Savannah stared at her stepmother. Cassie had always been on her side, gentle with her, helping her clean up her messes. Even when she thought Savannah had started the fight at Pfeiffer Grant, she’d tried to help her cope with the fallout. Now she sounded stern and, worse, unforgiving.
Savannah leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not moving to the guest room, and I’m not living with people I don’t know. This woman could be an ax murderer! How do you know she’s not?”
“Because I checked. She’s a single mom who caught a series of bad breaks, and you were the final one. She’s out on the street, and we have it in our power to put a roof over her head.”
“Not in my power. I don’t want her. And I guess you didn’t hear me. I’m not moving to the guest room.”
“Then I will move you myself.”
“I want to live with my real mother!”
Cassie didn’t respond. Savannah had made this threat before, and Cassie had always rushed in to reassure her. Today was different.
She finally spoke, spaces between words as if she had to think about each one in advance. “Gen is not home. She’s in Africa, and the last I heard, she’ll be there at least a few months longer. She expects you to live with me and go to Coastal Winds.”
“And I bet she’s paying you to take care of me! Paying for my master suite that you’re giving to strangers, right?”
Cassie mulled over her answer for a long moment. Savannah could almost see her mind working. “I’m pretty sure you know this, but let’s review. Gen and your father had an agreement when they divorced. He took care of all your expenses except your tuition at the academy, which he and Gen split. In turn each year Gen invests money in a college account, so when the time comes, you can attend any college where you’re accepted.”
“But my father is dead! Who’s paying my expenses now, huh?”
Cassie just stared at her.
“Like you would,” Savannah said, although with less fury.
“Like I would.” Cassie turned back to the steering wheel and started the car again. “The Blairs are meeting us in a few minutes at the house.”
“I’m not moving my stuff.”
“They’ll be moving in tomorrow. And just so you know, Roxanne has volunteered to keep your father’s Mustang at her house so Amber can park her car in our garage.”
“That’s my car!”
“Legally it’s mine. You don’t even have a learner’s permit, and at this rate, you won’t get one until I think you’re mature enough to get behind the wheel. Where the car is parked is immaterial.”
At Savannah’s outraged gasp, Cassie’s tone hardened in a way she had rarely heard. “Your stuff will be out of your room by the time they arrive, one way or the other. If I have to pack it myself, everything may end up on the front lawn waiting for the Salvation Army truck. Take your chances.”
“You’re punishing me! I’m fifteen. I don’t need to be treated like a preschooler!”
“If I’d been harder on you as a preschooler, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’ve gotten pretty much everything you’ve wanted all your life, Savannah. Maybe your dad and I loved you too much.”
“You’re not my mother!”
“I was the mother on the premises for twelve years of your life. Whether you can see it, I loved you like a daughter, and still do. But I’m not spoiling you anymore. For the record I’m not inviting the Blairs to live with us to punish you. I’m doing what’s right. Someday you may see that, but that will be up to you.”
They didn’t speak again, which was fine with Savannah. The whole way home she tried to imagine what it would be like to live in a house with Cassie and the strangers whose money she had spent on a stupid, stupid party.
Her life was already hell. Whatever was ahead might even be worse.
* * *
Amber stopped in front of the house that, if she had the address right, belonged to Cassie Costas. She left the motor running, in case a reprieve magically occurred to her. “Her daughter has a different last name?” she asked Will.
“Westmore. It’s not easy coming in new like she did.”
“You should know.”
“When you do it often enough, you learn not to care what other kids think.”
Will said that as if he really didn’t care, but Amber felt a stab right through her heart. Her son had endured move after move into towns that held no family or friends.
Once, as a younger child, he’d sobbed and begged to stay in a popular tourist city where they’d settled. They’d rented the downstairs of a house with a real fireplace and a park across the street. Will had made friends and joined the local Cub Scout troop. But despite his pleas, she packed their car the day school let out and told the sobbing boy they were leaving. They’d driven through three states before she began to sort through small cities that had nothing to recommend them to visitors. She had learned her lesson. With the array of conventions that had come and gone in their previous home, it had been a matter of time before she ran into somebody who recognized and remembered her.
Since then she’d learned to stay away from tourist cities and small towns where everybody knew everybody’s business. Somehow she’d succeeded in choosing places where she and her son could fade into the woodwork.
That had changed when the restaurant owner in a central Florida town had told her he was opening a Dine Eclectic in Tarpon Springs and wanted her to be the assistant general manager. Maybe moving here was a risk because it was a destination on tourist maps. The Greek-American community often found their way to town. But the man she feared, one whose ancestors undoubtedly came from the same Scots-Irish stock as hers, would never look for family here.
Hopefully he would never look for her in Tarpon Springs, either.
“Savannah won’t be happy to have us living with her if we decide to move in,” Amber said. “Can you deal?”
Will was examining the house, a pseudo Mediterranean in the middle of a gated community of like homes. The yard was small and neatly landscaped, with a driveway paved in hexagonal blocks and concrete urns with the usual petunias and impatiens flanking the sidewalk to the front door. The house was far from a mansion, but it looked large enough for four.
