Then there was a knock on my door. “Gigi?” It was Riley.
“Come in, dear,” I said, clearing my throat.
She did, wearing one of the outfits we’d bought (taken) in New York. She looked like a true London.
And she had the eyes.
She came over to me and spun around. “What do you think?”
“Beautiful,” I said. “Iconic.”
Her smile faded. “Are you sad, Gigi?” she asked, putting her hand on my shoulder.
“You need a manicure,” I said. “Your cuticles are a disgrace. A woman of class should always keep her nails tidy.”
“That’s what Mom calls deflective conversation,” she said, not moving her hand. “It’s okay if you don’t want to answer the question, but don’t insult me.”
How different she was from Emma, who, at that age, would’ve left the room or cried.
Then again, Riley had a mother who loved her and, from what I’d judged, had raised her well. Very well.
“I am a little sad,” I said, patting her hand. “Thank you for caring.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
How could I tell a teenager about the Missing? Looking into her blue, blue eyes was hard enough. Sheppard blue. I had an entire line of blue purses and accessories, but none had ever captured the perfection of his eyes. Of Riley’s eyes.
“No, dear. Tell me why you’re all dressed up. Are you going out with friends?”
A look of confusion crossed her face. “No, Gigi. It’s cocktail hour.”
“Is it?” I sensed I was supposed to know something about it.
Then the buzzing began in my head, and suddenly, I wasn’t sure if it was winter or spring. Had someone just asked me something? What had I been doing? Why did I feel so . . . sad?
A large dog nudged my hand. It was rather ugly and didn’t smell very good. “We should have this beast washed, shouldn’t we?” I asked . . . ah . . . I asked the girl.
Her name was gone. Completely gone, and yet I knew I was supposed to know her.
April? No, it was the month of April. Wasn’t it? I glanced out the windows. All the leaves were on the trees, so it must be later than April. May. June. August?
“He’s so pretty,” she said, kneeling down. “Aren’t you, Mac?”
Mac. The dog’s name was Mac, and apparently, he lived here with me, which was strange, because I didn’t even like dogs. Mac. Mac. Don’t forget his name. Mac. Mack. Macintosh.
Why was I thinking of a computer?
I no longer remembered the dog’s name. He might’ve been this girl’s dog. He might’ve been mine.
“Don’t slobber on me, boy,” the girl said. “These clothes are way more than you can afford.” She looked up at me, and I felt a rush of love for the freckles smattered on her nose. Could she be my niece? Didn’t my sister have a daughter? “Are you ready?” she asked. “I love your outfit.”
Which outfit was I wearing? I glanced down. It was a three-piece white ensemble, with wide-legged pants, a silk blouse and a flowing white sweater with subtle silver trim.
I didn’t remember the outfit. Was it new? I had no recollection of buying it. Was it even mine? When had I gotten dressed? I wasn’t sure where we were going.
There didn’t seem to be anything in my brain, no thoughts to hold on to. I felt like clutching this girl and begging her to help me, but something prevented me from saying anything.
“I’m ready,” I said, and let the girl take my hand and lead me out of the bedroom, which, I assumed, was mine. It was lovely but unfamiliar. Down a long hall. There was a painting there . . . an oil abstract, purple and cream.
Wait. I knew that painting, I did. I’d bought it at auction because the colors had been so rich and lovely, the shapes so organic and comforting, almost like gentle flame . . .
It was a Peter Lobello, that was it. I’d bought it when I was dating Gerard, the appraiser for Christie’s. I’d paid $35,000 for it, and that was some time ago.
And this redheaded girl was Riley, Emma’s little girl. April’s granddaughter. That’s why April was stuck in my head; she’d had red hair also. I felt a ridiculous sense of triumph at putting the pieces together.
Mostly, though, I was simply grateful to be back in my own head again.
Dr. Pinco had told me that, at first, these spells would pass. But as my condition worsened, it would become a permanent state.
