The Golden Hour

by L. M. Halloran

  Every day I feel closer to a meltdown. Too many lies, secrets, and fears. I’m choking on the bread and butter of my family. The fresh air and space yesterday was nice, but not enough. Like a Band-Aid on a severed finger.

  Looking up at my father’s jovial expression—one he never wore in my lifetime—I whisper, “Maybe I’m too much like my mother. She couldn’t survive in this family, either.”

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  I yelp, my hands flinging to my chest. My gaze jerks across the foyer to Selina. “Jesus, you scared me.”

  She smiles an apology. “It’s my sneakers. Miss Vivian bought them for me because my old ones squeaked. Silent as a mouse now.”

  I smile wanly. “Yes, you are.”

  She gestures to the bench. “May I?”

  “Of course.”

  She sits beside me, smelling faintly of the lavender and vinegar cleaning solution Vivian likes. Glancing at me, she murmurs conspiratorially, “I rather like it when Miss Vivian is gone. Not that I slack on my duties, but we’re normally not allowed to sit during our shift.”

  I blink in surprise. “That’s ludicrous.”

  She shrugs. “I’m a thirty-eight-year-old woman with no college experience and a family to care for. This job pays the bills and then some. I’m very lucky.”

  The words don’t ring false, exactly, but there’s a dissonance to them. They definitely don’t sound like something she would say—not the woman who warned me about the bug in my room and told me how to keep phone calls private.

  Not sure how to respond, I nod.

  “I’ve been here almost five years,” she continues idly. “Long enough to know how hard it was for the girls when you were gone. I know they’re very glad you’re back. Your uncles missed you as well. They spoke of you often.”

  “They did?” My voice is dry.

  “Of course.” Her brows lift. “They’re your family.”

  I’m beginning to feel like I’m missing an entire subtext of the conversation.

  The doorbell rings.

  Selina smiles and stands. “That must be the doctor. I’ll let her in.”

  “Thank you.”

  I sit a moment more, unsettled, then stand. A folded piece of paper flutters to the floor.

  “Miss Calli,” says Selina sweetly, “it looks like something fell from your pocket.”

  My ears ring with adrenaline. “Oh, thank you.”

  I snatch the paper up and tuck it quickly into my pocket. When I straighten, Selina watches me placidly while the doctor—a slender, WASPish woman—regards me with blatant curiosity.

  “It’s, ah, my grocery list for the cook.” I flash a smile. “Gotta watch those carbs.”

  Selina ducks away, silent as usual, while the doctor smiles and nods. “Absolutely.”

  28

  Thanks to CNN, Monday morning I learn that Vivian is campaigning out of town the next two weeks. No family dinners for me. And no heads-up from Callisto.

  I want to be angry, but I can’t be. Not when, were the situation reversed, I’d probably give myself the silent treatment, too. And that’s exactly what she does for most of the first week.

  She doesn’t answer the phone—either one—when I call, and I’m lucky to get a text back for every five I send. I have no idea what she’s doing, if she’s okay. The only evidence I have that she’s alive are a few live phone interviews on morning radio programs.

  As the days pass, Molly becomes increasingly frantic. I hide my own worry behind my camera, taking action the only way I know how. Thanks to a few amateur stakeouts, I know the Avellino maid, Selina Hernandez, arrives promptly at the house at 7:00 a.m. and leaves at 8:00 p.m. She drives a well-kept 2000 Nissan Pathfinder with a booster seat in back, and lives in a condo complex in Encino, about thirty minutes away. Wednesday is her day off. Cramped from dozing in my car and with a pressing need to piss, I stick around only long enough to see her leave midmorning with a man and a kid maybe six or seven years old.

  If it weren’t for Selina warning Callisto about the house surveillance, I’d say there was nothing interesting about the woman. But it’s somewhat of a relief to relay the information to Molly, who attacks it like a problem she’s waited her whole life to solve.

