The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

  The library was probably the most beautiful building in town, a white columned edifice from days past that would be perfectly at home on a Universal Studios lot. She could imagine the town’s founding fathers proudly opening the doors for the first time, full of hope and ceremony. They went up the steps and through the heavy swinging doors. Inside was the kind of old-time hush that libraries used to have, before they livelied up with internet access and book clubs and interactive story times for kids. The way she liked them, in other words.

  They scanned the shelves, looking—hopefully in an unsuspicious way—for someone who might be Cady Greenwood.

  Shelby picked up a book as a decoy. “You cover non-fiction, I’ll do periodicals,” she said, her voice full of muted drama worthy of a detective show.

  “I’m guessing fiction,” Cady said. “One book a day, to take you out of your real life? Only novels work that kind of magic.”

  Shelby shrugged. “I can’t remember the last time I read a novel.”

  On this weekday morning the library was almost empty, making Cady feel screamingly obvious as an out-of-towner. Shelby followed her to the fiction shelves, near the back of the library—and there, between R and T, was someone who could easily be the other Cady.

  She was about the right age, and she looked—although Cady hesitated to think it, given the bad rap she’d had from everyone—kind of eccentric. Hard-core boots (Doc Martens?) peeped out from under her flowing skirt, and she wore a long wraparound top with crocheted ties that went around and around her body. Over that was the kind of multi-pocketed vest that a fisherman would wear. The pockets were bulging, which probably explained why she didn’t have a bag with her. Her greying hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she had tucked a flower into the hair tie. She was, in short, unusual.

  “You ask her,” Shelby whispered, giving Cady a surreptitious push.

  “Okay, okay,” she whispered back.

  Now that the moment was upon her, she wondered what the heck she’d been thinking. What connection could she find with this person? And what purpose would it serve to bring everything up again, especially if she was as fragile as Bee had said?

  She didn’t look especially fragile though. She was tall and slender, willowy even. But although she was thin, there was nothing wispy about her. She radiated a dogged strength, her individuality and her bearing like a kind of armor. In a way, she reminded Cady of Aunt Netta—wearing, and probably doing, whatever she saw fit. Faced with this character, Cady started to think that it wasn’t too late to change their minds…

  But she looked up from the book she was holding, and saw them. Then they could see how beautiful—no, striking—she still was. Her grey eyes narrowed as she took them in, so obviously hovering. There was nothing to do but jump in.

  “Excuse me,” Cady said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but are you Cady Greenwood?”

  The suspicion in the woman’s expression deepened. “For my sins,” she said shortly. “And you are?”

  “Well…” She hesitated. “I’m Cady, and this is my sister Shelby.”

  Cady Greenwood took a step backward, her hand going to her throat. “Is this a joke? Did someone put you up to this?”

  Cady could have kicked herself for not being more delicate about it. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should explain.”

  But her no-BS demeanor was already back. “You should,” she said in a firm but still library-appropriate voice. “I’m waiting. Go ahead.”

  Twenty-Five

  Standing between the shelves, in the gentle bookish hush, Cady didn’t know where to start.

  “Well, um, Mrs. Greenwood…” she began.

  “You can call me Mrs. G, like everyone else,” she interrupted. “I don’t need reminding of that good-for-nothing sluggard. Now, come on—who are you exactly, and why are you here, stalking me in the library?”

  Cady faltered. Why were they here, exactly? How could she explain it to this woman, when she wasn’t sure herself? The romanticized notion of some intangible connection between the two of them seemed ridiculous now. Well, it was too late to back out. She kept it straightforward.

  “We came to see Lawson Holt. He’s our father.” She figured it was okay to tell people herself, given how free he’d been about telling everyone.

  Mrs. G’s eyes widened. “Are you telling me Holt has children? And he named you after me and Shelby? Jesus.”

  Cady hesitated. “Well…it wasn’t quite like that. But we only just found out he’s our father. We were born in London. There was sort of a misunderstanding.”

