The Love Scam

by MaryJanice Davidson, Camille Anthony, Melissa Schroeder

  “That’s bad,” she guessed. (Knew.)

  “Atlantis disappearing into the sea bad,” he confirmed. “Come on.”

  She fell into step beside him, irrationally glad to see him wearing the tacky sweatshirt she’d gotten him yesterday.

  (“I can’t afford it!”

  “Yes you can, it’s unbelievably cheap. Don’t wear it near an open flame.”

  “I hate the color!”

  “I know. Shut up and put it on, it gets chilly at night.”)

  “So, the other girls—women—they’re off doing whatever it is they do when they’re not helping you be mysterious?”

  “Uh. Yes.” She was trying to put a name to his mood, and failing. He didn’t seem angry, or sad, or afraid. Just quiet.

  Yes. That was what was creeping her out: He was being calm and thoughtful and quiet. It was more alarming than if he’d burst into flames.

  “And Lillith?”

  “She’s with Elena. What’s wrong?” she asked, knowing exactly what the problem was and, even now, too chickenshit to say anything.

  He still doesn’t know everything.

  So tell him, idiot!

  I can’t. I gave my word.

  And to that, her inner voice said what it always did: not a goddamned thing. Because when she was nothing and had nothing, that was the one thing that had value: her word. If she said she would do something, or wouldn’t, she’d stick to it. Every time. She’d gone to sleep with a black eye more than once, and her favorite consolation was always the same: I told them if they tried anything, I’d make them pay. And I did.

  “Rake? What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, everything. I still can’t believe she cut him off like that. Me, I could understand—my mom loves me but essentially thinks I’m useless. But Blake? The golden child? Cutting him off is just odd.”

  “So”—she paused, increasing her stride to match his—“you really don’t have any money?” You know he doesn’t. Could you sound more insipid? “Blake can’t help you?” Jesus Christ. What are you doing?

  “Blake can’t help me,” he agreed, and it still seemed like a brisk stroll between friends, but it wasn’t.

  “And he thinks your grandma…” The nuclear option. Because things weren’t bad enough. Another lesson from her childhood: Surprise! Everything’s worse.

  “I think Blake isn’t thinking straight. He might even be sick, or at least exhausted from working too hard.* I don’t think he’s thought it through. Because there’s very little chance our mom orchestrated this without Nonna Tarbell’s approval. They respect the hell out of each other. Always have.”

  “You never talk about them. Just Blake.”

  “You mean during the course of our long, affectionate friendship?”

  She said nothing, and he shrugged.

  “Yeah, well. It’s annoying, having a genetic double who’s your evil opposite. So he comes up a lot in my conversations. Though Blake would tell you I’m his evil opposite.” They were through the lobby now, stepping out into the Venice sunshine. Lunchtime and, for once, not a lot of tourists.

  “Do they spend much time together? Your mom and grandma?” She never got tired of hacks, hits, or stories about other people’s loving families. In that order, which was proof, if any were needed, that there was something wrong with her.

  He laughed, a short, humorless bark. “God no. They almost never see each other. Which suits my mom. And Blake and me, of course. We never even met her until we were teenagers, when our dad died. Christ, that was a day.”

  “Will you tell me?” Please tell me. I like hearing about your family. Okay, anyone’s family. But especially yours.

  “Why not?” And he still hadn’t shaken that odd, quiet mood. But perhaps reminiscing would put him in a better frame of mind.

  Thirty-seven

  “Dead?” Oh, what the holy hell? He and Blake had just gotten home—no detention for once, and better than that, he’d sprinted past Blake and gotten to the door first—and there was Mom, home between two of her three jobs, and some strange old lady who was looking at them with a hopeful smile.

  “Our father’s dead?” Blake asked, sounding as numb as Rake felt. It was like walking in the door and getting whapped with a pillow full of popcorn. Not painful, but disorienting.

  “I’m afraid so, boy.” Mom let go of the back of the kitchen chair and gestured to the old lady. “This is your grandmother, Ruth Tarbell. Ruth, this is—”

  “My son’s seed!”

