by Parker, Ali
But when you got older, you figured out there were strings attached. And expectations. And criticism.
Chapter 4
Elise
My sister Kate lived in a two-bedroom townhouse off the main drag of town. It was about a twenty-minute walk from my apartment. The night had gotten so chilly that I broke out my puffy jacket and hiking boots and walked over. It was freezing, and the wind didn’t help. I’d probably have to ask her for a ride home later.
The townhouse was old, almost as old as my apartment building. A set of stairs led up to a front door with peeling white paint. A gold knocker hung beneath the peephole, but I never used it. I found it too obnoxious.
I rang the doorbell instead and heard Kate call for me to let myself in.
I pushed open the door and hurried to close it, as the distinct sound of cat paws on the hardwood of the hallway grew closer.
Kate’s orange tabby, Crane, was always looking for his chance to escape. He’d managed to sneak past me once or twice, which meant Kate and I were doomed to spend the rest of the night chasing his orange ass all over town. It was too cold for such shenanigans, and I operated by a basic principle I’d been trying to convince my sister to adopt: if he wants to be outside, let him be outside. He would learn really quickly that Bar Harbor was home to plenty of wildlife and he was not at the top of the food chain.
Kate hated this way of thinking, of course. She was an animal lover through and through and always had been.
Growing up, we’d had a lot of money and a big house. With big houses came good opportunities for critters to make a home. She saved mice and raised them on her own, keeping them a secret from our parents. She fed feral cats off the property and left bowls of milk out for them overnight. She convinced our mom to get her a hamster for Christmas one year. She kept fish and frogs, and when she was really young, she had a couple of hermit crabs.
Animal lover didn’t even come close to defining her obsession.
I crouched down and gave Crane a scratch under the chin. “Hello, big boy,” I said. Crane was a big-ass cat. His belly almost touched the floor when he walked, and when he ran, you could hear him coming from the other side of the house. The orange tabby closed his eyes and lifted his face to the ceiling to enjoy his chin scratches. “You are so spoiled. Yes you are. Yes you are.”
Kate poked her head around the corner into the hallway. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulder, and she grinned at me. “Hey, did you walk over? It’s freezing out there!”
I nodded and tucked my hair behind my ears. “I know. I can’t feel my nose. I underestimated the temperature apparently.” Crane started purring and wove between my ankles when I stood up and took my jacket off to hang it with Kate’s other coats and scarves. I slid my boots off and joined her in the kitchen.
It smelled like cinnamon and maple syrup. “What on earth are you making, Kate? It smells so good in here.”
She cracked open the stove to let me peer inside. “A yam casserole. Looks good, right? I found the recipe online and tweaked a couple things. I hope it turns out. I’ve never made it before.”
“If it tastes half as good as it smells, I’m sure it will be delicious,” I said. “You’ve always been good in the kitchen.”
“I try. Want a glass of wine? I have a pinot grigio or a merlot.”
“Merlot,” I said decisively.
Kate went about uncorking the wine, and then she poured us each a glass. She passed one to me, and we took a seat in her living room while the casserole continued baking.
I liked Kate’s townhouse a lot. It was shabby chic without intending to be, and the bright cool tones lent the place a relaxing, calm vibe. She had broken out a few fall-themed decor items, including some orange pillows, pumpkin-scented candles, and a bowl of candy corn which she had placed in the middle of her coffee table.
“It looks great in here, Kate.”
“Thank you. It’s a work in progress, but I’m finally starting to feel at home here. How is your place?”
I shrugged. “The same. Small.”
“I’m telling you, you need to get a pet. It will make you feel more at home there to have something waiting for you. Or to keep you company while you write.”
I scrunched up my nose. “I don’t want to pick up anything’s shit.”
Kate rolled her eyes at me. “But the emotional payoff you get from loving an animal is so worth it, Elise! I’m not lying. I mean, sure, cleaning the litter box isn’t my favorite part of the day, but snuggling before bed with a good book with Crane sure is. And I can’t have one without the other.”
I stared blankly at her. “I’m not getting a cat.”
“A dog then?”
I shook my head.
Kate sighed. “Is now a good time to tell you I got another cat?”
“Seriously?”
Kate nodded. She was grinning from ear to ear. “He’s a black tabby. He’s only three months old.”
“Where the heck is he?”
“He’s a bit skittish, so I’m not entirely sure. But after you’ve been here for a bit, he might come check you out. He’s really friendly, just really shy. I don’t think he came from a very nice home.”
“But he is a house cat? That’s good.”
“Yes. I’m not bringing a feral cat into my rental townhouse. That would be foolish.”
I took a sip of wine. “Maybe I’ll get a new plant instead of a pet. Or the next time I see a spider, I’ll trap it under a glass and move it into a terrarium. What do you think?”
“That doesn’t count.”
I giggled. So did Kate. As we continued sipping our wine, Crane moved back and forth between our feet, pausing to rub himself on our shins or calves. I did not love the fact that every time I came to my sister’s house, I left with orange cat hair embedded in my clothes.
But it was a small price to pay to visit her, and I knew how much joy she got out of her animals. I would never want her to give them up.
“I’m going to check on the yams,” Kate said as she got to her feet.
I followed my older sister into the kitchen, where she discovered that the yams were ready. I helped her throw together a garden salad, and within ten minutes, we were sitting down at her kitchen table to enjoy our meal.
It was delicious, and I told her so.
“Thanks,” Kate said. “You can take some home with you for leftovers if you want. I have too much to eat all on my own.”