  “Pah, that’d be right. Lawson Holt is hardly father material.”

  “Look, would you like to go and have a cup of coffee or something?” Cady suggested. Standing in the library really didn’t seem to be the right place for this conversation. There was no one else here apart from an elderly man reading a newspaper in the corner, his nose practically touching the page as he took in the day’s news. She doubted he’d be able to see them from there, let alone hear what they were saying, but still.

  But Mrs. G shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t like to have a cup of coffee. Lawson Holt has nothing to do with me now, so I have no idea why you’re here.”

  “We’re here because Bee told us you were in San Francisco too,” Cady said. “And because…I don’t know. I wanted to meet the other Cady.” She shrugged, feeling sheepish.

  “Well, you met her. But San Francisco? I’m willing to bet you didn’t get the true story on that.”

  “The true story?” Shelby echoed.

  “I think we’d better sit down.” Mrs. G pointed at some child-sized seats shaped like hands, and they each perched in an upturned palm, with fingers at their backs. “Now, tell me what you heard. What Bee and Holt told you. Let’s see how the story stacks up.”

  Shelby looked at Cady, obviously expecting her to do the talking. Nervously, she cleared her throat, then repeated the basics of what Bee had told them—the condensed version, minus her comments about the younger Cady’s psychological state.

  “I didn’t lose the baby,” Mrs. G said as soon as she was finished. “I hate that expression, as though you were just careless.”

  “You didn’t?” Shelby said.

  “No, I didn’t. Do you really want to know what happened? Lawson Holt, hero of the county and beyond, is not the hero in this version of the story.”

  The girls looked at each other, no idea what to expect. “You’d better tell us, I guess,” Cady said.

  “Okay, then. He made me have an abortion. He took me to the clinic. Coercion, persuasion, manipulation, threatening…call it what you like. The end result was the same.” She sat back, her head resting against the middle finger of her seat, and watched to see their reaction.

  They were horrified.

  “I can’t believe it,” Cady said. “How could anyone…I just can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it, or don’t believe it, I don’t care,” Mrs. G said. “I’ve spent my life in this godforsaken place with people thinking what they like about me. Whispering about me. First it was ‘weird Cady’ and ‘crazy Cady’. And after San Francisco—after Lawson Holt—it was ‘poor Cady’. I let everyone believe that lost baby story, because there was no point in taking on the mighty Holt family. And because I couldn’t bear to think about what I’d given in and done. I was out of my depth, and I let him coerce me into it.”

  “I didn’t mean I didn’t believe you,” Cady said hastily. “I meant that I just can’t believe it. I mean, Bee said—”

  Mrs. G snorted. “Of course she did. I bet she said all kinds of things.” She shook her head, her lips pursed. “I was only in the way. There’s no reasoning with her when it comes to Lawson Holt. She was always in love with him, even when we were at school. She probably still is. But sure, believe her, believe him. Even my own husband didn’t believe me. Cady Greenwood is crazy, after all.”

  Listening to her talk, Cady thought she was hardly going to convince them oth
erwise. But still, there seemed a kernel of truth in what she said. Was Holt capable of such a thing? He’d said he had difficulties before he went to London—that his youth didn’t excuse how immature he’d been. Could this be what he was referring to? Not just the wild times and the loss of the baby, but something darker.

  Then Mrs. G stood up.

  “I never had any more children,” she said. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  The conversation was over. She turned and went out, leaving her library book lying on the floor, and the girls in shock.

  * * *

  On the drive back to the farm, they tried to get their heads around what Mrs. G had told them. Shelby was antsy in her seat, processing the drama out loud, as usual.

  “What kind of person does that? How could he do that?”

  Cady was trying to think rationally. He was sharp, single-minded, and tough enough to beat down his competitors and grow a huge business empire, but forcing someone to have an abortion was a whole other level of ruthless—especially when the baby was your own.

