Emma managed a smile. “I’m glad you understand some of it.”
“Don’t be glad. You’re the one who doesn’t understand. He didn’t go to prison for you. And he sure as shit didn’t go out of love. He went because the person he loved best was dead. His escape hatch was gone. He never gave a shit about you—”
“You’re wr—”
“Which he proved when he practically sprinted into a prison cell. And he hasn’t changed his mind, Mom. Not in ten years. Think about it. Every hour of every day, he is showing you that life in prison is preferable to life with you.”
She opened her mouth . . . then shrugged and looked away.
“Do you know what is honest to God the most aggravating thing?” Angela kicked at a tuft of grass. “Jason and I wasted all that time cleaning a tombstone that wasn’t even my dad’s! If I’d known he wasn’t dead, we could have gotten straight to the picnic! And the napping!”
“What?”
“And yes, I’m aware that my priorities are screwed!” More kicks. More tufts of dirt. “But for some reason that’s the part that really bugs me right now!”
“It doesn’t matter.”
They both looked around and saw Jason standing fifteen feet away.
“That wasn’t half an hour,” she called.
He spread his hands. “I was worried. And it wasn’t a waste. I was glad to spend time here with you. There will be other picnics.” He smiled, flashing that dimple as he walked closer. “And other naps.”
Angela jabbed a thumb at her mother, who was glaring at him like a Scooby villain. “It’s way more fucked up than you knew, Jason.”
“Of course it is.”
Angela went to him, put her arms around his waist. Was more than a little relieved when he let her. “I’m gonna need so much therapy.”
“I have an excellent therapist. We can share.”
“I’ll have to move out.”
“You can’t stay with her now,” he agreed.
“And I have to think about Jack, he’s the only minor, he’ll have to come with me.”
“I have three bedrooms.”
She blinked. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“I think the woman who used the real-estate section to date might have been onto something.”
He laughed.
She pointed at her mother again. “This. This is the kind of obsessive madness you’re risking if you want to be with me. We’re all various degrees of crazy. I could actually turn into this woman.”
“There will be days I won’t get out of bed because my brain chemistry went haywire. Times when I’ll miss a birthday because I’m literally wading through blood at a crime scene. And I have nightmares.”
There was a pointed throat-clearing behind them.
“Oh, me, too. Not the wading-through-blood part. The bad dreams part.”
“Excuse me?”
“My father-in-law faked his own murder.”
“Excuse me.”
“My mother talked him into it,” Angela added, in case Jason wasn’t fathoming the full horror.
“We are fucked,” he decided, and she laughed.
“Angela! I’m not finished with my story.”
“It’s not your story anymore, Mom,” Angela replied without looking around. “It’s ours.”
FIFTY
“You warned him that you could turn into your mom?”
Angela could see Leah was trying not to laugh. “You bet I did. He deserves to know the cauldron of madness he’s gonna be swimming in.”
Archer snorted. “I’m sure he already knew.”
“Yeah?
“What, you thought it was a big mystery? Some huge reveal that you kept from him? I can’t imagine he didn’t figure that out half an hour into the Drake file.”
“Isn’t that something?” Angela knew she sounded pleased. “From day one he was in it up to his elbows and he never backed off, he never ga—” She cut herself off. She was the one who had given up. Except it was worse than that. She never had the courage to try in the first place, and shut it down the minute she realized the depth of his interest. Not so much out of concern for him, as terror for herself.
Tried to shut it down, anyway. He made it clear(er) on the way home that he wasn’t having it. What could she say? “You don’t really know me.” Sure he did. “I have a complex family history.” Yeah, he was all caught up on that, too. “Your dysthymia and my controlling streak will clash.” Again: They both knew this. “What if we’re not compatible in bed?” They could check that box off, too.
She didn’t think a decision to open herself up to love could be so . . . logical. She’d been surprised to find that agreeing to explore a relationship with the dimpled detective was as joyful as the news of her mother’s betrayal and her father’s cowardice was devastating.
“Yes, you might turn into your mom,” Leah allowed. They were back in the kitchen. Jason had driven Angela home, and she would see him tomorrow. Their mother wasn’t back. No one knew where she was. No one wanted to go looking. “But no more or less than any of us. Or your mom could turn into you.”
“That’s—what? I’m not following.”
The smaller woman shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be cryptic. I want to—” She cut herself off and looked at Archer. “Do you mind if I tell her?”
“Jeez, sure. You can tell anyone you want, hon. I haven’t said anything because I figured on this one, I’d take my cues from you.”
“Such restraint!” Leah cried with faux wonder. Archer laughed at her.
“What’s—what is it? Is the baby okay?”
“Absolutely. In fact, we’re having a daughter.”
Angela smiled at Archer. “Congratulations, Dad. The good news is, the Drake men have set the bar incredibly low for you.”
Archer groaned. “You’ve never said anything more true or more horrible.”
“Sorry, I—”
“In fact,” Leah said, raising her voice, “we’re having my mother.”