  I don’t get in her way, even when she leaves Thursday evening to intercept Selina outside her condo. I trust my aunt. She’s smart, and she’s a people person. Whatever her angle she pursues, the worst thing that could happen is it’s another dead end.

  Alone in the apartment, I take a shower, eat some dinner, and stare at the wall for twenty minutes before breaking down and calling Callisto’s iPhone for what feels like the eight millionth time. She doesn’t answer. I try her burner phone next, and the call is declined after the second ring.

  It might be the first time a woman has declined my call—repeatedly, no less. It’s almost refreshing. If I weren’t so irritated, I might be impressed by how stubborn she is.

  But what Callisto doesn’t know about me, and is about to learn, is that I’m not just a prickly asshole. I’m a tenacious, prickly asshole.

  Mind made up, I grab my keys.

  I’m done waiting. If she won’t answer the phone, even to give me a simple Stop calling, dickhead, then I’m going to her.

  When I reach the estate, I park a half block away, then pull my beanie down low and jog to the vine-covered wall. My gaze ricochets around the dark, silent street like a certified creeper, and if someone sees me it’s a call to the cops for sure. But the threat of handcuffs isn’t enough to make me turn back. Now that I’m here, the need to see Callisto drives everything else from my mind.

  Ducking behind some bushes, I pull out my phone and text her.

  Don’t make me climb this wall, princess.

  It takes close to a minute, but she finally responds.

  What?! What are you doing? Where are you?

  Outside your house. Obviously.

  The phone rings in my hand. All my anger vanishes, and I fight to hold back a grin.

  “Why, hello.”

  “Dammit, Finn,” she hisses. “This is the worst possible time.”

  “You’re avoiding me and I don’t like it.” Just to throw gas on the fire, I add, “Have you forgotten our agreement already?”

  She growls at me, and it’s so cute my dick twitches. I have no idea why I want this woman so much. She clearly hates me. But my body doesn’t care, and increasingly, neither does my mind.

  “How could I?” she snarls. “Did it occur to you I might be making progress on my own? I don’t need your help!”

  “Too bad,” I retort. “We can fight each other, Callisto, or we can fight together. Your choice.”

  After a small pause—in which I imagine her grinding her teeth and shaking a fist at the sky—she heaves a loud, groaning sigh.

  “Fine. I was leaving anyway. Meet me by the pine tree.”

  She hangs up before I can ask what fucking pine tree. I’m standing next to one—I considered climbing it because it’s close to the wall—but there are no streetlights in the neighborhood and with a cloudy sky overhead, minimal ambient light. This particular pine tree could have buddies all over the estate.

  Newly annoyed, I retrace my steps to the street, hoping for a better view. I’m seconds from trekking around to the other side of the property when there’s a rustle and thump near the wall. A Callisto-shaped shadow rises from the ground beside the pine’s trunk.

  Feeling smug, I remark, “I chose the right tree.”

  The shadow whispers angrily, “It’s the only pine tree.”

  Three steps and I’m right before her, close enough to see her features, her pretty scowl. Before I can stop myself, my fingers find her soft cheek.

  She jerks back. “What are you doing?”

  “Wanted to make sure you were real. I thought maybe you’d been discovered and locked in a cage in the basement all week.”

  Even in the darkness, I can see her eyes roll. “I’ve been busy.” />
  I take stock of her black clothing and sweatshirt with the hood up. “Planning a robbery?” I’m only half joking.

  “Kind of.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m going to my uncle’s ranch tonight, and I guess you’re coming too.”

  29

  Glancing across the car, I study Finn’s face. Determined expression, furrowed brows. His stubble has filled in and thickened. I want to scratch my fingers through it. Feel it on my body. His scent—unavoidable in the small space—triggers a visceral memory of my lips on his neck, of breathing him in, feeling wanted and seen.

  Sadly, admitting my physical attraction to him is easier than admitting I’m glad he’s here. That I feel safer with him by my side. That I want to crawl inside him and… rest. Let go of the weight of the future. Or at the least, share it with someone else.

  Annoyed by my thoughts, I shift my gaze out the passenger window as we head east toward the edge of the San Fernando Valley.

