The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

“We assumed you knew,” Cady said. He’d found out she was married, but did he have no clue that Anne went to London with baby-making on her mind?

  Sure enough, his face showed that he had no idea what she meant. “Knew what?”

  “Oh…” This wasn’t good. He might not have been so warmly welcoming if he’d known they were no accident. That he’d fallen into a sweet trap, and been in the dark ever since. “So she didn’t tell you the full story, after all.”

  “There’s more? You’d better tell me now.”

  So she did. Their parents’ struggle to conceive, Aunt Netta’s offer of the apartment, and Anne’s plan, that had been a secret (except to Aunt Netta) until she confessed to Cady before her death.

  “Goddamn.” He rubbed the top of his head, ruffling his hair, and blew out a long breath. It seemed like he was working to contain his emotions. “Hell. She seemed so…good. And straightforward. And she only saw the best in me. She was like redemption, after everything that had happened in San Francisco. At the time, I felt like I needed her more than she needed me.”

  “That’s ironic,” Cady commented.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Karma’s a bitch.”

  “Thanks a lot!” Shelby said.

  He smiled at her now, apparently entertained rather than annoyed by her outspokenness. “You know what I mean. I’m glad to have you two, you know that. Why do you think I took you around and introduced you to everyone?”

  She visibly softened at his words. “I know.”

  “You girls don’t have to answer for your conception. But hell, all this time…” he shook his head, still working to realign the new truth in his head.

  “I suppose we’re equal now, in the surprise stakes,” Shelby said.

  “I think you dropped the bigger bombshell, actually,” he replied.

  For a few minutes they sat in silence on the porch, the light gentling into evening. It was so peaceful, looking out on the rows of trees and the distant hills. From here, it was hard to envisage London or San Francisco, and the dramas that could play out in those hectic places. Cady tried to imagine how it must have been for Holt and Cady and Shelby, to come back after their heady months of cosmopolitan life. Was quiet country living a balm after their torrid adventures, or did they feel the slow, crushing weight of small town claustrophobia? No wonder Holt took a few weeks out, on the other side of the Atlantic. They would have come back to face not just their parents, but the opinion and speculation of everyone in town.

  Then something occurred to her.

  “Everyone must be wondering why we have the other Cady and Shelby’s names,” she said, “coming out of the blue from England.”

  “Ah, let them wonder,” Holt replied. “They’ll all talk amongst themselves anyway. It’s what they do.” For a moment the bitterness came through in his voice, then he shook it off. “Don’t we have enough to think about, getting to know each other?”

  But Shelby wasn’t quite on board yet, still hanging onto questions from the past. “Would you have sent the money if you knew Mum had set you up?”

  “We can’t deal in hypotheticals,” he said, with a shrug. “I hope I would have. She never asked for it. But it was one right thing I could do.”

  Oh Mum, Cady thought. I wish I could ask you more. Why did you tell him about us at all, when you could have kept your secret closer? Did you secretly hope he’d contribute money for his babies? Or did you think it was the one right thing you should do, too? Since her mum’s death, Cady had felt stuck in shock. How did you grieve for someone when everything you knew of them was snatched away, as well as the person themselves? She sighed, suddenly so tired. What would Anne say, if she was here now?

  “She must have wanted us to meet you,” she said aloud, as the thought occurred to her. “Otherwise she would never have told me what she did. And she was so insistent that I should get out and have an adventure. Maybe this was what she meant all along.”

  He nodded. “Maybe. And whether you were an accident or not, you’re here. We all have secrets. Your beginning is different from what I thought, but it’s turning out okay. Don’t you think?”