Annnnd Angela’s smile was stuck. “I’m sorry?”
“The baby I’m carrying is Nellie Nazir reincarnated.”
“Wow.”
“Yes.”
“I— Wow.” This was obviously the month for incredible world-shaking news that Angela couldn’t immediately wrap her head around and might not ever wrap her head around. “I. I got nothin’. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Is there— I don’t think there’s anything in the literature.” She looked at the expert hopefully. “Is there?”
Leah shook her head. “Uncharted territory. But does it mean my daughter is doomed to be the stage mother from hell? That I’ll hate and fear her? That she’ll be psychotically vain? And will value her career—whatever it will be—over everything else in her life? Will I be a bad mother to a bad mother? How much can we change each time?”
“I don’t know.” Her brain was still trying to digest the idea of giving birth to a parent. Because pregnancy wasn’t gross enough? “What does it mean?” Because if the entire purpose of reincarnation was to fix past mistakes, what does it mean when your imperfect parent comes from you? There were radicals who insisted that reincarnation was because there were a finite number of souls in the world, and they kept getting recycled. Their mantra was brutal in its simplicity: “Everyone’s a rerun.”
Angela had never subscribed to that notion, mostly because it didn’t bear thinking about. “Leah? Do you know what it means?”
“No idea. But we’re going to muddle through. We’ll parent my mother and somehow we’ll . . . um . . . No idea.” She shrugged and Archer grabbed her hand and planted a noisy kiss in the middle of her palm. Angela suspected he did so because Leah had a downright delightful giggle.
She was so
(dour? no, not quite that, but . . .)
solemn most of the time, to hear her laugh was to be charmed.
“Thank you for telling me about the baby. Who, regardless of who she was, is going to be your daughter. I think if you can hang on to that, the rest might be . . . not easier, exactly, but . . .” She realized she had no business giving anyone parenting advice, never mind a woman pregnant with her mom. Speaking of parenting . . . “I’ll keep it to myself until you say otherwise. But right now I need to talk to Jack.”
“He’s in the backyard experimenting with the grill. Except he didn’t take matches. Or food. And we all had supper. And the grill is closed. And he’s been sitting on the back steps for half an hour.”
“Ah.” They all had their code words for wanting to be left alone. Sometimes the code was ignored. More often, it was honored. Unfortunately, Angela couldn’t oblige this time. “Back in a bit. If Mom gets back, tell her I cordially hope she drops dead. Oh, and that we’re out of milk. I see no reason why she can’t help around the house more.” At least, while we’re all still here. Which won’t be for long, I think.
• • •
ANGELA SAT DOWN beside Jack on the steps. Their small backyard had a wooden ten-by-ten platform that Jordan and Mitchell had cobbled together one weekend, and the rest was lawn. They all feared and hated gardening, though occasionally Jack would get ambitious and plant herbs in pots. Then they’d spend the summer drowning in mint and thyme and he’d swear off gardening of any kind. Until winter hit. Then he’d start thinking about thyme scones and mint macarons.
She cleared her throat. “So this is my cue to say something inane—can you believe how warm it’s getting?—and then say something to acknowledge the fact that our world view has gone tits up in twelve hours, while also reminding you that life goes on and telling you to cheer up, l’il buckaroo.”
He didn’t laugh, but she got a smile. And though she’d been careful to leave some room between them, he shuffled a little closer to her and stared down at his knees.
“How could she?”
“Oh, Jacky. I don’t know. She explained the whole thing and I still don’t get it.”
“How could he?”
She shook her head.
“I can’t stay here,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to cook for her or take care of her anymore.”
“Understandable. You probably don’t need me to tell you this—”
“But you’re gonna anyway.”
“You’re entitled to be upset. You’re entitled to be furious. Christ knows I am.” Angela studied her hands, flexed her fingers. “I thought about drowning her in Lake Willowmere. Then myself. And then being reincarnated and tracking her down and drowning her again. And Paul’s so upset he hasn’t asked anyone to measure him since this morning.”
“That’s how you recognize the depth of his trauma,” Jack agreed.
“Mitchell’s plotting something that involves chicken feathers, Mom’s bed, and several neighborhood dogs.”
“Yeah, I know, he left the schematic in the bathroom.”
She cleared her throat. “You knew he was sad.”
“What?”
“Jason Chambers. You’d only seen him twice. And you didn’t touch him either time . . . Did you?”
He said nothing.
“But you knew about his dysthymia, the same way Leah did. It made a big enough impression on you to comment on it. And I notice you and Leah have gotten tight in a short time.”
“We talk sometimes,” he said cautiously.
“I’m glad you’ve had someone to talk to. But given that you live in a house full of people and have fifty friends, I have to assume you wanted to talk to her about a specific issue you had in common. So unless you’re pregnant, I assume you were worried about being an Insighter.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Whew! Don’t get me wrong, you’d be a great dad, but you’re too young.”
“Very funny,” he said, smiling a little. Then he looked away. “I like talking to her. She’s interesting. And nice.”