  Rake flinched. “Oh, man. Please don’t call us that.” Before he could ask her not to call them anything, really, the old woman had moved

  (like a basketball forward! quick, with fast hands)

  and pulled him

  (ack!)

  and Blake

  (ack!)

  into a hug that smelled like lemon tea.

  “Thank God,” she was babbling, and her lipstick was perfect, which was kind of amazing. “Oh thank God. Look at you, so handsome. I haven’t seen you since you were babies, when I made your idiot father— When I was at the wedding.”

  Blake was gently trying to get free of her lemony embrace. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “I’m missing b-ball practice for this,” Rake reminded everyone.

  After a decade, their fuzzy

  (what’s that sweater made of? wool? very soft steel wool?)

  grandmother let them go, observing, “You’re surprised.”

  “People aren’t usually this happy to meet us,” Blake said. Rake rolled his eyes, because he knew what was coming. “Rake is terrible.”

  He flipped him off, low and quick, so the other two wouldn’t see. “Blow it out your butt sideways, Blake. Um, Mom, are you…” Then he took another look and went over and put his arm around her. “Um, I know you guys were technically married, and it’s okay to be sad. And it’s okay not to be sad. Right, Blake? That’s okay?” Blake was way better with the whole “this is socially acceptable, that is not” thing.

  “Of course.”

  “See, Mom? Blake’s all ‘it’s cool.’ So if you’re sad—”

  “I am fine, Rake.” Then to their—this would take some getting used to—grandmother: “Thank you. Mrs. Tarbell—”

  “Ruth, darling.”

  “—was telling me about your father’s will. It seems…” She paused, took a breath. Let it out slowly. “It seems he left us some money.”

  “Oh.” Blake looked cautiously hopeful, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why: Blake balanced the family checkbook, and they both knew any amount of money would be great. Their mom not only worked hard; she wouldn’t let either of them get jobs to help. If their newly dead old man left them a few hundred bucks, that was great. More? That’d be more great.

  “Look, you don’t expect us to cry or anything, right?” Rake said to his, err, grandma. He stuck to his mom’s side like a sweaty barnacle. “I mean, we get how you’d be upset, but we’re kind of not.” Okay, maybe that’s a little heartless. Try again. “Because he never visited. We didn’t know him. I mean, we’re sorry for you, Mrs. Tar—”

  “Please don’t call me that,” she interrupted. She didn’t sound mad or anything, which was good. “Ruth, if you like. Nonna, if you want to know my preference.”

  “Italian for grandmother,” Blake spoke up. Rake instantly decided to learn Italian so that stupid Blake couldn’t show him up in front of his new grandma again.

  Nonna Tarbell gave Blake a great big smile. “Clever, clever boy.”

  Rake managed not to roll his eyes. “Oh, gross.”

  “God, you’re both his very image.” Then—No!—Nonna’s eyes got brighter. Or just wetter. Please let it be allergies! No tears! No little old ladies crying in their kitchen! Luckily, she recovered, which is when Rake started to like her. She never lost her smile, either; it seemed she really was happy to meet them. Rake was old enough to know that not everyone had a positive reaction to the news that they had bastard grandchildren. “I’m tol
d you have your mother’s brains.” Pause. Her smile got even bigger. “Thank the Lord.”

  “Yep, praise Jesus and all that…” Grandmas were usually religious, right? Ugh, she wasn’t going to insist they go to church while she was in town, was she? Their mother would shit. “So what’d he leave us?”

  Their mother gave him a look. “Rake.” Ulp. Time to hand off the rest of the chitchat to Blake.

  Then (amazing! miraculous! a dead dad, a live grandmother, outracing Blake, Blake sticking up for him—what a day!) Blake actually took his side.

  “It’s a fair question, Mom. Nonna wouldn’t have come all this way for no good reason.”

  “Everything” was the stunned response. “He left you everything.”

  Thirty-eight

  “And that was the end of our money problems,” Rake finished, still musing in that calm, quiet tone. “But my mom and Nonna think it was the start of all our other problems. We’re not married.”