  “Could she have it wrong, somehow?” Even as she said it, she knew she didn’t think so. “Maybe she did lose the baby.”

  “Oh, come on.” Shelby rolled her eyes. “I think a woman knows if something so brutal has happened to her. The other thing I can’t believe is how she kept it secret the whole time.”

  “Why would she tell us now?”

  “Maybe it was the shock of finding out Holt has kids after all. Seeing us must have been like a double slap in the face.”

  Cady blew out a long sigh. “We should never have gone to find her.”

  “But then we wouldn’t know this.”

  Cady could only nod sadly. What’s known can’t be unknown. And she felt for Mrs. G, who’d carried it with her all these years.

  As they went into the house, the phone was ringing.

  “Holt residence,” Shelby answered, as he’d encouraged them to do. It was their home too, he’d told them—of course they could answer the telephone.

  “It’s him,” she mouthed to Cady, who raised her eyebrows. Shelby gestured her over, and they put their heads together so they could both listen. He wouldn’t be back that night after all, he said. There had been more vandalism on the farms, so he was meeting with the local police to talk about how to prevent it. He’d be home tomorrow night.

  “Okay,” Shelby said aloud. “The only thing is, we need to hit the road.”

  Cady looked at her, surprised. What was she doing? They hadn’t discussed this. But she put a finger to her lips and shook her head.

  “Oh…” he said. “You can’t wait until I get back?”

  “We’d better not. We have so many things booked in for our trip. But thank you so much for having us.” Her voice was determinedly polite, not encouraging any questions.

  “Well, okay…if you’re sure.” There was a silence, which was obviously Shelby’s cue to say something more. But she didn’t. “I hope we’ll see you again before you go back to England,” he added.

  “Sure,” she said. “That’d be lovely. Thank you for everything. Cady says thanks too.”

  She set the phone back on its charger. “I can’t even look at you any more,” she told the handpiece.

  “What the heck?” Cady said. “Where did that spring from?”

  “Well, do you want to stay now?”

  She didn’t need to answer. Shelby nodded. “Come on, let’s get packed.”

  * * *

  As they were loading their bags into the car, Bee arrived, on Rambler again.

  “You’re going?” she asked, looking surprised.

  “Something…came up,” Shelby said.

  Bee looked from one of them to the other. “Oh, that’s a shame. Well, I’m glad I caught you.” Then she looked up at the house. “Is Holt here?”

  “No, he’s away until tomorrow,” Cady said. “Did you want to see him?”

  She tried to look noncommittal, patting Rambler’s dappled neck. “Well, after we talked the other day, I thought maybe…” She let the sentence peter out.

  The girls looked at each other. Before, they’d thought it was so sweet that she still had feelings for him. After today’s news, that potential love story seemed much less charming.

  “We have to tell her,” Shelby said.

  “Tell me what?” Bee asked.

  Shelby didn’t mince her words. “About Mrs. G not really losing the baby. We saw her today.”

  Something flitted across Bee’s face, and was gone. They saw it though, and Shelby was right on it.

  “You knew already.” It was a statement, not a question.

  She flushed slightly under her hat. “She told me that story, yes. She and I only talked once after we all came back. But seriously, she just wasn’t right in the head. Holt wouldn’t do anything like that. He’s not that kind of callous, like his father was.”

  There was silence. Rambler scratched a hoof in the gravel driveway, optimistically looking for something to nibble on. Cady could hear Mrs. G’s words in her head: There’s no reasoning with her when it comes to Lawson Holt. She was always in love with him…

  “Okay, well, we have to go, anyway.” Shelby shoved the last bag in and slammed the trunk shut. “It was very nice to meet you.”

  “It really was,” Cady added, a note of apology in her voice.

  “You too,” Bee said. “I’m sorry you’re going away with the wrong idea.”

  For the second time, she was asking them not to think badly of Holt. Cady wondered if she’d tell him about this conversation.

