by J. A. Little
“Hey! Next time you want to use Andy or me as an alibi, you’d better tell us. You’re in deep shit when you get home.”
“What?” Claire yelps. “Why?”
“Because you told your parents you were coming here. What the hell, Claire?”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told Mom that Andy wasn’t home and that it was possible you were with him, but that’s not the point. What the hell is going on?”
“I can’t…I can’t talk about it right now,” she whispers. Despite how softly she’s speaking, I can still hear the tremble in her voice.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Caitlynn’s house. We were studying, and then her boyfriend came over. We’re just…we’re just talking.”
“I’m coming to get you, right the fuck now. That might save your ass a little when I drop you back at home.”
Claire gives me the address, and I put it into my phone. I stare longingly at my full glass of wine before putting on my coat and walking out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, I check the address again and pull into the driveway. It’s a nice little house, but emphasis on “little.” There’s a yellow Camaro in the driveway alongside an old, white Honda Civic. This confirms why I didn’t recognize Caitlynn’s name. There’s no way in hell these people can afford Claire’s $25,000-a-year private-school education.
I turn off the car, but Claire bolts out the door before I can get out. She’s still in her uniform, her backpack slung over one shoulder. When she gets in the car, she doesn’t look at me. Her face is flushed, and she looks guilty.
“Really? You’re just going to get in the car and pretend like this is all okay?”
“What do you want me to say?” she asks quietly.
“How about, ‘I know I shouldn’t have used you to cover my ass without telling you, Kayla,’ or, ‘Sorry for making you look like a complete asshole to Mom, Kayla.’ Jesus Christ, Claire.”
“Fine!” she cries. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking.”
I pull away from the curb and drive back toward my house. “Caitlynn doesn’t go to your school, does she?” I sigh. Claire shakes her head. “Where did you meet her?”
“Through another friend. I really like her, but there’s no way Daddy would let me spend time here. You know that.”
I want to argue that maybe he would, but I know better. Richard is an elitist. He’d never let his daughter hang out with middle-class scum. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even realize that Claire has been introduced to my dad and Karen, much less spent any time with them. Andy and I are exceptions, but barely. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that he’s already been arranging an appropriate marriage union for her.
“Claire, honey, I love you. You know that, right?” I say, glancing over at her. She nods, looking so despondent that it kills me. “You can’t do this to me again. Your father will have my ass if he finds out I’m covering for you while you hang out with people he hasn’t preapproved.” I feel like a total bitch, but I can’t let it slide. A couple of tears slip down her cheeks. “I know it sucks. I know how hard it is, but it’s not like it’ll be forever. You’ve got one more year. One more, and you’ll legally be an adult. Whatever you want to do then, I will support you 100 percent, but please, please don’t put me in the middle right now. I’m on thin ice with your dad as it is. I do not want him to cut me off from you.”
“Okay,” she whispers. We sit in silence as I continue to drive. “Where are we going?” Claire asks, her head turning back and forth.
“I’m taking you to my house so you don’t have to lie to them. You’re going to sit down, and we’re going to work on some ‘social charity project.’” I air quote with one hand, and Claire nods.
Thank God Andy is home when we get to the house.
“Hey,” he greets. A look of confusion crosses his face when he notices Claire sulking in behind me. “Hi, Claire.” He looks at me questioningly.
“How long have you been home?” I ask.
“Ten minutes, why?”
“Good.”
I pick up my phone and scroll to “Celia and Richard” as slowly as possible. Before hitting CALL, I take a deep breath.
“I thought you were going to have Claire call me!” my mother says in greeting.
“Hi, Mom,” I say with fake enthusiasm. “Guess what? Andy and Claire just got here. Talk to your daughter.” I thrust the phone at my sister, and she takes it begrudgingly.
“Hi, Mama,” she mumbles.
“What the hell was that all about?” Andy asks as I flop down on the couch next to him and steal his beer.
“Claire has a new friend who hasn’t been through Richard’s rigorous screening process. She wanted to go hang out, so she told her parents she was coming here to do a project for school.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Uh-huh. So I’m making her do just that.”
“Kayla? What time are you going to bring me home?” Claire asks from the kitchen.
“Ten,” I respond. “That’ll give us just enough time to make it look like she was actually doing what she said she was doing,” I grumble under my breath.
“You’re really going to cover for her?” The look of disapproval on Andy’s face is annoying.
“This time, yes. She’s a good girl, Andy. Every kid tests the boundaries in different ways. I survived college because I’d already worked all that shit out of my system. Can you imagine what it’s going to be like for her when she’s suddenly given freedom? Surrounded by alcohol, boys, and no curfews?”
“And you think you’re going to fix that by lying to your parents about where she’s been and what she’s been doing?”
“I’m not fucking lying!” I snap. “That’s why she’s here.”
Claire approaches and Andy and I are forced to end our discussion. I don’t expect him to understand. He didn’t grow up with Richard.
Claire really does have a social project due for school, so we work on it for the rest of the time she’s at the house. At least we’re not wasting our time. At nine thirty, she puts everything back in her bag and we head out.
