“I’m not angry at you. But my parents…” I’d seen Dad at work, but been barely able to speak to him. “I just can’t handle my family right now. Not until I get this worked out.”
“Is that why Amy left? Your family?”
“A lot of it, yeah.” But not all of it. “If my mother had just been able to mind her own business, if she would accept that I’m not twelve anymore, that I can organize my own life…” I trailed off, as Rebecca’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”
“Can you, though?” she asked.
“What the fuck?” The last thing I needed was one more person questioning me.
“Just hear me out.” Rebecca’s voice had turned cooler, analytical, and I recognized the woman who negotiated like a shark over conference tables for McNeil.
I shrugged and leaned back in the chair in my office. You want to analyze my life? Have at it. The only thing I really cared about was the painful mess inside me where everything Amy still lived and breathed, untethered now from what had been solidifying between us. Nothing Rebecca said could help the way Amy’s last words played over and over inside my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, we were standing again in the driveway lit from the house with its golden glow, my hand on her face, and Amy’s eyes shut as she whispered that she had real feelings for me. Everything inside me at once celebrated and then collapsed at hearing her say those words, realizing they didn’t matter. They weren’t enough. The emotion between us didn’t matter, and that was impossible for me to accept.
“Do you think the real issue for Amy is your mother, or your family?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s pretty fucking clear. Mom was there every single time we turned around, manipulating things, pulling strings, making Amy the outsider.”
“So you told your mother to stop?”
“Yeah, I did.” Didn’t I?
“Let’s look at a different scenario.” Rebecca sat across from me in one of the leather chairs facing my desk. She twirled a pen in her slim fingers, her face dark with concentration. “You’re amazing at managing staff, smoothing over personnel issues, so let’s look at one of those.”
“Rebecca…” I hadn’t slept in two days, and hashing over fake work scenarios didn’t sound enticing at all.
“Let’s say the manager at the High Note has been leaving early repeatedly, allowing the bartender to do the final close. You’ve caught her doing this twice. The first time you gave her a warning, the second time you threatened to fire her, letting her know that one more early departure meant she’d be looking for a new job. Sound about right?”
I leaned forward, figuring if I played along we could finish up and I could go back to drowning in my misery. “Yeah. I’m not sure I’d even give her a third chance, but let’s do it your way. She can’t leave early—part of her job is closing the register and locking the door. She’s liable for shortages and break-ins either way. I mean, I’d talk to her about it and make sure she could still do the job.”
“Right, so the third time. What happens?”
“She’s out,” I said. “She’s not a good fit for the job, so I’d find someone who is.”
“But with your mom?”
“I can’t fire my mom.”
“Have you given her the warnings? Tried to find out what’s driving her to interfere?”
“She’s my mom. I can’t—” Shit, maybe she’s right. “Yeah, maybe I could be a little clearer.”
Rebecca sat up straighter, looking satisfied. “Do you still live in their house?”
That pissed me off. “No,” I said, thinking how much worse it would have all gone if I’d been living with them in that monstrosity in La Jolla. But a second later, the condo popped into my head. I’d lived there since college. I didn’t exactly buy the place myself. “Yeah, actually.”
“So you have the talk. And then, if you need to prove a point, you remove the elements of control your parents still have.”
“Like this job?”
“You’re good at this job. You’ve earned it.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed with her, but I didn’t argue.
“Speaking of which, check your calendar. Your dad wants to talk retirement later this week. I think something big is coming.”
That was all I needed. “Shit.”
“You’re ready,” she said, but her voice wasn’t as sure as it had been. We both knew that Dad’s plan was to replace himself with me. We also both knew that I didn’t have the balls Rebecca did when it came to getting deals done. Neither of us could fill his shoes alone, but Dad didn’t seem to see that. Rebecca got up to leave my office, but I called her back.
“Rebecca?” She turned around, impeccable as always in a white sheath dress and red pumps that elongated her legs. “Thanks.”
She nodded and walked away, and all I thought as I watched her go was how much I missed my girl.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Amy
“So no more fake engagement?” Amber asked, sitting across from me at the little bistro she’d dragged me to on Sunday afternoon. It had been a long, sad week, and she’d insisted I needed to get out. “That’s it, you’re just walking away?”
“That was the plan all along,” I said, my heart like a hard, cold lump in my chest. “I’m sure his mother is pleased.” I was angry at Trent for letting her control things, angry at myself for not standing up to her, for not being clear with him about how much I could take. The thing was, part of me didn’t want to alienate his family. As much as I clearly didn’t fit in, as much as they wanted nothing to do with me, there was still some sad little part of me that hoped maybe I could fix it. That I could convince them. “God, I mean…I’m so pathetic.” I dropped my head into my hands and slumped over my salad.
“What do you mean? It’s normal to be upset about a breakup. You’re not pathetic.”
“No, I mean, the whole thing with his family. I do care about Trent—when I totally meant not to. This was supposed to be a casual fling, just for fun. So there was that, and yeah…I’m upset. But even aside from him, there’s some ridiculous part of me that kind of wanted to be part of it.”
“His family?”