  “What?” As if his tone wasn’t unnerving enough, Rake was kind of all over the place with his storytelling. Odd to feel chilled in the Venice sunshine, while happy tourists drifted around them, hailing gondolas and vaporettos to hurry off somewhere else. Delaney, who usually liked Italy, wanted very much to be hurrying off somewhere else.

  “We’re confirmed bachelors. And if we were women, people would say we’re sluts. My mom has a huge problem with it, and the nuclear option does, too. Which is asinine.”

  “It is?” Wow, you’re definitely holding up your end, conversationwise! Double thumbs-up!

  “Mom never wanted to marry; Grandma did but hated her husband. And yet the solution to all our problems is to shackle some poor woman to our rich yet empty lives.” Rake sighed. “That’s what I used to think. I never found anyone I wanted to pull into my orbit, be with, forever. Until…” Then he stopped, verbally and physically, ignoring the tourists he’d inadvertently forced to swerve around him, and looked right at her.

  “Until…” she managed. It wasn’t what she was thinking/hoping. It wasn’t. The end of his sentence wasn’t “I met you.” And the follow-up wasn’t “Will you marry me, darling?” This wasn’t a romcom, or even a romantic suspense. This was real life: brutal and dirty, sometimes, and sad, and stuffed with people you didn’t want to need but did.

  “The clues were all there,” he said, like that was an answer. “I was happy to ignore them. I couldn’t wait to ignore them. Isn’t that ridiculous? But I really am broke, Blake and me both. Blake can’t see Nonna’s hand in this, but it’s there. They really did take our money, they’re really grounding us like we’re still teenagers. Lillith really might be mine, Donna really might have been murdered, strange men have really been following us, and you really knew all about it.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so she was facing back the way they’d come. He kept talking, only now it was so much worse—now she couldn’t see his face.

  “I’m not a genius,” he told the back of her head, and she shivered, “but I’m not a moron, either, as even Blake would agree. I ignored the evidence that I was in real trouble because I didn’t want to face what that meant. Not just being broke—that’s a pain in the ass, but it’s survivable. I won’t like it, but I know how to live without money. Millions get by every day. That wasn’t the biggest problem. No, I didn’t want to face what your complicity meant. Did you ever like me? Or was it just a job? An errand to run in between stuffing Easter baskets?”

  “Rake—”

  “I didn’t get a burner, even though I could have gotten one a lot quicker than an iPhone, one you so obligingly ordered for me. I could have followed up with Blake’s increasingly alarming texts right away, but I didn’t.”

  “You couldn’t have kno—”

  “I didn’t ask you about the DNA tests, though they’ve probably been in your safe for forty-eight hours. And the very next day, when I had the perfect opportunity to reach out to Blake and get some answers, I decided to hold off and hope you were going to kiss me again. Then I took a nap. These are not the actions of a smart person. They’re what someone who wants to stay blind does.”

  “Rake…” What? What could she say? That without his money and at her mercy, he was vulnerable in a way he’d never been in his life, and there was no shame in being afraid to face that? That yes, she was complicit, but never for spite, and she never would have let any harm come to him—as his two would-be muggers could attest? That there was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep Lillith safe and make the Big Pipe Dream happen?

  Was there even a way to say Hey, Rake, don’t beat yourself up without sounding stupid and condescending?

  “How do I get it back, Delaney? What’s the trick I have to perform to get back in my mother’s and grandmother’s good graces? Keep working for you? Giving back? Making cakes and stuffing baskets and driving for Meals on Wheels, until the nuclear option is satisfied I’m going to be a Good Boy? Adopting Lillith so she’s mine whether or not she’s mine? So you don’t have to take care of her until she’s an adult?”

  Christ, she wasn’t ready for this conversation. She hadn’t taken the job expecting to even be conflicted, never mind falling for him. She’d thought having the moral high ground would be empowering. Instead, it made her feel small, and mean.