When I pull into the visitor parking of my mom and Richard’s penthouse, Claire starts crying. Leaning over, I wrap my arms around her.
“Hey, sweetie. I love you, okay? Don’t forget that. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe Mom—”
“Please don’t, Kayla. Don’t say anything to her. She’ll just tell Daddy, and he’ll get mad.”
I purse my lips together. Sometimes I hate being a grown-up. “You can’t keep lying to them. It’s just going to land you in more trouble. Trust me, I know.”
Claire sniffles. We get out of the car and are greeted kindly by the doorman. Claire punches in the elevator code, and we begin to ascend. I haven’t seen my mother and Richard in months. I’m not really looking forward to it, but I know I’d get read the riot act if I didn’t hand-deliver their daughter to their doorstep.
The door is locked, and Claire uses her key to get in. I can hear the television blaring in the living room. I think about just taking off, but before I get the chance, my mother appears around the corner.
“There you are. I was just wondering where you were.” She gathers Claire up in her arms. I look at my watch. We’re right on time.
After letting Claire go, my mother hugs me. It’s stiff and awkward. I have the urge to wrap my arms around her and show her what hugging your child is supposed to feel like, but I don’t.
“Hi, Mom.”
“You look tired,” she says, eyes scanning over me.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, I have something to give you,” Mom chirps, motioning for me to follow her. My lip curls. All I want to do is escape, but if I leave now, I’ll never hear the end of it.
When we get to the kitchen, Richard is standing with a glass of red wine in his hand. He’s still wearing his suit, complete with tie, and his platinum-blond hair slicked back. He doesn’t smi
le, he doesn’t nod. He simply stares at me. His icy glare tells me everything I need to know. He’ll get along with me because he has to, but I’m not going to be treated like family.
“Hi, Richard,” I say cheerily, just to chafe his ass.
His eyebrow arches. Claire looks back and forth between us. I have no idea how much she remembers from when I lived with them. I hope it’s not much. There was a lot of screaming…a lot of hatred.
“Here,” my mother says, reaching out. In her hand is what looks like a check.
“What’s this?” I ask, looking down. I lose my breath when I see all the zeros. “Five grand?”
“For looking after Claire while we were gone,” she replies as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I look at my sister, whose eyes are wide. Obviously she didn’t know anything about this. “I would have given it to you before we left, but…” She shrugs. “You couldn’t be bothered to wait the twenty minutes for us to get back when you picked up Claire.”
I open my mouth and then close it again several times. I must look like a dying fish. Claire always had a nanny growing up. She was considered staff—beneath the family. Richard always said babysitting was a job for people with no real skills. I always knew that was bullshit, but pretty much everything out of his mouth is, so I never really gave it much thought. Until now. I have no idea how to take this. I knew that Richard never considered me family, but is this how my mother feels, too? Am I nothing but a nanny to her? Staff?
A sudden wave of anger overtakes me and my entire body starts to shake. How dare they make me feel like a fucking employee! I slam the check down on the granite countertop, turn, and walk out.
“Kayla!” my mother yells, but she doesn’t move to stop me.
“Kayla?” Claire calls desperately as I reach the front door.
I turn just briefly. “Call me, Claire. Call me whenever you need anything.”
She nods, and I leave.
The pressure in my chest continues to build as I make my way to my car. It hurts. The more I hold it back, the worse it gets. I practically run past the doorman who says something I don’t hear. The second I slam my car door shut, all semblance of control is lost. I buckle and sag into my seat, tears flowing freely. I’m a hiccuping, sobbing mess. What did I do to make my mother hate me so much?
I grab my purse, digging blindly for my cellphone. Hitting my call list, I scroll through, searching for my brother’s number. I want to call Dean. I want him to hold me. I want that intense feeling I get when he touches me to run through my entire body and push all of this hurt and anger out.
But I can’t have him. He wants nothing to do with me. He hasn’t called. He hasn’t texted. My eyes blur as another round of tears pour from them. Why am I not good enough?
“Hey. What’s up? You okay?”
“No,” I sniffle. “I need you.”
Chapter 22
Dean
“Wait. Why? What happened?” My heart starts thumping rapidly in my chest. I don’t know whether to be worried or excited.
“Just…come get me?” Kayla’s crying. Why is she crying?
“Uh, okay. Where are you?”
“Dean?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, shit! I thought I dialed Andy.”
And just like that, my excitement disappears. Now I’m just worried.
“Kayla, what the hell is going on?”
“I, uh, I’ m sorry. I was thinking about you and trying to call Andy and I must have… I’m sorry. I’ll just—”
“Calm down.” I’m trying to be soothing, but I’m not sure I’m coming across that way. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit. Are you crying?”
“No.” She hiccoughs loudly.
“Yes, you are. Tell me what’s going on.” She doesn’t say anything. I’m getting really fucking worried. “Kayla!”
“No! The last time I told you something personal, you shut me out and ignored me for three days,” she snaps.
Ah. Right.
“Shit. I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I mean, that wasn’t my intent.”