I know it’s ridiculous. They’re horrible. Why would I want to be part of it? “Maybe it was his sister,” I said. “I just felt like she kind of needed me, like we bonded a little bit. She doesn’t really have anyone to talk to.” I picked up my fork and pushed some lettuce around on the plate and then dropped it again. I wasn’t even close to hungry.
“You didn’t have a lot of that,” Amber said softly. “The family, I mean. You’ve got Dani, but maybe, since she’s found Rob…”
“And moved out,” I added, agreeing with her.
“She doesn’t need you as much. You feel like she’s leaving you alone, maybe?” Amber’s eyes were wide and sympathetic.
I didn’t say anything, but I knew Amber was right. Not only did Dani not need me now, but I had the distinct sense that I’d let her down in multiple ways. “She kind of hates me right now, too.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“You didn’t see her face when I told her I had decided to sell the house,” I reminded my friend. “And now there’s some guy chomping at the bit to buy it when I’ve barely even listed it yet.”
“Are you going to take the offer?”
“It’s not even an offer, it’s some kind of side deal or something. He called the realtor and said he wanted to talk to me directly.”
“Is that normal?” Amber scrunched up her nose and tilted her head to one side, talking around a mouthful of lettuce.
“I don’t think so, but I haven’t sold a lot of real estate in my life. The realtor says it can’t hurt to talk to him.”
Amber raised her brows and then moved on. “So talk to him. Dani’s your sister. She’ll forgive you.”
She was probably right, but it didn’t help matters now. I’d called her and we’d talked for a few minutes this morning, but she and Rob had been planning a trip to see
his family, and she couldn’t spend any time consoling me or listening to me mope about my failed fake engagement or having missed another hot-air balloon ride.
I finished lunch with Amber and hugged her goodbye. She had to pick up Jack from his father and had big plans to go see the latest Pixar flick and eat popcorn. I knew her son complicated her life in many ways, but I envied their connection—the undeniable tether between mother and child, the solid cabling of family.
Other people’s families were all around me, and I was destined to be on my own. Maybe the things that had happened in my past had broken enough parts of me that I couldn’t make that kind of steadfast connection, even with my sister. Maybe the universe had a plan for us all, as people liked to believe, and the plan for me was to sit alone in an apartment with forty cats and age quietly in front of reruns on the CW.
These thoughts plagued me as I wandered around the sidewalks of the Gaslamp District, no real destination in mind. This was my last week of freedom. I began orientation on Monday, and medical school began in earnest the week after that. I needed to solidify the things that were still uncertain in my life, and I vowed to turn my attention to those things.
I sat down on a bench and pulled up the text from the realtor with the number of the interested buyer for the house.
“Hello?” A male voice answered, and for a moment I couldn’t think of exactly what I wanted to say.
“Uh, hi,” I managed. “I’m selling a house in downtown San Diego? My realtor gave me your number and said you wanted to talk to me before we listed it officially?”
“Amy.” The voice boomed on the other end of the line, warm and rich and vaguely familiar. Still, the number wasn’t one I recognized, and I wasn’t sure how to respond to this level of enthusiasm. When I didn’t answer, he said, “It’s Mateo, Rob’s brother.”
Recognition brought a smile to my face. “Oh, hi,” I said, finally feeling like I had a grip on the conversation. But why was Mateo interested in the house? “Are you looking to move up here? I thought you had to stay in Mexico to manage the winery.”
“Si, chica, I do. I don’t want the house for me,” he said, laughter rich in his voice. “I want to buy it as an early wedding gift.”
Confusion swirled in my emotion-deadened mind. “Wedding?”
“For Rob and Dani,” he said.
Dani’s engaged? Have I been so self-absorbed I’ve missed her engagement?
“I know what the house means to Dani, and they can’t stay in that crappy cottage of Rob’s forever. He just bought a ring.”
A warm happiness for my sister replaced my confusion. I ignored the tiny edge of jealousy that accompanied it. “Oh my gosh,” I whispered, relief and understanding making my voice lighter. “Mateo, that would be amazing.” But as soon as the words were out, I doubted them. Did Mateo have any idea what the house was worth? “It’s just that—”
“I’ll give you seven-fifty for it, plus closing,” he said. “What do you think?”
I was stunned. Clearly, he did know what it was worth. “Seriously?”
“Is that a yes?”
“Oh my God, yes.” A weight lifted from my shoulders, and I felt like I could take the first full breath I’d drawn in days.
“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll have my people call your people.” This last part was delivered with a laugh, and I couldn’t help but join him. “Keep it a secret, though, okay?”
“Sure,” I said. “Definitely.”
I put my phone in my purse and smiled in spite of the searing ache in my chest. At least something is going right.
I made my way back to the little house that would soon be the happy nest where Dani would live with Rob, and I tried to be pleased for them. It wasn’t easy, given my own broken heart, but I forced myself to divert my attention to the pages of a book someone had recommended about the practice of medicine. It seemed that when four years of hell loomed on the horizon, those about to undergo that hell turned philosophical.
Hours later, I was still trying to get through the first few pages when my phone dinged with a text. I pulled it off the table, pushing down the irrational hope that it would be Trent. It wasn’t. It was Elyse. And the text was just one letter.
