the outside world until he turned eighteen.
I look at him now, at the complex man he’s become, and feel a surge of tenderness for what he has suffered and what that level of suffering must have done to him.
“Where were you, Trent? What happened to you?”
The glance he cuts in my direction is so sharp I wish I hadn’t asked. He surveys me coolly before turning his face back to the road.
“Are you asking me if I tried to kill my father?”
“Of course not. I know that’s not true. But we didn’t hea
r anything from you for so long.”
“I was in hell, Gretchen. They called it The Tavington School but it was really a pricy prison camp. They were supposed to break you and they tried their best. If it still existed I’d burn it the fuck down but it closed the year after I got out. Someone managed to smuggle camera footage out and there was a big scandal. Tabloids loved the story.”
With a jolt, I realize I know exactly what he’s talking about. I’d forgotten the name of the place but I remember reading the lurid accounts of abuse from those who’d been unlucky enough to spend time there. I’m beyond disturbed to hear that’s the place where Trent was forced to endure two terrible years.
“Did your brother understand what was happening?” I ask and then realize the foolishness of the question. My encounters with Liam Cassini have been nonexistent. Sometimes I see him swaggering around town, the king of Lake Stuart, the lord of Cassini Brewery. Now that I’m no longer a gawky teenager he looks me over in bold and rather creepy fashion but gives no sign that he even known who I am. Or cares.
“I hate him,” Trent says and the ferocity of his tone is startling.
Intuitively, I reach out to touch him, not out of passion or anything like it. It’s a silent message from me to him. I’m here. I’m your friend.
My palm lands on tense muscle, his shirt rolled up over the elbows today as it often is. His hot skin ripples at my touch and relaxes one heartbeat at a time. Trent doesn’t look at me but I sense that he welcomes the gesture, that it calms him down.
Miles pass in silence but the silence isn’t disagreeable. We leave behind small towns and random buildings and endless clusters of trees, barren and forlorn in their winter state. There’s little traffic on the road today. This is not a popular part of the world this time of year.
Trent smiles at the road when I give his arm a final friendly pat and move my hand back to my lap.
Then I confess something I doubt I’d confess to anyone else.
“That summer? The one when you were taken away? I spent it in the hospital. I’m sure you recall my very public breakdown at school. Those days were fraught and terrible and at no time did I realize I was tiptoeing to the edge of a cliff until I fell off. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to show my face in town again but while I was getting well I learned how to tap into my own strength. Jules was my inspiration. She was everything to me. I never talk about that summer. People who meet me now have no idea. I don’t want you thinking I’m ashamed, though. I’m not ashamed. I’m better for having endured those trials. And I’m not comparing my situation to yours, Trent. I just want you to see me the way I am now.”