“I would deal with a lot to live here,” Will said. “I can walk home from school.”
Coastal Winds was probably three miles away, but Amber knew her son would walk if necessary. Right now he had to wait around town until her shift at Dine Eclectic ended. He was doing homework in the library, on park benches, even at a table before the restaurant opened for dinner.
“We won’t stay a day longer than we have to.” Amber turned the key and waited as the car shuddered into silence.
As they walked up the sidewalk, she thought about the biggest reason she had agreed to this visit today. That morning she’d been outside her tent, making coffee on their camp stove, when an older man, wearing a cap sporting the familiar black-and-gold logo of the West Virginia Power baseball team, walked into their site. “Something smells mighty good,” he’d said.
She had forced a smile. “Nothing better than coffee in the open air, right?”
“Except maybe bacon.” He’d removed his cap and held it down, and as he did, she noted the Charleston T-shirt with the words Since 1788 printed on the front. “Do you like camping in tents?” he asked. “There’s lot of good campgrounds up where I’m from.”
She didn’t have to ask where that was. “Charleston area?”
“A bit north, off 77.”
She’d held her hands over the burner to warm them, willing them not to tremble. “I’ve never been to West Virginia.” She was hopeful she had lost the Appalachian twang in her voice after so many years and so much effort. “I bet it’s pretty.”
“A group of us is staying here. Nice place to spend the winters, and we like to
set up close to each other. Been friends forever. Winters up our way get colder than blue hell.”
Amber clearly remembered her grandfather using the same expression. “So how long do you stay?”
“Oh, we go back about April. Prettiest springs in the world where we come from. You had oughta visit.”
“Maybe I will.”
He’d turned to start back to the road. “Gotta carry my wife into town this morning for groceries. Good having a talk. We’re over by the rec center. You come see us, you hear?”
“Sure will.” And at that moment she’d known she was going to take Cassie Costas up on her offer.
Now, looking at the house, she thought about the security guard at the gate two blocks away, and the fact that neither her name nor any identifying details would be on documents related to the house. She didn’t even have to give her new address to her boss. Her paycheck went right into her bank account, and she had a post office box for mail. Anyone trying to trace her might find her, but first they’d have to know the name she’d been living under for seventeen years. And if they knew that much, the game was probably up anyway.
At the door she knocked and waited as Will shifted his weight from foot to foot beside her. Cassie, in black capris and a white linen blouse, opened the door, her dark hair curling over her collar and long-lashed hazel eyes searching Amber’s face.
Cassie fell somewhere into the gap between striking and pretty, curvy but not overweight, neither tall nor short. Her skin was creamy, but Amber thought her skin might darken after a few months living in Florida. Her teeth were even and white, and right now she had a smile firmly in place, although Amber could read the wariness behind it. It wasn’t exactly an “I’ve had second thoughts” smile, but the woman was worried that by the house tour’s end, one or the other of them would realize what a terrible idea this was.
Cassie stepped aside and ushered them in. “We just got home about fifteen minutes ago.”
Amber heard loud music from the back of the house. Will might recognize the band or the singer, but she didn’t. A young woman was wailing at the top of her lungs about waking in a bad mood.
“Savannah’s doing some cleaning and moving,” Cassie said. “I’ll ask her to turn the music down.”
“No, no.” Amber rested her hand on Cassie’s arm for a moment. “That won’t bother us.”
Cassie started through the house, and Amber and Will followed. “This is the main living area. There’s a small den, too, when you need more privacy, televisions in both. I love the kitchen. Do you like to cook?”
The great room had little character and lacked enough furniture to fill it, but it was bordered by glass doors looking over a pool, which Cassie quickly insisted they could use anytime. Amber followed her past a dining table with only three chairs into a wide kitchen with a dark granite island in the center. Cabinets lined both walls and a lighter granite graced the countertops.
“I would like to cook in here,” Amber said. “It’s great.”
“I like to bake.” Cassie leaned against a counter and folded her arms. “Where we lived before...before this, takeout and delivery were a way of life. You name it, somebody within a six-block radius delivered it. So I didn’t make meals as often, but I did make dessert.”
Amber was beginning to relax. The house had little charm, but it was spacious and open, and she could see how easy it might be to avoid each other. “I don’t make dessert, but I do make dinner.”
“We were meant to live together.” Cassie’s smile was a little more natural now. “I expect you to share the kitchen. I’ll divide the shelves in the refrigerator. Even if we’re both in here at the same time, I don’t think we’ll be in each other’s way.”
“I can cook for all of us.” Amber ran her fingertips over the cool, smooth granite. “You’re not going to let me pay rent. I know that deep in my bones, Cassie, although I’m about to offer—”
“No chance.”
“Then I’ll make dinner.”
“Don’t you work nights?”