Elyse: X
I stared at my phone. Evidently, Elyse was still talking to me, even if Trent and I were through.
It was nearly eleven on Sunday night. Where the hell was Elyse that she could possibly be in trouble? It crossed my mind that this could be another false alarm. Would Elyse take it on herself to try to lure me back to a place where Trent and I could make up? If she did, would it be such a bad thing? I contemplated just putting the phone away, going to bed.
But there was a chance Elyse actually did need help. And hadn’t I let my own sister down enough?
I can’t let anyone else down.
I stared at the phone for a minute longer and then dialed her number.
“Elyse,” I said when she answered.
“Amy.” My name was slurred and fuzzy coming from her mouth, and I was immediately worried for her. “They put something in my drink,” she mumbled, barely intelligible.
“Where are you?” I asked her, already standing.
“Bathroom,” she said.
“Where?” I asked again, the urgency rising in my tone as I stood, taking my car keys in my hand.
She gave me an address, and I was out the door before I’d even hung up.
I dialed Trent’s number as I drove, but it went to voicemail, and I didn’t leave a message. I wondered if Elyse had tried to call Trent, too.
This time, Elyse’s party of choice was at a rundown apartment building in Mission Beach, where teenagers in board shorts and tank tops were spilling out onto the stairs leading up to the second-floor party. A keg stood outside the front door, and a girl knelt in the far corner of the parking lot, puking pitifully.
I followed the sound of the music into a living room furnished with one couch and a table covered with cups and bottles. Several men who looked like they were far too old to be frequenting high school parties welcomed me with leers and catcalls. Bodies were stuffed together tightly, and I maneuvered between them, trying to find a path. I approached a somewhat sober-looking girl standing in the kitchen talking to a much less sober girl sprawled on a chair.
“Bathroom?” I shouted in question over the heavy bass thump I could feel from the soles of my feet up into my bones.
She rolled her eyes and pointed to the other side of the living room where a cluster of people stood outside a closed door, a huge broad-shouldered guy thumping on it with a fist.
I pushed between them, feeling hands pulling me back and hearing angry cries about cutting the line, and approached the huge guy. From behind, I’d thought he must be older, but by the looks of him he was only fifteen or so, his face ruddy and pimple pocked. “Elyse McNeil?” I asked, pointing at the door. “She in there?”
He shrugged. “Door’s been locked for a half hour.”
“Elyse!” I screamed loudly through the door but couldn’t hear anything in reply. I turned back to him. “Ever kicked down a door?” I asked him. The building was rundown and poorly constructed, so I doubted the door was sturdily built.
The guy looked uncertain and shook his head.
“I’ll cover the damage,” I told him. “Just do it.”
He took a step back and kicked with a shout, and the door splintered around the knob. I pushed my hand in and unlocked it, my heart accelerating into my throat when I found Elyse inside, curled in a puddle of vomit. I turned to my accomplice, who stood behind me looking shocked. Unlocking my phone, I handed it to him. “Call 911.”
I bent down to take Elyse’s pulse as he followed directions, and I vaguely heard him talking to someone as I checked to make sure Elyse was still breathing. Her pulse was faint, and a dark, sick dread filled my gut, mixed with anger at these careless people.
The ambulance arrived, and the partygoers scattered like the irresponsible assholes
they were. I rode in the ambulance with Elyse, dialing Trent again on the way to the hospital.
Pick up. Please, pick up. It was past midnight at this point, and he didn’t answer, though that might have just been because it was me calling.
I held Elyse’s hand tightly and said soothing words to her shaking form as I thought hard about what to do. There was one other number I could call.
When a sleepy and angry voice met mine on the line, I swallowed hard, and in as strong a voice as I could, I said, “Trudy. It’s Amy Hodge.”
…
It was hard to watch Elyse be wheeled away from me, but when the inevitable questions about family relationships came up, I was pointed to the waiting room. Trudy and Hank McNeil arrived within a half hour of my phone call, and I found it a strange irony that I was actually relieved to see them.
“Where is she?” Trudy demanded, her eyes wild and her hair a disheveled mess atop her normally coiffed head. Hank looked sleepy and confused following behind his wife’s frenetic blaze.
They were instructed to wait, and I told them what I knew about the situation. Elyse had taken something earlier in the evening, possibly Ecstasy or some bastardization of the drug, and then had potentially been slipped another drug. I told the attending doctor about the phone call I’d had with Elyse, about the possibility she’d been slipped a roofie, and the doctor had thanked me.
I gave the McNeils as much information as I could, but after the brief download, there was nothing left but for us to wait.
“Did you speak to Trent?” I finally asked them.
“He didn’t answer,” Trudy said. “I’ll try him again.” She stood, looking glad to have something to do, and walked a few feet away with her phone at her ear.
Hank hadn’t spoken since they’d arrived, and he looked shocked and haunted, his eyes sunken in his slack cheeks.
“Can I get you anything, Mr. McNeil?” I asked him, wishing for an excuse to do something, anything to make me feel even a bit less powerless.
Without Promises (Under the Pier) Page 17