“Are we doing it over again on Thursday?”
“Nah, probably leftovers. I think Lizzie and Elyse are eating with T. J.’s family. Rosa May invited us too, but selfishly I want you all to myself.”
“You girls need to get married, start families of your own,” her father said.
“It isn’t like that, not for any of us except Lizzie and I don’t think—” Isobel stopped speaking when she saw the overhead mic stretch out over their heads. She wrapped her arm around her father in a sideways hug and laughed. He stiffened next to her and turned his head, as if he couldn’t figure out where to focus his attention.
“Act like we’re not here,” Jake said from behind the camera.
“Maybe talk about how the house looks the same or different. Or Isobel—has she changed since you saw her last?”
The silence thickened around them and then her father cleared his throat. “It looks like you’ve got a rotted soffit here.”
Isobel blinked back tears. Her father’s fallback had always been to talk about the flaws he could fix. “Oh, Daddy, you have no idea.”
The crew filmed them replacing the rotten board on the underside of the porch roof for about thirty minutes. Lizzie joined them as they were finishing up. “They’re making Elyse nervous,” she said. “I think she wants them out of the kitchen until the food’s done.”
Lizzie looked up to where Isobel’s father stood on a ladder. “How you doing, Uncle Drew? Did you see the mess your daughter made of my house?”
“I see it now,” he said, screwing in the plywood he’d cut to cover the hole.
“Not my fault,” Isobel said, taking the drill motor from him so he could climb down the ladder. “It was all that Benny’s fault.”
Kitty stepped onto the porch. “What’s this about Benny?” Her voice was too high to be casual, and Isobel looked at her carefully.
“Nothing,” Isobel said.
“We should get you all set up for the dinner,” she said, handing out the wireless mics they’d wear for the rest of the night and explaining what they should talk about at dinner and that they should turn their mics off only if they were using the bathroom. “I mean actually peeing and stuff. If you go in there to tweeze your eyebrows, leave it on.”
“This is weird,” Isobel’s father said.
Kitty patted his arm, getting closer than was necessary. “You’ll forget you’re wearing it in no time.”
“Don’t,” Isobel said. “I mean you might, but don’t forget you’re wearing it.”
Kitty unfolded a piece of paper and glanced at it. “Production notes,” she said, turning to go into the house. She stopped and looked at them over her shoulder. “You know with your dad here, it might be a good time for the three of you to talk about fathers, you know—especially considering the situation with you, Lizzie. It must be hard to be the only one who doesn’t know her dad.”
“What is she talking about?” Lizzie asked as Kitty disappeared into the house. “How does she know about my dad? That wasn’t part of anything I ever said to her.”
Isobel’s face reddened as she considered the slip she’d made. “I might have accidentally mentioned it,” she said, knowing how Lizzie felt. There were parts of Isobel’s own life that she had no intention of living in front of the camera.
Elyse stepped onto the porch. “It’ll be ready in about thirty minutes—are Tom and T. J. still coming?”
No one answered her. Isobel’s father hugged her. “I see they’ve got a microphone on you as well.”
“We can’t talk about it,” Isobel said. Lizzie turned away from them and walked inside the house. “I mean the crew, the stuff they do to us.”
“Is she mad?” Elyse asked, untying her apron and setting it on the ladder.
“I’m going to go get washed up,” Isobel’s father said, following Lizzie.
Isobel climbed the ladder and sat a few steps up from the bottom rung. She stretched her legs out. “You ever hear that saying about poking a sleeping bear?”
Elyse nodded. “You shouldn’t.”
“Right. But the thing is, I think I did.”
“So, tell it to go back to sleep,” Elyse settled herself on the last rung and looked up at Isobel. “Or shoot it with a tranquilizer gun.”
“I wish.” The moment Kitty had walked away, Isobel had started going through all the possible outcomes. The best one involved the fact that they knew nothing and nothing happened. The worst was a scene where their Thanksgiving dinner devolved into an episode of Maury Povich with a number of men taking DNA tests to prove they were or weren’t Lizzie’s father.
