I rubbed my aching head. Gemma’s mom was the alcoholic. That’s why she was taking care of her brother. Dammit. What kind of life had she lived?
Gramps looked out at the mountains. “Your girl’s a mite upset at you.”
“Yes, she is.”
“You sure it’s the toothbrush she’s upset about? Or are there underlying issues in your relationship that need smoothing out?”
Oh, there were major issues in our relationship. “It was a very special toothbrush.”
“Women are always particular about something.”
“Was Gammie particular about anything?”
He smiled. “Shoes. They had to match her outfit. And she wouldn’t abide secrets. Made me tell her everything about my first wife, your dad’s mother.”
I turned to gape at him. Had I heard him right? “Gammie’s not my grandma?”
“Oh, she’s your grandma, but not by blood.” His brow furrowed. “I should’ve told you this long ago. Maybe it would’ve helped you understand your dad.” He sighed. “The sins of the fathers visited upon the children.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. He’d just shattered my worldview.
“My first wife, Mary, abandoned me when your dad was three. After she left, I neglected Will. Oh, I fed him, sheltered him, but I wasn’t there emotionally for him. He reminded me too much of his mother. I couldn’t bear to look at him for a long time. Because of that, he was a lonely, sad little boy.”
“I never knew,” I said.
“Hazel always nagged me to tell you. But things were complicated between your father and I. Will didn’t like the reminder of his mom any more than I did. We never talked of her. I see now I was wrong. Will never confronted his demons of being rejected. We should’ve grieved together instead of pretending the pain wasn’t there. He was almost eight when Hazel rescued us both by marrying me. I didn’t deserve her, but I thank God every day for sending her to me. Hazel couldn’t have loved Will more than if she’d birthed him. And you and Cora were her greatest treasures when you came along. Gammie loved you beyond measure.”
“I never doubted her love. Or yours.”
“But you’ve doubted your dad’s?”
I shrugged. “He’s never loved me.”
Gramps’s eyes glistened in the golden light of the setting sun. “Oh, he loves you. He just has a hard time showing it. Being abandoned as a kid messed him up. Then he lost Cora. He’s been cold and cruel since her death, a shield for his pain, I think. But I know he loves you. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. He’s too proud and stubborn to be anywhere he doesn’t wish to be.”
“He loved Angeline.” She’d wrapped him around her finger almost from the first.
Gramps put a hand on my shoulder. “You and Will are like me. Stubborn, driven, and prone to pity parties.” I scowled, but Gramps just chuckled. “Like that.”
I shook my head and smiled. He was right, even if I wished he wasn’t.
“The only force more powerful than our negativity is a strong woman’s grace and goodness. Your Gammie was that force for me. Your mom has tried to be that for your dad, but he hasn’t let her. You can break his cycle of misery by doing whatever is necessary to keep Gemma happy.” He winked. “Might be worth returning to the city to get her silly toothbrush.”
“Getting the toothbrush won’t solve anything.” I didn’t know what to do for her bruised ego.
Gramps squeezed my shoulder. “Well, before I mosey back inside, I will say this: a good woman makes all the difference. Angeline was a mistake, a toxic one. So was my first wife. But from first impressions, Gemma seems good to the core, like Gammie.”
“She is one of a kind,” I agreed. Unique, in the best of ways.
“Then sweet talk your way back into her good graces. And do it before she sleeps. A woman’s wrath multiplies during the night.”
“Good to know.”
He left me standing there, and a tingling of hope pushed into my mind as I mulled over his words.
“What in the Helen Keller!” Gemma paced beside the bed as I shut our bedroom door.
I’d hoped to put aside our differences and talk things out. What I hadn’t counted on was the one bed in the guest room. Or, more specifically, her reaction to it.
“Did you know about this?” she asked.
“I never thought about the sleeping arrangements.”
She ran a hand across her face. “I thought I’d have my own room.”