  “So this note from Selina you’ve referenced—that made you hatch this crazy plan without telling me—what did it say exactly?”

  He’s so much easier to be around when he doesn’t talk. Not that I missed being around him. Or thought about him at all in the last ten days.

  I’m so good at lying now, I even believe the ones I tell myself.

  “Not much,” I answer, forcing myself to focus. “Ants in the stables. Since we don’t have stables, and I called my Uncle Anthony ‘Ant’…” I trail off.

  He nods decisively. “She’s gotta be a cop.”

  We’ve been over this three times since leaving Calabasas.

  “I don’t know what her motive is, but she’s not a cop. She’s been with the family for five years, for Christ’s sake.” I frown. “I’ve barely seen her since she gave it to me. She must be avoiding me.”

  “No shit. But hear me out—if she’s not a cop, why the hell does she know so much? Like that what we want is in the stables at your uncle’s ranch. That’s pretty damn specific. More importantly, how do we even know we can trust her?”

  “I don’t know,” I sigh out. “I thought she might be the daughter of a disgruntled employee or related to a victim of my family, so I Googled her name linked to Avellino. Nothing came up. I also asked Lizzie and Ellie what they knew about Selina’s history, but they looked at me like I was nuts. I can’t ask Uncle Franco without making him suspicious, and I definitely don’t want him monitoring Selina if she’s trying to help me.”

  “Help us. Say it with me, princess. U-S spells us.”

  I glare. “Really?”

  He laughs softly. “Anyway, an undercover cop would be using a fake identity.”

  “Ugh, will you get off that?”

  Finn pauses. “How are your sisters doing?”

  “Do you care?”

  His gaze cuts to me. “Yes, actually. I’m not heartless.”

  I bite my tongue on a retort. “They’re fine. Lizzie spends most of her time on her laptop. She says she’s trying to find what to do with her life, but I think she’s chatting with a secret boyfriend she’s afraid to tell me about.”

  I hate that my relationship with Lizzie is being affected, that she might not trust me anymore since I’ve been spending more time with Vivian, playing the part of dutiful subject. And the worst fact is, the fracture between us might never be repaired. Only blown impossibly wide by what I’m trying to accomplish.

  “What about the other one?” Finn asks with a little smile.

  I roll my eyes. “Your number one fan is busy with school, so I don’t see her at the house much. Maybe she knows these four years are her last taste of freedom.” I stare morosely at my lap. “Some days it’s like I never left, but other times I get the sense my sisters wish I’d stayed dead.”

  “Jesus, why would you say that?”

  I think of the isolated moments with Lizzie, her eerie maturity and honesty. Ellie’s avoidance and denial.

  “Maybe they’re not as oblivious as I thought.”

  “You’re talking about Lizzie asking you why you came back?”

  I nod. “She’s made other remarks. Nothing as serious as that. Mainly in reference to Vivian wanting to marry her off.” A sudden thought makes my stomach lurch. “Shit, maybe that’s what she’s been hinting at, and why she’s not in college. What if that’s the plan and Lizzie found out?”

  “Explain.”

  “Okay, this is going to sound archaic. You’ve been warned. But the family’s been this way for generations.”

  “Just tell me, princess.”

  “The eldest child is groomed to take over leadership of the family, while the younger children are prepared for supporting roles. As far as I know, we’re the first generation of all daughters. Normally… well, I already told you what happens to girls.”

  “But you’re the eldest and you said you weren’t—”

  “I know what I said, okay?” I interject. “Taking over for my father was never the plan for me. Maybe it was once, when I was born, but since Vivian came into the picture, no. Can you imagine her allowing some other woman’s child to take her husband’s place? Besides, from early on it was clear I wasn’t cut out for it.”

  “Is this more bullshit about you being too soft? You’re not soft or weak, Callisto. You’re the opposite. Like… titanium.”

  I smirk. “Titanium, really?”

  “Deceptively lightweight. Strong as fuck. And if I remember correctly, you don’t weigh a whole lot.”