Rubbing her temples, Elyse sighed. “I can’t talk in code forever. What are talking about? They’re going to find out anyway.”
“Lizzie’s father,” Isobel said, half expecting Kitty to appear and confirm that they were in fact listening to every breath. Instead, Craig’s car pulled up to the curb, and he stepped out carrying an enormous yellow and orange centerpiece. They watched him struggle with it, walking as slowly as he could, feeling with his foot for the steps because he couldn’t see them.
“So what if they do know? Isn’t it time everything came out into the open? What’s the worst that could happen? You had to know this would happen.”
Her cousin had spoken too quickly not to be trying to cover up something. “What did you do?”
“The rolls will burn,” Elyse said, standing, grabbing her apron, and retying it around her.
Craig called out for one of them to hold the door. Isobel ignored him and followed Elyse, yelling at her to explain what she meant. She chased her cousin down the narrow hallway and into the kitchen. Jake sat at the table, his camera at his feet. As he pulled apart one of Elyse’s rolls, hot steam floated into the air.
“Let it go,” Elyse said, taking the pan of rolls from the stovetop and moving them to the counter. Jake dropped his roll and picked up his camera.
“Did you tell them about your theory?” Isobel asked.
“What if I did? Isn’t that what we should do? Isn’t that what you did for me?” Elyse lifted the foil from the turkey and crumpled it into a ball. Juice from the bird dripped down her sleeve.
“You’re not Lizzie,” Isobel said. “The whole situation is entirely different. I thought you’d have learned your lesson with Landon.”
“What lesson is that? How to be happy and fulfilled without a man? I know you could teach a seminar in that one.” Elyse threw the foil ball at Isobel, striking her in the shoulder. Melted butter splattered onto her blouse.
“Come off it. You know that the whole point of that was to prevent you from making a fool of yourself. You can’t change people. He’d already chosen and it wasn’t you.”
Elyse picked up the carving knife.
“I thought we were going to let Daddy do that,” she said.
“I never agreed to that. You just assumed it,” Elyse said, waving the knife at Isobel. “This is exactly like you. You’ve never been able to see outside of yourself.” She jabbed the knife into the bird so that it stuck straight up, like a flagpole. “The thing with your mother messed you up in ways that you can’t even see.”
“My mother has nothing to do with this,” Isobel said. “This is about Lizzie and this absurd notion you have about Benny.”
From behind them, Lizzie spoke. “What about Benny? What about me?”
They turned quickly. Lizzie stood next to Isobel’s father in front of the beaded curtain. In the corner of the room, Kitty had her head bent toward Craig—the ostentatious centerpiece at their feet. Their posture made Isobel’s stomach turn. There was something in the way they both checked their watches that told her there would be so much more to this fight.
“Why are you arguing?” Lizzie asked, taking a step toward them. “We don’t fight.”
“Should you be filming this?” Isobel heard her father ask Jake, who’d positioned himself next to Elyse’s elbow. The kitchen felt like a sauna—the windows steamed over and dripping w
ith condensation.
“Maybe we should fight,” Elyse said.
“But we don’t,” Lizzie said. “That’s why I love you. Everyone else I know goes at it with each other. My parents, my siblings, my teammates. But we don’t. We can’t start now.”
“We’re too old for this,” Isobel said.
“For what?” Elyse asked. “Pretending that we’re not grown-ups with grown-up problems.”
“I don’t think we’re pretending,” Isobel said, considering all the ways in which she had been playacting since coming to live in Memphis.
“That’s all you know how to do,” Elyse said.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” Lizzie said. “Just tell me what this is about.”