I could deal with pain. I’d proven that for decades.
But losing myself . . . that was unbearable. I didn’t want this girl to pity me.
I might love her, after all.
Tomorrow, I’d go for a swim and test the waters, literally and figuratively.
CHAPTER 21
Emma
When Miller called to say he couldn’t get a sitter for his daughter and would therefore miss cocktail hour, I told him to bring her.
“She’s going through a rough patch,” he said. “It’d be better if we stayed home.”
“Oh, come on. I love kids. My daughter does, too. She babysits all the time back home.” There was no answer. “Unless you don’t want to come,” I added.
“No, I’d like to. I love Genevieve. But Tess is a handful.”
“We’ll double-team her,” I promised, though my brain paused on the phrase I love Genevieve. “Triple-team, even.”
“Okay. Thanks, Emma.” I thought I heard a smile in his voice.
Miller’s story had stayed in my head. Donelle, who knew everything that went on in town and didn’t view gossip as a moral failing, as Genevieve did, had told me that Ashley died in childbirth. “Just like Tyrion Lannister’s mother,” she said. “Or Sybil on Downton Abbey. I saw that coming, I tell you.”
“Ashley? Was she sick?”
“I’m talking about Sybil. The second she had a headache, I was like, ‘Oh, she’s a goner.’” Donelle stretched. “I don’t know the deets on Miller’s wife. Your grandmother won’t let me ask.”
I was glad Miller was coming. I still felt awkward about almost planting tomatoes on Ashley’s grave.
I’d had eight clients today, and I could use cocktail hour. My brain was a little sore. Pop was already here, nursing a beer, idly petting Valkyrie as she gnawed on his hand. We were in the conservatory (or sunroom, as Riley had mistakenly called it)—a giant, beautiful room complete with an iron-paned glass dome and floor-to-ceiling windows, which were open to the soft evening air. There was a fireplace in the corner, a walnut bar and half a dozen huge ferns and potted palm trees. The floor was polished stone, and in the winter, it resembled a Russian palace. It had been my favorite room as a kid.
Riley and Genevieve came in, and my daughter smiled at me. She looked so grown up, dressed to kill, holding on to Gigi’s hand, and a lump came to my throat. She was kind, my child. So patient with my grandmother.
“About time,” said Pop. “I thought you said five thirty. It’s quarter till six.”
“Paul. So glad you began without us,” Gigi said.
“I brought my own.”
“I’m well aware,” she said, her voice as dry as she liked her martinis. “Old Milwaukee is not a brand with which I’m familiar. Donelle, would you kindly see if the girl is ready to serve hors d’oeuvres?”
“You bet, Gen. Shaylee!” We all winced as Donelle bellowed from the couch.
The bell rang. “I’ll get it,” I said and went without waiting for permission. Down the hall past the library, the formal dining room (not to be confused with the breakfast room or eat-in kitchen, where Helga lurked like a gargoyle), into the vast foyer.
When I opened the door, I blinked. “Jason! Hi.”
“Hey, Emma,” he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “You okay with me being here? Riley asked me to come.”
“Um, sure. I don’t mind. Come on in.”
&nbs
p; We heard a scream from the driveway. “Jesus, what’s that?” Jason asked.
Miller was getting out of a Volvo station wagon. “I’m guessing that’s your cousin and his child,” I said.
“Oh, God, you haven’t met Tess yet, have you?” Jason said with a grin. “Run.”
“By the way, you forgot to tell me Ashley died, Jason.”
He blinked. “No. I couldn’t have. It was horrible.” I gave him a pointed look. “Seriously? I didn’t tell you?”
“Seriously. I would’ve remembered. I loved them.”
“Yeah. The golden couple.” His handsome face was regretful, and his hand went to my back, idly rubbing between my shoulder blades.
Miller was still hunched over, trying to get his child out of the car. More screams filled the air. “Go see Riley,” I said. “I’ll help with the baby.”