“You don’t have to sell me on Leah Nazir. I was practically the president of her fan club. I’m glad you went to her.”
“I didn’t. She came to me. Remember when we were all in the kitchen having hot chocolate?”
“Yes, that was one of the times I asked you if everything was all right and if there was anything you wanted to talk about and you said everything was fine.” She managed (just) to keep the tartness from her tone.
Jack raced ahead, trying to outrun the argument he thought was coming. “So she hasn’t been sleeping well and she knew I wasn’t, either, and we got to talking and later she figured it out and came and asked me about it.” He looked at her, distressed and pale. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad. Why would I be?”
“Because I didn’t come to you.”
I’m not mad. I’m a little jealous, but not mad. Well. A lot jealous. “I don’t own your confidences, you goof. You can confide in anyone you like. If Leah helped you, how can I be anything but glad about it?” There was another mystery solved: why Leah couldn’t sleep. Constantly fretting about giving birth to your mother would wreak havoc on anyone’s REM cycle.
“And—and you’re so busy with Dad’s—with Uncle Dennis’s murder.”
“That’s not it and you know it,” she said kindly. “You were afraid to come to me because you were afraid you’d become me. You thought being an Insighter meant being an insecure, spiteful bitch. You didn’t know that only applied to Insighters who are Angela Drake.”
“That’s what Leah said. Not about you being spiteful! Jeez, your eyes went to slits in half a second.”
“Sorry. Reflex.”
“She likes you, so don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t,” she lied.
“Leah said it didn’t have to define me. That it was like being born able to throw a fastball . . . being able to do it didn’t mean I had to devote my life to try and go pro.”
Angela nodded. “That’s a good way to put it. I don’t make money from Insighting, I’ve never seen a client, I just studied the hell out of it because—well, you know. But it was never my job. And it doesn’t have to be yours.”
“Yeah.” Jack gazed at the grill for a few seconds, then looked at Angela. “What happens now?”
“Oh. Um. I have no idea.”
“Will Mom move out?”
“I doubt it.” Why would she? The house was hers, free and clear. That was assuming she didn’t go to jail, but Angela wasn’t going to bring that up. The poor kid had enough to mull over. “I think we’ll all have to leave. Paul and Jordan are talking about renting a house in Evanston, and Mitchell—”
“Philadelphia.”
“Yep.” Mitchell Drake had one great love in life: the show It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.* He’d wanted to live in Philly and open a bar in homage to Paddy’s Pub since he was eleven. He had been designing the drinks menu (“The Dee,” which was mostly orange juice for a bird-yellow hue; “The Mac,” which was three Cosmos served in a beer mug; “The Frank,” which was skunk beer dregs; and “The Greenman,” which is anything even vaguely alcoholic dyed green) since he was twelve.
“It’s nice that the collapse of our family means he can pursue his dream,” Jack said with touching loyalty.
“Nothing’s collapsed,” Angela corrected sharply. Whoa. Modulate that tone. “You and I still love each other, we love our brothers and cousins, there will be a new baby Drake in a few months, life goes on.”
He just looked at her. “You don’t think you’re simplifying a bit?”
“What our parents did doesn’t mean our generation—the cousins and brothers and future spouses and their kids—aren’t a family. Emma and Douglas Dr
ake do not have that kind of power over us. The backstory changed, but not how we feel about each other.” She took his wrist, held it firmly. “Don’t do that, Jacky. Don’t give our parents that kind of power.”
He let out a short, shuddering breath and nodded. “Will I have to switch schools?”
“I’m gonna try very hard to make that not happen. We’ll get you through your senior year and then figure out the college thing.” The college thing. Ah, yes, she certainly sounded in control and like she knew what she was doing. Perfect. But one thing at a time. “In fact, I was talking to Jason about that earlier. He has a beautiful home and he’s invited us to stay with him.”
“I knew you liked him!” A real smile this time, wide and gorgeous, the kind that crinkled up his nose. He used to grin like that in his crib. “You were always trying to be sooooo cooooooool around him, but I could tell. It was the socks, right?”
“You noticed?” She couldn’t recall being more delighted with him. “Aren’t they great? Not that it’s just his socks. It only started with his wonderful, sexy socks.”
“Barf.”
“But listen: We have options, okay? However it works out. I’ve got savings, we can go and get an apartment somewhere. Or we’ll stay with Jason. Or we’ll come up with Option C, which might be a combination of A and B. My point is, you’re not trapped here with her. None of us are. Okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“And you’ll be what you’ll be. Whether it’s chef to the stars or the next Leah Nazir or something in between. There’s not one thing holding you back, Jack. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“And I’m glad she helped you and I’m happy she’s in our family and that’s all fine. And I love you, but you made her a swan? Really?”
The grin became a smirk. “Don’t be jelly.”
“I really hate that slang.”
“That’s what a jelly person would say.”
“You know I can still kick your ass, right? Even though you’re almost as big as I am?”
“With your skinny arms and spindly legs? You’d use up all your breath being shrill and then I’d stomp you.”
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