  Despite myself, I laugh. “Gee, thanks.”

  His smile curves, sending warmth to my belly. “I want to feed you. Plump you up.”

  Just as swiftly as it appeared, my laughter evaporates. “You’re a chauvinistic dick.”

  “Why? Because I’m not afraid to point out that you’ve lost weight you didn’t need to lose? Because I felt the curves you had in Solstice Bay and I want to feel them again?”

  I splutter. He grins wickedly, eyes on the road as the car slows. We pull to a stop outside a chained-off dirt road with a faded No Trespassing sign.

  We’re in the middle of nowhere—or as close as you can be while still inside Los Angeles County lines. Uncle Anthony liked being isolated. He even bought the adjacent properties to avoid having neighbors.

  A heady pang of loss and nostalgia hits me.

  I unbuckle my seat belt. “I’ll get the chain,” I say, then flee the car.

  When the chain is down and dragged to one side, I reluctantly climb back into the car.

  Finn leans over the steering wheel, squinting out the windshield. “I can’t see shit past the headlights. Where are the stables?”

  “Just drive. There’s a fork about a quarter mile up. Stables are to the right.”

  “Got it.”

  He drives slowly down the pitted, unpaved driveway, focused on the road.

  Back to business.

  I’m relieved. I don’t like him flirting with me. Being charming and attentive. Reminding me about our status as almost-lovers. It’s confusing. It makes me forget the direness of my situation. The high stakes.

  When he’s not being a complete asshole, he makes me want what I can’t have. A dream I gave up in high school after the death of my first boyfriend.

  It makes me want him.

  30

  The last time horses saw the inside of this stable had to be when Reagan was president. The structure was clearly beautiful once. Constructed to last, most of the support beams and walls are in place. The roof, not so much.

  But the skeleton is elegant. With the vaulted ceiling and torn-out stalls, there’s a bit of a feel of walking through a church in disrepair. I have photographer buddies who would die to shoot in here. They’d capture fractured windows and peeling paint. The shafts of moonlight sliding through holes in the roof. Decaying benches, dingy sheets over lumps of what could be furniture—or treasure…

  I yank off a sheet and get a face-full of dust and the stench of mold.

  “What are you doing?” demands Calli
sto.

  “Trying to find whatever it is we’re looking for.”

  “It’s not under there.”

  I shine my phone’s flashlight at the pile of firewood. “Yeah, probably not.” I toss the sheet down, then sneeze. “Did your uncle even use this place?”

  Callisto doesn’t answer, her gaze traveling around the interior. I don’t know what she sees, but from her pressed lips it doesn’t look like happy memories.

  At length, she says, “This used to be his workshop. He loved woodworking. Carving, making small furniture. But everything is gone. There used to be tables, tools, workbenches, saws…”

  The urge to touch her presses close, so I tuck my hands in my pockets. As much as I’d like to push her boundaries a little, this isn’t the time or place. Plus, she might punch me.

  “Do you have any clue what we might be looking for? Something your uncle might have hidden here?”

  “No.” Her shoulders sag. I can’t be sure, but I think her lower lip trembles.

  Fuck it.

  I cross to her and pull her into my arms. She stands against me like a cement pole, her hands trapped between us. It has to be the most awkward hug of all time, but I’m not deterred. Plucking her hands out one by one, I guide them around my waist.

  “Stop thinking for a second and hug me back. I promise it won’t hurt.”

  She fights the inevitable for another few moments before succumbing—like I already have—to the way our bodies fit. We sigh together, our arms tightening, pulling the other closer. Like a constellation, our bones are the stars of a design bigger than the two of us. More beautiful together than apart.

  For minutes on end, we stand unmoving in the midst of ruin. And for the first time in decades, the pain of the past is an echo instead of a roar inside me. A flicker of hope ignites, sucking oxygen like a newborn.

  Maybe she is the answer I’ve been looking for.

  And then I see it, illumined by moonlight on the earthen floor.