  They said their goodbyes, and Cady turned the car down the long driveway. As they passed between the almond trees lining each side, the complicated history tumbled around in her head. Holt, Bee, Cady/Mrs. G, Anne and her alter-ego Adrienne… Truthfully, in that moment it was a huge relief to be driving away from Santa Almendra.

  “I get it,” Shelby said. “I don’t blame her. She was besotted enough to share him, even when she didn’t want to. Of course she’d defend him. They might say Mrs. G is crazy, but love can make you the same way.”

  Cady could only smile. “That’s what I hear. Got anyone in mind? A certain quiffed-up hipster?”

  “You know me too well.” Shelby put on her sunglasses and switched the stereo to a song that she approved of. “I need a little crazy myself.”

  Cady thought back to the late-night phone call. “Oh, God, me too.” He might be maintaining radio silence, but she’d think about that later. Right now, she needed to step away from the claustrophobia of the past, look forward, and let new Cady have free rein again.

  “So, where are we going?” Shelby asked.

  They looked at each other and grinned, both knowing the answer. They had no idea if there was room for them on the bus any more—but for the chance of a little crazy, they were willing to find out.

  Twenty-Six

  On the way back to San Francisco, Shelby texted Kyle. The next flash mob was taking place the following day, he said, so everyone was busy, but he’d love to see them.

  “He’d love to see us!” she said triumphantly, waving the phone in Cady’s direction. “Lucky I’ve been using that spray tan.”

  The closer they got to the city, the bigger the mob of butterflies in Cady’s tummy became. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours since her phone call with Reid. What would have happened if he hadn’t hung up? Would they have carried on to the obvious, lusty conclusion of the conversation? She smiled to herself, the memory still fresh enough to give her a warm jolt every time it popped into her mind.

  With everything up in the air, they returned the Chrysler to the hire company. It would be easy enough to hire another car when they set off again.

  “But I’m choosing next time,” Shelby said, as they wheeled their suitcases out of the office. “My car. A Mustang Shelby.”

  Cady smiled. “Sounds good to me. The coast road to LA in a Mustang Shelby convertible?”

  “Stop it, you’re turning m
e on,” she joked.

  Cady looked up and down the road, and was relieved to see a yellow cab coming along. “Come on,” she said. She held her arm out boldly and was pleased to see the cab pull over. “First we have some crazy to see to.”

  The cab dropped them near where the bus was parked in the streets behind 24th. Shelby stopped before they walked around the corner, putting on tinted lip gloss and fussing with her hair.

  Cady hesitated, then caved in. “You’d better give me some of that,” she said, holding out her hand for the gloss.

  “I told you,” Shelby said. “A bit of lippy doesn’t hurt.”

  “Yeah, you told me a lot of things that night,” Cady reminded her. “Let’s not go there again.”

  She looked defensive. “I was right about some things.”

  “If you say so.” She wasn’t giving an inch on that one. Okay, maybe she had once been the boring spinster of Shelby’s accusation. She’d been a homebody for a reason, and she wouldn’t have done it any differently. But she was leaving that Cady behind—and she didn’t need any lessons from Shelby to do it.

  She passed the lip gloss back, then watched while her sister pinched her cheeks like a Jane Austen heroine, giving them a delicate blush.

  “I could have given them a good slapping for you,” she said.

  Shelby stuck out her tongue. “Whatever.”

  “Any time, any place. I’m happy to help,” she said, clapping her hands together so hard that Shelby jumped at the startling crack.

  “Jeesh, that’s random.” She shook her head. “Come on, I want to get there some time today.”

  Cady sighed. Her sister really was supremely slappable. She adjusted her bag across her body, tipped her suitcase onto its wheels, and followed. Her stomach churned with nerves with every step closer they got. Would Reid be there? What would they say to each other? Maybe Jennifer would be there. After Alison’s comments, implying it was only a matter of time for Jennifer and Reid, Cady was convinced they’d get together. Their telephone tryst either showed that she was wrong, or that he was happy to keep licking that frosting…