  Shelby agreed, her face reflecting the change of heart that was taking place. His youthful wildness was a few degrees beyond Shelby’s, but Cady could see how alike they were. Ironically, Cady herself was less like her ‘real’ father and more like the dad they grew up with, even though she hadn’t inherited his temperament via her genes. Now, even while Holt was getting his head around their non-accidental origins, and Shelby was ready to forgive him the stupid lie that gave them their names, Cady had a remaining reservation. Yes, it had turned out okay for him, she thought. For their own dad, their everyday dad who’d worked so hard for them, and loved their mother through a lifetime’s deception, it might not turn out so great. But she wasn’t unmoved by Holt’s sentiment. He may have been a player, but he was all right. She felt sorry that he was alone, after all this time. He didn’t have to be held eternally accountable for his wild youth—which wasn’t really all that wild, compared to some. Not everyone was as dull as she was, after all.

  He stood up. “Come on then. I’ll get cleaned up, then we can go out for dinner. My treat, for my girls.”

  Cady realized she was hungry. “That’d be nice,” she said. Sometimes, in a mixed-up world, it was good to focus on something simple.

  Twenty-Three

  They spent the next few days getting to know Holt and Santa Almendra better. They went out around the orchards with him again, listening in while he and his staff considered the need for a new well, debated whether crop receipts would be up on the previous year, and checked hull split on the ripening fruit. He lent them a farm pickup and a map, and they explored some of the back roads and beauty spots around the farm, going cross-country to secret places only the locals knew about.

  Seeing the Santa Almendra sign on so many almond plantings around the area made them realize just how much land he must have. And that was only in this part of the county, Shelby pointed out. Maybe it was no wonder he’d never had time to find a partner.

  “It’s hard being alone,” she said dramatically. Then she sighed, obviously thinking again about her own tragic lack of Kyle. Cady maintained a sympathetic expression.

  When they were alone, they also talked about Bee and the other Cady. Bee had been firm that the other Cady wouldn’t want to see them, but they were both so curious. She must be around here still—it couldn’t be that hard to find her. Surely there wouldn’t be any harm in it, Shelby said. She was probably still misunderstood, like in high school. Cady wasn’t sure, but having met one of the original Cady and Shelby, she felt compelled to meet the other half too, despite what Bee had said about her emotional state.

  They spent a lot of time with Elva, and she seemed to enjoy their company as much as they enjoyed hers. She loved to talk about what Holt was like as a kid, and she was full of stories about the local personalities. But when they asked her about the original Cady, she clammed up.

  “Now,” she said, “that’s not something we should talk about. People deserve privacy in their troubles. Poor little Cady, it’s just not right.” Then she tutted and left the room, obviously emotional, leaving them looking at each other. So they had to settle for that.

  They didn’t hear anything from the Flashpointers, and Cady forced herself to not text anyone. Move on, she told herself. There are more ponytailed fish in the sea, if that’s what you’re into now. Although she had the feeling Reid was the exception that proved the rule.

  Meanwhile, Shelby was so busy wallowing around in the loss of Kyle, and so determined that he’d thrown himself straight into a torrid affair with Alison, that she refused to contact him too. Cady suspected, sadly, that he probably wasn’t thinking about much beyond himself and his empire. She kept her Reid pangs to herself. What a pair we make, she thought. Five minutes in the country and both obsessed. There must be something dodgy in the cheese puffs.

  She did keep an eye on Twitter a
nd Facebook though, and it was obvious that another flash mob was being planned. The details were still under wraps, but it would all go down in San Francisco itself the following weekend. She was excited to see what they’d do to build on the Rownville success. And, yes, a little disappointed that Kyle hadn’t asked her to come and help. He’d still had his moments of irresistible Kyle-ness, but with his reclusive behavior, she hoped he wasn’t slowly losing his grip on things. Alison’s comments at the country bar that night, about his retreat from the team, backed up her own observations. Maybe it was just the flip-side of genius, maybe he was self-medicating up there in his retreat, or maybe behind the sporadic charisma he was just a prize ass, like the SF-ly blogger had asserted.

  Whatever. The truth was, she’d secretly hoped that they’d fall apart without her. Nothing catastrophic, of course. Just enough to realize that they needed her. But, sadly, it seemed she wasn’t indispensible.