Elyse took a deep breath and looked at Isobel before speaking in a rush of words. “Look, I know you will think this is crazy, but I’ve thought for a long time now that Benny is the most likely candidate to be your dad, and I think it would be a shame to waste the opportunity to find out. I mean as long as we’ve known you, all you’ve ever wanted to know is who your dad was and you always said it didn’t matter who he was or if he wanted to be your father, you needed to know for your own sake. And it’s not that I believe in fate or God or whatever, but it’s as likely that he is your dad as not. It’s like Occam’s razor. The simplest answer is the right answer. And Benny. He’s the simple answer.”
“I don’t understand,” Lizzie said.
“You should tell her that you shared this little insight of yours with Kitty and Craig,” Isobel said, knowing even as she spoke that what chance she’d had at getting this television show was slipping away. It had never been her they’d been interested in. Lizzie with her near Olympic pedigree and complicated family would be the star.
Lizzie sat down on the floor and drew her knees up to her chest.
“I must insist you stop filming,” Isobel’s father said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him step in front of Jake. Kitty moved forward and began to argue about their right to be there. Isobel sat next to Lizzie on the floor and after a moment of awkwardness in which Elyse looked at the back door for more than a few seconds, she took off her mic and sat down with them.
“I’m sorry,” she said, laying her head on Lizzie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help like you’d helped me. It was hard—the thing with Landon, but it was right. I kept telling myself I was making the hard decision.”
“Stop talking,” Lizzie said. “Is it true? Can it be true?”
Isobel started to explain why she thought it was all a bunch of bunk when her father knelt down beside them. He turned his body away from Isobel and spoke directly to Lizzie. “Sweetie,” he said, taking her hand. “Have you talked to your parents about this?”
Lizzie nodded at him. Elyse tried to explain the years of asking, the phone calls, their absence and how in the end her mother simply would not tell her a single truth about her father. He put his hand on her cousin’s head. “I asked Lizzie. I need Lizzie to tell me.”
Watching them, a warmth flooded Isobel. Her father had a limitless capacity for love. He radiated it in a way that enveloped all of them in the room. From the periphery of her vision, Isobel saw Kitty stumble toward them as if Craig had pushed her. “I need you to put your microphones back on,” she said slowly without looking at them.
Isobel stepped out of the circle, caught Kitty by the arm and pulled her into the narrow hallway. “We’re done here,” she said. “You can come back tomorrow. Or not.” Kitty needed little prodding and in a moment she was out the door muttering about how they’d work around this hitch.
Jake had followed them and he stood for a minute on the porch looking as if he had much to say to Isobel. Instead, he leaned in and apologized. “I still want to talk to you,” he said. “But not about this—or what they want to do with Lizzie.”
“What do they want with Lizzie?” Isobel’s skin felt light as it tightened around her. Jake shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now anyway.”
“That’s enough,” Craig said, cutting off their conversation. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. All of you signed a contract that gives us every right to be here, to have you cooperate.”
“Not now,” Isobel said, backing away from him.
He stalked her like prey, continuing to talk about obligations and burning bridges. She walked around the ladder and he walked under it, trying to cut her off. “That’s bad luck,” she said over his threats.
Craig looked up and then leveled his eyes at her. “You make your own luck, and mine is going to be made on this show. Or at least on Lizzie’s show.”
“That wasn’t the agreement,” Isobel said.
“It’s your own fault. We tried to get you to talk about your mom, but you said she was off limits. Of course, that didn’t stop us from calling her up and trying to convince her to fly out and surprise you for Thanksgiving. Turns out she doesn’t want to see you—especially if your father is around. That’s one messed-up family.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Isobel said. She hadn’t talked to her mother in three years. The thought that Craig had called and wondering what lies he’d told made her stomach clench in sharp pain.
“There’s so much I shouldn’t have done. But I did it. I’m doing it.” Craig’s eyes kept glancing at the street. Isobel followed his gaze, trying to anticipate what would happen next. He’d made himself at home under the ladder, appearing to relish the danger of taunting luck.