  She shook herself free of his grasp and turned. She grabbed one of his hands, took a step back toward the hotel, and tugged. He didn’t budge, and she wouldn’t hurt him to make him follow. She could only ask. “Rake, come back with me, it’s getting chilly.” It wasn’t. She was so upset and nervous and embarrassed and confused, she was sweating. And he was in that silly sweatshirt she’d bought him; he wasn’t cold, either. Now she wished she’d bought him ten shitty sweatshirts. A dozen. Told her employer to fuck off twice. Never promised anything. Saved him from the muggers and then given him everything in her wallet. Showed him the DNA results instead of walking that particular tightrope. Kept Lillith away from this, from them. Donna was right. It’s a Lost Boys lifestyle; it’s no way for actual adults to live. She was right to be done with us. “C’mon, okay?”

  He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

  That cool courtesy: the worst. “Please?” God, he just looked so sad and calm; she was amazed to find she couldn’t bear it. “C’mon back with me, come in and—and we’ll order room service, you love that—”

  “I do love that,” he said thoughtfully.

  “—and we’ll get a bite and some sleep and you’ll—it’ll be better. In the morning.”

  “Sorry” was the polite reply. “I haven’t earned the money for a bite and some sleep.” The worst of it was, he didn’t sound particularly biting or nasty. Just tired. “In fact, if I’m going to be your charitable dray horse, I need to find much cheaper accommodations. And you haven’t answered me: How long does this go on? When will I be considered an adult who can handle his big-boy checkbook?”

  “It’s not—it’s not like that.” Once, sure. Now? No. She was ready to give him all of her money at this point, the money she’d earned and the money still owed her, the money she had to take when people thought they could promise to help, when they thought their word meant nothing. The money that made her blighted childhood worth something, granting her a skill set she could use to undo all the wrongs of her early life.

  For the first time, she got a glimpse of why someone would take something that wasn’t theirs and give it to someone else. “You don’t have to—come on. Come inside. I’ll tell you what I can.”

  “But not all of it.”

  “I can’t,” she said with fierce desperation.

  “Because you gave your word.”

  “Yes. I know that sounds—”

  “It sounds fine.” And just like that, he let her steer him back toward her

  (our, dammit!)

  hotel.

  “It’s fine?” she repeated, not quite believing his 180.

  “Yeah. I know there’s stuff you have to keep to yourself, because I�
�m doing the same thing. I’ve done something I’m not ready to tell you about,” he said, but she was so happy they were going back, she didn’t give half a shit.

  “Okay. That’s okay.”

  “You’ll be angry when I do tell you.”

  “All right. That’s—” She took a breath, tried to imagine what he wasn’t telling her. Took the coward’s way out and decided she didn’t want to know. Let out her breath in a whoosh. She felt lighter, which was stupid. Nothing had been resolved. Everything was shitty. He didn’t like her anymore, and he would never, ever love her. Lillith was still in limbo. Donna was still dead. “Fair. That’s fair. So I won’t—I mean, I’d understand. Even if I didn’t like what you told me.”

  “Yes.” He looked down and shifted their grip; now she wasn’t yanking him down the street; now they were holding hands like any one of the couples around them. “That’s a big thing for you, right, Delaney? Maybe the biggest. Fair play.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s all right, then,” he replied, and even smiled a little.

  Thirty-nine

  He didn’t say another word until they were in the elevator, so when he did speak, it startled her. She’d been thinking, Just a few more hours and I can tell the rest. Just a few more hours and I’ll have kept my word. “What happened to the San Basso guy?”

  “What? Oh.” She frowned. For once, she didn’t give a shit about the hit. “He’s gone. He—he saw you left the kitchen a mess and left town.” Her joke fell flat with an almost audible thud.

  “Yeah, he’s gone.” Rake wasn’t surprised. Why wasn’t he surprised? Was it a test? Did she pass? “I checked, you know.”

  Her reply was cautious. “Okay.” She was so glad they were moving away from her complicity (though she would later realize he’d never left the topic), she didn’t think to question what he was asking, or why.

  “I know why you did what you did, and maybe it was even a good thing.” He shook his head. “But you shouldn’t have done it.”