  And if Reid realized that he needed her after all, too…well, she was a big believer in second chances. She couldn’t stop herself from checking her phone, in case a text had arrived without her noticing. It was all she could do not to go around with it tucked into the top of her bra, so she’d be sure to hear it. But there was nothing. Every now and then she took the phone out and opened the messages, her fingers aching to text him. But she couldn’t formulate quite the right wording, the right combination of levity, detachment, and encouragement without giving anything away. It was hair-tearingly frustrating, and it made her feel like she was fourteen again. Were people even texting when she was fourteen? It seemed a hundred years ago, in the days when her mother was still hanging in there, and her father was still her father. She put the phone away again, nothing achieved but a new level of annoyance with herself.

  One night though, she sat up suddenly in bed, fuddled and groggy, but sure she’d heard a new text arriving. Shelby was in her own room at the other end of the hallway, and Holt was in the other wing, so it could only be her phone. She felt around for where she’d tucked it under her pillow, and as her hand touched it, the second notification whistled clearly. She pulled the phone out, wincing at the glare of light in her eyes.

  * * *

  You up? Should be leaving you to your new start, but wondering how you are. Missing the flash madness?

  * * *

  She grinned. Now she was glad she hadn’t caved and texted him first. Not that she was playing games, she told herself. Nope, no, not at all. But hey, it was okay to be gratified that she was on his mind too, wasn’t it?

  She lay back on the pillow, thinking about what to reply. And thinking about him. All the hot-and-tinglyness came flooding back as she lay in the big bed, moonlight streaming in the windows. She let her mind wander, lingering over the memory of his golden-brown eyes, the unexpectedly acceptable ponytail, the teasing smile that could turn her lust-blurry in an instant. And the little things—the leather strings around his wrist, the slight kink in his nose, the way that old Foo Fighters t-shirt had lifted when he reached up to help maneuver the camera crane, revealing a flat stomach with just a tiny sprinkled trail of dark hair leading downwards…

  Oh, this wasn’t helping. What to write? She tossed on the bed, then threw back the comforter and top sheet so that the night air could cool her body. She was wearing the same little pajamas as that night outside the bus, when he’d stood so close, wearing his flimsy boxers, making her want to run her hands over the smooth warmth of his skin. And although she was over-hot, her nipples were doing exactly the same as they’d done then in the chill night air. She pressed a hand low on her belly and tried to focus. He was miles away, but she was as susceptible as ever. It was terrible. But, oh hell, it was so good.

  She started to type.

  * * *

  Was tucked up but awake now! All good thanks. Found him. Been nice though a few surprises (long story). How’s everyone?

  * * *

  There were other things she wanted to say, but she settled for the oblique reference to bed. His reply came quickly.

  * * *

  Okay, a few new faces. Kyle camped out upstairs mostly, throws out instructions for next event. Jen & Alison trying to make sense of it all. Need you! ;-)

  * * *

  She was torn between high and low. ‘Need you’ was good. Exactly what she hoped for. Well, minus the wink that made it a joke. But ‘a few new faces’? Maybe their beds wouldn’t be there for them after all, even if they did go back. And with Jennifer (she felt a pang at the familiar ‘Jen’) and Alison in action, they obviously weren’t needed. Well, what had she thought? They’d got along brilliantly without her, until Kyle lost his nerve over the SF-ly debacle. They’d be fine now. Who did she think she was?

  She hesitated, tapping her fingers on the screen as she considered her reply. He’d cracked open the door, but she wasn’t going to leap into text flirting, much as she wanted to, unless he did first. So she kept it light, and threw the ball back in his court.