“Chill. I’ll sleep on the couch.” No way could we ask for separate rooms. That would totally give us away.
“But,” she gestured to the bathroom, “there are no doors. It looks straight into the shower. A glass shower! And not SmartGlass. Nothing in this bathroom is smart. Even the toilet doesn’t have a door for privacy.” She shut her eyes. “Who wants to hear someone else pee?”
I laughed.
She huffed. “What’s the point of having all this money if you don’t put doors on the parts of your house where you need them most?” Her lips jutted out in a pout. “Do you have doors on your bathrooms?”
“I’m a huge proponent of doors.”
She massaged her head. “Sorry. But sleeping with my boss is not what I signed up for.”
I scoffed. “We’re not sleeping together. I’ll be on the couch.”
“But in the same room. Mr. Wilder and your parents obviously assume we’re having sex. Even your sweet grandpa. Hello, the whole office probably thinks we’re sleeping together.”
“Gemma.” I put my arms out to stop her pacing. When she glared at me, I let go. Touching her, even platonically, seemed unwise. “I said I’ll sleep on the couch.”
She frowned. “This is so awkward.”
“Understatement.”
She sighed. “Okay, fine. But we sleep in our clothes.”
“Absolutely not. I sleep in the buff.”
Her eyes widened, and I laughed.
“I’m kidding.”
“Not funny.” She climbed onto the bed.
I sank onto the couch and propped a foot onto the ottoman.
“Helen Keller,” she muttered. “How did we get into this mess?”
“Why don’t you use real swear words? Is it because of religion, like Joe?”
She snorted. “Ha. I can outswear you any day. My dad’s second wife taught me a whole arsenal of words that’d make a soldier blush. But I’ve observed that a high percentage of the population here doesn’t cuss. So I curbed my tongue to keep from offending anyone.”
Huh. She was a better person than me. I enjoyed shocking members of Joe’s church.
“What other swear-substitutions have you come up with?” Maybe if I kept her talking, she’d stop freaking out about having to sleep in the same room.
“Oh heavens. There’s a ton. I use freaking, but have started using Buckin’, Chuckin’ or Luck to be more original. It’s only one letter off. For dammit, there’s rammit. Or beaver dam. That doesn’t seem too offensive.”
I chuckled. Even she cracked a smile.
“Let’s think of some new ones to use on my beaver dam mom and bucking dad.”
She grinned. “How about your dad’s a basset turd?”
“Not bad, but I can do better. Dad’s a mother ducker.”
She giggled. “He made me mad as hail when he said those awful things about you.”
“That’s just how he is.” I stood and stripped off my shirt.
Gemma gasped. “Dog gammit!” She jumped to her feet, keeping her back to me. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t expect me to sleep with a shirt, do you?”
“Yes! I don’t want to know whether my boss has abs or not.”
“All guys have abs.” I kicked my shirt into the corner.
“Uh, no. All guys do not have abs like you. Ship.” She ran into the bathroom, then let out a slew of watered-down language. “Freaking son of a biscuit. Why in the Helen Keller would a mega-billionaire not pay for bucking doors?”
“Just use the facilities,” I called. “I’ll put in my headphones and listen to a book.” She’d be gone a while if she was anything like my ex. Angeline had taken almost an hour to get through her nightly rituals.
But Gemma surprised me by returning a few minutes later.
I stood to take my turn in the bathroom. “You still pissed at me for assuming you were an alcoholic?”
She shrugged. “What do you think?”
“I’m truly sorry.”
She wrinkled her cute nose. “Then I guess I’m sorry I told your mom and Mrs. Wilder you were a poo-poo head.”
I snickered and headed into the door-less bathroom.
22
Saemira
Age 13 – Fushë Krujë, Albania
ADORE: to love someone intensely.
Mama cuddled Saemira close as Engjell stretched out by the fan. They’d raced home after the encounter with Esad, out of breath and upset. Mama had brought them inside and made them hot tea. When she’d asked what had happened, Engjell had told her the stray dog story since he was a better liar than she was.