“Great idea. See you inside.” He kissed my cheek and left, and I went down the path.
“Hey, Miller,” I said, the shells of the driveway crunching under my feet.
He straightened. “Hi, Emma.” He needed a haircut and a month of sleep.
“I not going! I not going!” the child inside shouted.
“Hi,” I said, leaning down to see her. “What are you yelling about?”
“I not going!”
“Not going where?”
“Here!”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “There are five dogs inside.”
“I hate dogs.” She kicked the back of the passenger seat.
“There’s also a secret fort,” I said, referring to the cedar closet, which was bigger than my bedroom back home.
“I hate forts.”
“Tess,” Miller sighed, “please don’t say ‘hate.’”
“Why don’t you go in, Miller?” I suggested. “Tess and I will stay out here.” I gave him a nod. “We’ll be in soon.”
“No!” said Tess. “I go home soon.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Okay. Come get me if she . . . if you need me.”
He went up to the front door, glanced back over his shoulder, then went inside.
“I’m Emma,” I said. “And you’re Tess.”
“No, I not.”
I smiled. “Really? What’s your name, then?”
She looked around. “Driveway.”
“Oh! What an interesting name! Nice to meet you, Driveway.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, unsure of my game.
“What’s your favorite color?” I asked.
“I hate color.”
“So white, then. I like red myself. Do you want to come inside and run around and play and hide and maybe eat some food?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Being three was hard (though Riley had been an angel, quite frankly). Kids had little control over their lives, so tantrums were usually an expression of that frustration. Accepting her answer (because in this situation, I could) was a way to let her feel she had some control. “We’ll just stay here.” I sat in the front passenger seat.
“Where my daddy?”
“He’s in the house.”
She craned her neck to look, her little brows furrowed. She was awfully cute, if a little grimy.
“I like sitting here,” I said. “Thank you for wanting to stay in the car.”
“I don’t want to stay.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, there are nine doors to get inside,” I said. “Would you like to pick the one we go in?”
She looked at me, trying to figure out how I was tricking her. Smart kid.
“Or we can just stay out here,” I offered.
“We go in now,” she pronounced.
“Great choice,” I said, unbuckling her.
“What you name?” she asked.
“Emma.”
“I hate that name.”
“I’m not wild about it, either,” I said.
She started to get out of the car, but I blocked her. “Hold hands, please.”
“No.”
“The ocean is close,” I said. “I’d like us to hold hands so we don’t fall in it and get cold,” I said.
“No!”
“Okay. Back in the car seat, then.”
She stuck out her lower lip.
“Car seat, or hold hands,” I said.
She didn’t answer—that would be conceding too much power—but she let me take her little hand. I tried not to smile.
Once she was out of the car, I got a better look at her. She was quite the combination of her dad and Ashley—dark eyes like her father (I seemed to remember Ashley’s were green or blue). Her hair was curly, like Ashley’s had been. And snarled, unlike Ashley’s. Practically dreadlocks. We walked around Sheerwater until she stopped and pointed at Door Number 4, which went into the kitchen. Shaylee the Silent was taking a sheet of mini-quiches out of the oven as Helga scowled. “Shaylee, Helga, this is Tess Finlay,” I said.
Shaylee nodded our way, reinforcing my idea that Helga had scared the ability to speak out of her (or cut out her tongue).
“Get that kid out of my kitchen,” Helga said.
“You get out,” Tess said. “You go now.”
“What a brat,” Helga said.
“You a brat.”
I kind of liked Tess. “See you later,” I said, leading Tess through the kitchen and into the conservatory.
Tess lurched to a halt.
It was a sea of legs, after all, from her point of view. In the time we’d been outside, the other guests had arrived . . . ten or so adults, all talking, plus Riley, who was five eight. “Want me to pick you up so you can see?” I asked Tess.
“No,” she said, but she reached her little arms up to me, and I picked her up.