“Just shut up, Craig. Shut up and get the hell out of here.” Isobel stepped away from him and craned her head down the street. She saw Jake’s car make a left onto Tennessee Avenue, and then she saw a flash of purple coming up Beale Street.
Craig began laughing, and not because he was uncomfortable or nervous. He laughed like a man who’d won. There was something wrong with him. She watched the purple bus move down the narrow road and slow to a stop in front of Spite House. In large gold letters on the side of the vehicle were the words Who’s Your Daddy? Mobile DNA Testing.
“That’s too far,” Isobel said to him. “Way too far.”
Craig smirked at her. “Do you know who the test audience wanted to see more of?”
“I don’t care,” Isobel said, her hands shaking with anger.
“It wasn’t you. They’re tired of you. It seems people think of you as an annoying neighborhood kid who never leaves home. You’re not pretty enough for television and not talented enough for the movies, and if there’s one truth we learned from this experience, it’s that you’re not interesting enough for reality.”
Without considering what she was doing, Isobel stepped forward and unlocked the safety hinges on the ladder and then kicked at it with her feet so that in one loud, quick movement, Craig and the ladder fell in a heap onto the floor of the porch.
“That’s what I think of you,” she said. “Sue me, sue Lizzie, do whatever it is you do, but get the hell out of here.” She locked the front door behind her and pulled the shades. Methodically, she walked around every inch of Spite House and closed it off to the outside world. She found her father, Elyse, and Lizzie in the cupola. From the looks on their faces, she could tell that they’d watched the entire scene unfold. Lizzie had her knees drawn up to her face and refused to make eye contact. The purple bus was still parked in front of their house. Craig stood in front of it gesticulating wildly, a telephone to his ear and in conversation with the driver of the vehicle.
“I think we’re trapped for a while,” Elyse said. “It’s a good thing there’s plenty of food. I’ve called Tom and T. J. and told them that dinner’s off.”
“Oh,” Isobel said, realizing how much more of the day they had left. It felt like an entire season had passed already.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Isobel’s father said and patted the seat next to him.
“Should we be up here?” Isobel asked, still shaking. She felt exposed on the roof, as if they could see inside and still hear what was being said.
“I think we’re safe,” Elyse said. “I had a whole conversation with Kitty the other day where she told me to stay the hell out of here because, try as they might, they couldn’t make it work for filming, for sound, for shit. That’s what she said.”
Isobel’s father put his arm around her. “If you’re strong enough, Lizzie, I’ve got a story you might be interested in hearing.”
Lizzie looked at him and sighed.
“I’m not supposed to know this,” Isobel’s father said, “but I do and once I tell you, it can’t be undone.”
Elyse leaned in. “I knew someone had to know.”
Isobel stayed with her head on her father’s shoulder. Her mind raced with a thousand questions and for once they were all about her own life. She’d stopped caring about Lizzie and her problems. She wanted to know about her father. How could he be such a good man? Why hadn’t he gotten married again? Why had her mother left?
“Lizzie,” Isobel’s father said.
Her cousin sat up and blew her nose on the edge of her shirt. “I’m ready,” she said, reaching out a hand for Elyse and a hand for Isobel.
“I don’t know all the details. You’ll have to go to your parents for that, and they may tell you or they may not. I can’t say.” He stopped talking. Isobel watched his face. It had become still, as it did when he was trying to figure out a particularly difficult repair. “Your father is your father. I mean he’s not only your stepfather, he’s also your biological father.”
“Impossible,” Lizzie said. “They didn’t even know each other and he would have been”—her voice trailed off as she did the math—“sixteen, no, fifteen when my Mom got pregnant.”
Isobel looked at her father over the silence. He shrugged and smiled as if to apologize for having kept such secrets for so many years. She wondered what secrets they would keep from their own children and whether any of the cousins would make mistakes big enough to change a life. She moved away from him and toward her cousin, who’d drawn up her knees again and started rocking back and forth like a child on the verge of action.
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