“Have I told you the story of the winged hero?” Mama asked.
“No.” Saemira snuggled closer.
“There was an Albanian craftsman who took to drinking and gambling until he lost all his money. He dreamed he should make wings. When he finished and screwed them into his shoulders, he flew to the emperor’s castle.
“The emperor’s son met him and bought the wings for a thousand gold pieces. The prince attached the wings to his shoulders and flew far away, discovering a palace where a princess lived. Her father, a Roma king, had imprisoned her in a glass room at the top of a tower, not wanting her to ever leave him for a gadjo.
“The prince flew up to the glass cage to see the princess, and they fell in love. He returned to her each night, bringing gifts and telling her of the world outside the palace.
“The king discovered someone had been visiting his daughter, so he left dough in her room. When the prince came next, the dough stuck to his shoes. Guards were sent out to check everyone’s shoes. They found dried dough on the prince’s shoes and bound him and brought him before the king.
“‘I have been with your daughter,’ he answered. ‘I wish to marry her.’ The king raged that a gadjo had dared infiltrate his kingdom to see his precious daughter. He sentenced them both to die by fire and thorns.”
“Thorns?” Saemira said.
“Hush, Gem.” Engjell threw a piece of corn at her.
“Yes.” Mama caressed her hair. “The king’s servants gathered every thorn in the kingdom. The Roma king planned to lower his daughter and the prince onto that fire and burn them, to keep his daughter pure.”
“That’s horrible,” Saemira said.
“It was. But the prince had hidden his wings under his cloak. He told his princess to creep close and hold onto his neck when he fell to his knees to say a last prayer. She did, and he opened his wings and flew into the sky before the flames could burn them. They flew to the emperor’s kingdom, where they ruled with kindness and wisdom. And they lived…”
“Happily ever after,” Engjell and Saemira said together.
Baba sat behind Mama, taking her hand. “That’s a much better ending than the original story.”
“What’s the real ending?” Saemira asked.
“I know,” Engjell said. “An auntie told me when I was younger. The prince and princess have a baby, and the princess’s father comes and carries her high up a mountain to take her back to his kingdom. The prince’s wings catch fire, and he can’t fly up to save her. As he struggles to climb the mountain, a beggar comes along and fights him for the baby. They cut the kid in half so they each get a part.”
Saemira punched his arm. “Gross. Are you sure your uncle didn’t tell that story?”
Baba tousled Engjell’s hair. “Better head home, son.”
Saemira walked her friend to the door. “I’ll have nightmares tonight, thanks to you. Mama’s ending was much better than yours.”
“Mamas make everything better.” He frowned, and she knew he probably wished he’d grown up with a mama.
“Thanks for not telling my parents about what happened earlier,” she whispered.
“Of course. It’ll be our secret.”
“I wish you could stay and not return to your uncle. Be my brother.”
He touched her face, running a finger up her cheek and over her ear like Mama always did. “I don’t want to be your brother, Gem.”
“Why not? I’d be a good sister.” Did he think her evil since she’d kissed Esad?
He laughed and stepped away. “Goodnight, Gem.”
She frowned. “Goodnight, Engjell.”
Gemma
Being smothered with affection by women felt weird. A good weird. Since Mama had died, I hadn’t had any female companionship and I’d forgotten how much I craved it.
Mr. Wilder had taken the men golfing, so Mrs. Wilder and Mrs. McConnell, or Lucy, as she kept asking me to call her, decided to take me shopping. “To spend all their money,” Lucy had said.
I wouldn’t be spending a cent of Lincoln’s money, though he’d pulled me aside before he’d left to slip me his credit card.
“Buy whatever catches your eye,” he’d whispered, before pressing a kiss to my lips, a short, fiery one that’d shocked the Helen Keller out of me.
I shivered, still wondering why he’d done that. We hadn’t had an audience.