“Yes, but I make meals for Will to eat while I’m gone, and I eat early. I specialize in things that can be warmed up. Soup, stews, casseroles. I’ll make enough for all of us.” She looked up. “Not as good as your neighborhood in New York, but you can eat it.”
“I’ll buy the groceries. You’ll give me a list?”
Everything sounded so easy, and none of it would be. But she nodded. “I can shop, too.”
“Let me show you where you’ll be. Some of Savannah’s stuff is still in there, but the room will be ready by tomorrow, I promise. The furniture will stay.”
Savannah had brought this on herself, but Amber had been fifteen once, and mistakes were so easy to make. She looked at Will, only Will wasn’t where she’d expected him to be.
Cassie read her expression. “I think he went exploring.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t be. He has to be sure this will work for him. Let’s find him, and after I show you where you’ll be living, we’ll find Savannah.”
Amber followed her down the hall, where Cassie stopped at an open door. But the room wasn’t empty. She heard a girl’s voice.
“How does this strike you, Willie boy? It’s great, isn’t it? Big enough for you and your mother, I guess. Do you like kicking me out of my room? Think you’ll like sleeping on the sofa in here or in my bed? I’ll be stuck in the back of the house. I don’t even have a mattress!”
Amber heard Cassie gasp, but she laid a hand on her arm and held her back.
Will answered, “You know what? I have a blow-up mattress in the tent where we’re living now, after, you know, you stole our rent money. Why don’t I bring it tomorrow when we move in? I’ll let you fill it. It’s perfect for somebody full of hot air.”
Amber expected Savannah to explode. She’d only rarely heard her son sound this angry. Will was good at not provoking fights. It was one of the benefits of navigating so many moves, so many schools, so many bullies waiting to take him down.
“You’re not living in a tent.” Savannah was no longer taunting him, but she didn’t sound sure of herself.
“Where do you think people go when they can’t pay their rent, rich girl?”
“You could stay in a motel like anybody else.”
“If someone hadn’t helped herself to all our cash, maybe.”
Silence stretched, and finally Amber dropped her hand, and Cassie preceded her into the room.
“Amber, this is Savannah, my daughter.”
“Stepdaughter!”
“Savannah, go finish up in your new room, please.” Cassie pointed toward the door. Savannah stalked past them and slammed it behind her.
“Can you contend with that?” Cassie turned her hands palm up. “It’s a lot to ask when she’s already caused you so much trouble. But I’ll do my best to make her toe the line.”
Amber thought about the man who had visited their campsite. She thought about all the other campgrounds where she’d tried to find a site, only to discover they were overflowing. She thought about throwing herself on the mercy of a charity for the homeless, which she had never done before, and moving into a shelter. But shelters required paperwork, and hers was not above reproach. Besides there was no guarantee she and Will would be allowed to stay together.
“We can contend.” She looked at her son. “Can’t we, Will?”
He looked less certain, but he gave a brief nod. “With almost anything.” His voice was light, but he didn’t smile.
Amber wanted to cry. Will’s entire life had been about contending, and no matter how hard she had tried, how far they had run, she’d been able to do damn little about any of it.
She faced Cassie. “We’ll pack up tonight, and if you think you’ll be ready, we can move in tomorrow afternoon.”
“We’ll be ready.” Cass
ie looked neither relieved nor sorry. She just looked exhausted, as if Savannah and everything that followed had drained her. “Let’s find both of you keys.”
8
CASSIE HAD NEVER WORKED with a personal trainer or joined a gym. She had taken the occasional yoga class with her friend Valerie, mostly because of the lunches they indulged in afterward. But her major form of exercise had always been walking. In Manhattan she’d chosen restaurants or stores based on their distances from home and faithfully logged steps and miles on her activity tracker.
Today, by the time she arrived at the staff parking lot behind Yiayia’s Kouzina on Dodecanese Boulevard in the Greektown historic district, she was soaked with sweat, exhausted, and ready to toss her tracker under a car because it had no setting to calculate misery.
She had forgotten that in a low-lying city, with water everywhere, walking required sticking to sidewalks along major thoroughfares, in her case in full sun around Lake Tarpon and then along U.S. Highway 19, to get to Dodecanese. Neither had she taken into account the busy morning traffic or the fact that a Florida autumn in no way resembled one in Manhattan. As she’d walked, the temperature had risen to the high seventies, and the humidity had quickly turned oppressive. Trading sandals for walking shoes and grabbing her wallet and smartphone had not been adequate preparation. She didn’t want to think about the walk back home.
The Kouzina’s kitchen door opened, and Cassie, who was standing with her head down and her hands on her thighs, looked up to find her aunt staring at her.
“Not exactly what I expected to see.” Roxanne wore a double-breasted chef’s coat, but not the usual white or black. Hers was a bright melon with a black collar and buttons. By no fashion standard should melon work with Rox’s skin tones, but like the blond hair she had not been born with, somehow it did.
“I didn’t want to come in through the front,” Cassie said between pants. “I would scare away customers.”
“We’re not open anyway. Come inside, and I’ll get you something cold to drink.”
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