“It doesn’t matter. I gotta go.”
“Kayla?” I plead.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Tell me where you are.”
“Outside The Carlyle,” she says softly.
“Outside?”
“In my car.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
I don’t give her a chance to say no. I end the call and put on my coat and shoes, grabbing my keys from the countertop. I speed most of the way, praying I don’t get stopped.
When I pull up outside the swanky highrise, I see Kayla’s car parked in one of the visitor spaces. I pull up beside her and get out of the car. Her head is resting against the wheel, almost as though she’s asleep. When I knock on her window, her head tilts to the side toward me and I hear the car door unlock. I open the door and squat down to her level.
“Hi,” I say quietly.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“What’s going on?” It’s all I can come up with.
“Nothing.”
“You wanna talk about why you’re hanging out in your car outside The Carlyle?”
She shakes her head. “Not really.”
“You just gonna stay here all night?”
Her eyes flicker to me. “I’ll move eventually.”
I’m not going to get anywhere like this. “Come on, sweetheart. Come with me.”
She looks at me questioningly.
“Come on.” I stand up and reach my hand out to her. She takes it hesitantly and then steps out. She jumps when I slam the door.
“But, my car—”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll come back and get it later.”
“Dean?”
I open the passenger side door to my car and wave my hand. “Just get in the car, Kayla. It’s fucking freezing out here.”
She does, and I close the door behind her, running around the car to get in.
“Anyone ever tell you how bossy you are?” she mutters.
“All the time,” I laugh.
“Where are we going?”
“My place.”
I drive a lot slower on the way back to my apartment for several reasons. One, I’m not in as much of a hurry now that I know Kayla’s safe and two, I’m embarrassed about the state of my apartment. Maybe I should have fixed things up a little over the years, but I was always afraid I’d get robbed so I never bothered. Or maybe my mom was right and I should have moved completely. But living in this apartment keeps my head on straight. It reminds me of the things I’ve done—the choices I made.
I also have no idea what I’m going to say or do once we get back there. I wasn’t really thinking ahead when I told her to get into my car. All I knew was that I needed to get her out of there.
We ride in silence, both probably lost in the awkwardness of the moment. I notice Kayla scanning the surroundings as we get close. It’s not the best neighborhood, but it’s not the worst, either. It works for me. I fit in with the other “riffraff” trying to make something of their lives.
I pull into the parking lot of my building and run to open the door for Kayla again. I can tell she’s nervous, but I don’t know if it’s because of where we are or who she’s with. She doesn’t say anything about the kids hanging out in the stairwell. She doesn’t say anything about the thick layer of grime that covers every square inch of the hallway, either.
When we get to my apartment, I open the door and lead her in, closing the door and sliding the dead bolt into place behind me. Kayla looks around while fidgeting with her purse.
“You live here?” she asks.
“Yeah. I know it’s not fancy, but…”
“That’s not what I meant. It just…it doesn’t look like you.” I’m standing behind her when she turns to face me.
“Dean?”
“Kayla?”
/> We speak at the same time. Her eyes well up with tears, and I don’t know why. All I know is that I can’t stand to see her like this.
“Come here.” I pull her into my arms, wrapping them around her and kissing her temple. Holding her is like nothing else I have experienced. The intensity of emotion that burns through my body is overwhelming, the urge to feel her, undeniable. I need to think about something other than how right this feels.
“I’m sorry about Sunday,” I blurt out.
“It’s okay,” she whispers against my chest.
“No, it’s not. I was a dick. I didn’t mean to be a dick.”
“You kinda were,” she breathes. “You made me feel like shit.”
“Ahhhh,” I growl. “I got lost in my own head and didn’t even think.”
“To be fair, I just sort of threw that at you,” she interrupts.
“I am glad you told me. I meant it, Kayla. I like hearing about you.”
“Even my crazy bits?”
“Especially your crazy bits.” I chuckle, my chest vibrating.
“That’s good to know. I’ve got a lot of crazy bits,” she giggles. I rub her back for a second before letting her go.
“Come on and sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”
She sits down on my sofa. Luckily it’s fairly new and not in bad shape.
“What do you like? I have beer, water, tequila. Oh, and Coke,” I say, looking at the bottle I left out on the counter.
“Water’s fine, thanks,” she answers.
I grab a couple of bottles from the fridge and go to sit down next to her.
“So what happened?” I ask, handing her one of the bottles.
Kayla takes it and rolls her eyes. “My stupid parents, as usual.”
“They live in The Carlyle?”
She nods. “My mom and stepdad do—with Claire. I don’t know why I even call them my parents anymore.” She swipes at her eyes and sniffs lightly. “I hate this. I hate that I let them do this to me every fucking time. I’m an adult for God’s sake.”
As Kayla talks to me, I consider how much of herself she’s shared. She’s poured her heart out to me—all the hurt and isolation she felt as a child, her weaknesses and vulnerability. And what have I told her? How many fights I got into while incarcerated. That’s it. She trusted me. Maybe it’s time I trusted her. I just need to figure out how much I’m comfortable revealing.