“What about this one, dear?” Lucy handed me another dress.
The price tag made me choke, but I draped it over the other outfits in my arms.
“Lincoln will adore you in it.” She squeezed my arm.
“I have a fitting room for you,” Mrs. Wilder said. Ethel, I reminded myself, like ethyl alcohol.
I slipped into the dressing room and hung the clothes on a hook. They were expensive and beautiful, but none were me. Still, I tried them on to placate Lucy.
That’s how we spent the next couple of hours—me trying on clothes my older companions thought Lincoln would adore and me not liking any of them. Another reminder why my one-sided feelings for him were doomed. The outfits weren’t my style. They were for fancy, spoiled princesses like his ex. Not for poor Cinderellas without a caring fairy godmother to transform them.
Even if I did have a fairy godmother—which I kind of did at the moment, with Lucy and Ethel hovering over me—did I want to change to catch a man’s eye?
I undressed, knowing the answer didn’t matter. Even if I did want him, he’d never want me. And besides, I had to disappear.
We left another shop without buying anything. I felt bad for disappointing Lucy and Ethel but didn’t want to owe Lincoln more than I already did.
“Let’s try that shop over there.” Lucy pointed across the street.
That shop over there screamed my name when I entered. Saemira! We’ve been waiting for you.
“Oh, my goldfish.” I held my heart. “This is my store.” The trendy Bohemian boutique was to die for.
It didn’t take long to fill my arms with clothes. When I walked out of the dressing room, I held my head high, proudly displaying a beaded dress I’d fallen in love with. Lincoln had said I could buy whatever caught my eye. Well, this dress had grabbed and held on for dear life. Lincoln would never love me, but he’d buy me this dress. When we parted ways, I’d keep this token to remember him by.
“Wow,” Ethel gushed. “You’re right. It’s perfect. You’ll have to wear it for our farewell dinner Sunday night.”
“My son won’t be able to take his eyes off you,” Lucy said. “Not that he can take his eyes off you already.”
Her words weren’t true. Lincoln had never seen me, and I wouldn’t hold my breath that he’d notice me in this dress. But I was me again.
Take that, you shirking fairy godmother!
Lucy interlinked arms with me. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that my son found you.” She squeezed my arm. “I’ve wanted a ne
w daughter for so long. Angeline, bless her heart, never liked me.” Sorrow shadowed her eyes. “But that’s in the past.”
It was none of my business, but I had to ask. “You don’t believe what that woman said about Lincoln, do you?”
She winced. “I never wanted to. He’s my boy.” She looked down at the ground. “But I saw Angeline. She came to ask my husband for help. The poor girl had a broken arm and bruises everywhere.” She sniffled.
“He didn’t do that.”
“Then who did?”
“Who knows? But your son’s innocent.” The Lincoln I’d come to know was moody, but he would never lay a hand on a woman.
“Why hasn’t he ever said something? He just disappeared after the divorce, wouldn’t answer my calls, wouldn’t come over. I went to his office, but his assistant said he was too busy to see me.”
I frowned. “Men are idiots. But maybe this weekend will open doors between you two.”
“Oh, I hope so.” Lucy said. “I’ve missed him so much. I should’ve known he would never harm her. He’s always been such a good boy.”
“I assumed the worst about him, too, when I first read those headlines. But as I’ve worked with him, I’ve come to know Lincoln could never have done what that skank claimed.”
Lucy scowled. “I never liked that greedy, money-grubbing floozy.”
I rested my hand on her shaky one. “Please don’t tell Lincoln we talked about him. I just wanted you to know you raised a good man.”
Lucy smiled. “You really are perfect for him, dear. I know you’re not married yet, but I consider you my daughter already. You said you lost your mom. Could you maybe think of me as your adopted mom?”
A lump formed in my throat. “I’d love that.” I’d missed belonging to someone and them belonging to me. “Can I call you Mom?”
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