  * * *

  Hope it goes well. Haven’t decided our next step. Free as birds still. :-)

  * * *

  The message went off with a little whoosh, and she waited. In the milky light, the room had a vintage look about it, like she was halfway into a black and white movie. The bed was enormous and the sheets were crisp and heavy, not like the budget linen she slept in at home. Well, in the place that was home. Her dad had texted to say they’d had an offer on the house, and a sale was imminent. From here on, home was wherever she decided it would be.

  She rolled over, scissoring her legs on the Egyptian cotton, and thought what a waste it was to be alone in such luxury. The phone was silent. Maybe she’d been too non-committal in that last message. Damn, she should have asked him a direct question. (Are you and Jennifer an official item now? for example.) Man-texting was a whole other art, she knew. Nuance and etiquette wasn’t even on their radar, half the time. She let her eyes close again as sleep came creeping near. Would he even reply? She let out a long breath. The bed really was unbelievably comfortable…

  Suddenly a tune broke into her almost-slumber and she felt around for her phone. It was him.

  “Hi.” She played it casual.

  “I was trying to think what to text back, and then I thought, this is ridiculous, she’s already awake.”

  His voice was late-night husky, snapping her right back to the heightened sensation of being with him in person. The familiar buzz started up in her stomach, the matching hum between her legs. But she was determined to keep her cool, even while her heart was flip-flopping.

  “Who is this?” she said jokingly.

  He laughed. “Just a humble commoner, Lady Cady.”

  She laughed too. “Humble?”

  “Sure. Compared to some.”

  “Like who? Kanye?”

  “Ouch. You slight me.”

  She laughed again. “You’re tough.”

  “I am.”

  There was a pause, and the silence at her end merged with the silence at his. She wondered where he was. “Are you on the bus?”

  “No, it’s been kind of weird there. Some new characters around. Kind of shady. Kyle traded down when you left.”

  She glowed at the implied compliment. “That doesn’t sound so great. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Hopefully things will have settled in time for the next flash mob. I’m at my mom and dad’s. How’s your family reunion going?”

  It felt like such a long story, she hardly had the energy. “Pretty good. It’s been interesting. I think he’s an okay guy. Shelby and I have both been going back and forth, bit of an emotional rollercoaster. Every time you learn something new, it changes your perspective a little.” She changed the subject. “But you never told me about your parents. Where do they live?”

  “Out at Mill Valley, north of the city.”

  “I haven’t heard of it.”

  “It’s pretty nice. They’re outdoorsy, so they like walking the trails, that kind of thing
. They have a place with a guest house at the bottom of the garden, so that’s what I use. From the bed I can look out the window right into the woods.”

  “Are you in bed?” In her own ears, her voice sounded suggestive.

  “I am.”

  She cleared her throat. “Me too.”

  “Ah,” he said, a warmth of meaning sliding into his voice. “Tell me then, what do you see out your window?”

  The bed was set against the wall between two long windows, so she couldn’t see outside. “This side of the house overlooks part of the orchards. But I can’t see out the window from here, unless I get up.”

  “Hmm. Well, what do you see inside?” he said, his voice slowing.

  She felt her pulse speed up a little. “I see…an antique wardrobe with velvet tassels on the handles. Um, and a chaise longue.” She stumbled over the pronunciation, hyper-aware of the sexiness in the phrase, but carried on. “And a big French dresser with an orchid plant.” Oh hell, now everything in the room seemed vaguely erotic. She realized her breathing had gotten shallower. “And when I look up, I see a canopy over the bed.”

  “Sounds nice.” There was a pause, and then he said, “And when you look down?”

  “Down?” For a second she thought he was asking about the carpet. “Just a kind of neutral cut pile, I suppose.” Nothing erotic there.

  “Not the flooring,” he said.

  “Oh…” Could he really mean…? She swallowed. Were they going in that direction? Any sleepiness was long gone now, and her senses were humming. “I see white Egyptian cotton sheets. I had to push the blankets off, it’s hot here.”

  “Is it?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, letting the meaning slide into her voice too. “It is.”

  “Huh.” There was a pause. “So what else do you see?”