She didn’t smell great; she could use a bath, and my fingers were itching for a comb. But the feeling of a little one in my arms . . . it was awfully sweet.
Riley saw us, said something to her dad and came right over. “Hi, kid,” she said. “How’s it going? High five?”
And just like that, Tess high-fived her. “Riley, this is Tess. Tess, this is my little girl, Riley.”
Tess stared at Riley for a minute. “Your hair pretty,” she said.
“Thanks,” Riley said. “Want to touch it?”
Tess did, then smiled.
Kids always seemed to possess an instinct for who was another kid, no matter how tall they were.
“Want to go play?” Riley asked, and Tess nodded.
A boy with dark hair and beautiful liquid black eyes came over. “Oh, Mom, this is Aarav Talwar. His parents live here in the summer.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” he said. “I go by Rav.”
“Emma London,” I said. “Riley’s mom.” He was maybe her age, maybe a little younger. “What grade are you in, honey?” Riley rolled her eyes at the endearment. Sue me.
“Tenth. Just finished,” he said.
“Where do you go to school?”
“Mom,” Riley said. “We’re gonna go entertain the little kid, okay? Save the interview for another time, maybe?” She nudged my shoulder with hers, letting me know she didn’t really mind.
I smiled at them both. “Just make sure it’s okay with her dad. Miller. Your father’s cousin.”
“Yeah, we met at a job site last week. He seems nice.” I handed Tess over to Riley, and the kid didn’t protest. “Hey, Miller,” Riley said. “Is it okay if we take Tess upstairs?”
“Uh, yeah. If she’ll go. Tess, do you want to play with Riley?”
She didn’t answer her father, too busy fondling my daughter’s hair.
“Want to see my room and play with my stuff?” Riley asked her. Tess looked at Rav. “Don’t worry about him. He’s nice.”
“We go,” Tess decided.
“Come get me if you need me,” Miller said, his eyes a little wide with wonder.
“I no need you, Daddy. We never coming back.”
“Harsh, Tess,” Riley said, reading my mind, but she smiled. “We’ll definitely come back. See you in a bit!”
With that, they left, my daughter and Miller’s, and the handsome boy.
My heart felt like warm caramel. Wouldn’t it be so nice if Rav and Riley became friends! And how sweet that they were both going to play with Tess! (Or smoke pot. Or meth. Or give each other homemade tattoos. Or have sex. Or lose Tess.) I let the familiar stream of maternal doom run through my head. I knew my child, and I trusted her. She adored kids and had been babysitting since she passed the Red Cross test when she was twelve.
It reminded me of my own days babysitting for some of the summer families, or the children of Genevieve’s guests. I’d always been more comfortable that way, anyway. More the Silent Shaylee type back then.
“Your daughter is sort of . . . magical,” Miller said. “Wow. Tess usually hates babysitters.”
“Well, we’re in a strange place, so she probably feels a little off-balance and in need of an ally.” Enough psychobabble, Emma. “And you’re right. Riley is really great with kids.”
“She is,” Jason said, suddenly at my side. “You should see her with her brothers. Got you a drink, Em. Cosmo, Grey Goose, your favorite.”
“Thanks,” I said. It hadn’t been my favorite for a while, but it was thoughtful of him.
“How are you, Jason?” Miller asked.
“Great! Good. How are you? The kid’s gotten awfully cute.”
“Thank you. Takes after her mother.”
“She does. Yep. Yeah, Riley’s great with her brothers. You should definitely come over sometime, Miller. Mom and Dad would love to see you.”
Okay, this was . . . odd. They were cousins. I’d imagined they’d be closer. I’d yearned for cousins as a child. Still did. “Don’t you guys work together?”
“We do,” Jason said. “I do the boring office stuff, though. Miller runs the sites.”
Miller nodded, looking at his drink.
“Your grandparents are totally not happy I’m here,” Jason said in a conspiratorial tone. “They still hate me for knocking you up.”
Life and Other Inconveniences Page 22