“You’re just like Mom.”
“I know. She rubbed off on me big time. I can’t help but want to feed everyone all the time.”
“Well, I won’t say no to free food. Especially food this good.”
We finished eating, and when our bellies were full, we leaned back to finish off our glasses of wine. Kate watched me over the rim of her glass as she drained the last two mouthfuls. When she put it down, she smacked her lips together. “So, how’s the book coming along?”
I shrugged. “It’s going.”
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
“You know how it is. Most days are a struggle. Today was a new one for me. I had to write a sex scene.”
“Oh,” Kate said, her eyebrows dancing on her forehead. “How’d that go?”
“Terrible. Well. Not too terrible, I guess. I might keep the scene in the book. I just felt like an idiot writing it.”
“Why? Sex is normal. We all do it. Well, most of us.”
I leaned forward and dropped my voice to a whisper, even though we were the only two in the whole house. “I know, but I haven’t done it in so long. I felt like I was writing about something foreign. Something I have no experience with.”
“If you want, I can read it for you and give you pointers.”
“That is so not what I want,” I said flatly.
Kate snickered. “Listen, you’re a good writer, Elise. I bet the scene is great, and you’re just being too hard on yourself. You know, it’s sort of your signature move.”
“Wha
t is?”
“Doing something brilliantly and then treating it like it’s garbage. I inherited Mom’s cooking skills. You inherited her self-doubt.”
“Lucky me. Wanna trade?”
“Nope.”
We both laughed.
Kate got up and went to her fridge, where she pulled out a small plate with saran wrap draped over it. She brought it over and set it down between us. “I made cream puffs.”
“You spoil me.”
She shrugged. “I like to.”
I peeled off the saran wrap, and we both popped a perfectly chilled, chocolate-dipped cream puff into our mouths. I smiled as the cream in the middle escaped the corners of Kate’s lips. We both burst into a fit of giggles. She wiped the corners of her mouth with her thumbs, and I had to look away to keep my composure, otherwise my food would be leaking out too.
After a second and third creampuff, I told Kate about Mr. Johnson calling me earlier, and how he had invited me to his retirement party.
“He hasn’t retired yet?” Kate asked dubiously.
I shook my head. “I think he tried two years ago but caved. He wasn’t ready to stop. But now that he’s throwing a party, I think we can assume this is it. No more Mr. Johnson at Baker High.”
“And why are you telling me about this? You want me to go with you or something?”
I nodded. “If it wouldn’t be too much of a bother, yes.”
“Oh come on, Elise. You know that’s not my type of thing. I won’t know anyone there.”
“But you’re charming, and pretty, and funny. You’ll make friends right away. I need you there with me.”
“Why?” Kate asked.
I sighed. “Because. I’m bad at this sort of stuff. And I don’t want to keep having the same conversations with people about my book—the same book I’ve been working on for ages that nobody thinks I’ll ever publish.”
“Who gives a damn what they think?”
I shook my head. “I don’t give a damn, but I don’t want to keep having the same talks. And having them tell me not to worry, and that I’ll get there one day, and that I’m talented. I’m over it.”
Kate sighed. “Fine. I’ll go with you. But I’m not staying late.”
“That’s fine. Thank you, Kate. Seriously. I appreciate it.”
Kate rolled her eyes at me and reached for another cream puff. “Anything for my baby sister.”
Chapter 5
Dallas
“Roy, we were supposed to be at Papa’s house fifteen minutes ago. Come on. Work with me a bit here. Where did you last see your boots?”
Roy looked up at me from where he sat on the bench at the front door, swinging his dangling feet back and forth. “Umm. I don’t remember,” he said innocently.
“I know, but try. Did you leave them at school?”
Roy shook his head. “No. I’m not allowed to wear them in the classroom. And I put them on when I leave. Remember? Indoor shoes and outdoor shoes.”
“Of course. Well, where did you wear them last?”
“School.”
Right back where we started. I tried to not sigh in exasperation. “And you’re sure you didn’t wear them up to your bedroom?”
Roy shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Okay. Come on. Let’s take one more look around your bedroom. If they’re not there, you’ll just have to wear your sneakers.”
“Papa said it was too cold for sneakers when he drove me to the pool yesterday.”
“Yes. Well, Papa says a lot of things. As long as you have socks on, you’ll be fine.” I was in no mood to contend with my father’s lofty opinions of my son’s footwear.
I marched upstairs with Roy hot on my heels. He ran around my legs when we reached the second-floor landing and then darted into his bedroom. I followed him in and looked around.
The boots weren’t anywhere obvious, which meant they were in one of two places.
“You check the closet, and I’ll check under the bed,” I said.
Roy nodded and pulled his closet doors open. I went to my knees on the carpet. I put my cheek flush to the floor and peered under the navy blue bed skirt. “Ah hah! Here they are, Roy. Let’s get out of here.”
The two of us hurried back downstairs, where Roy hopped up onto the bench once more, and I hurried to lace up his boots. If we weren’t already late, Roy would have done it himself—or if we were going anywhere else but my father’s.
Once Roy had his boots and coat on, we rushed out to the car. I buckled him into his seat in the back and got behind the wheel. I pulled out of the driveway and headed out of town to the coastal gated community of Maine, where my father’s estate was.
It took only ten minutes to get there, and we were pulling up to the electric gate all too soon. I entered my personal pass code, which had been the same since my first year of high school, and the gate slid open, allowing me to drive my car through and up the snaking driveway to the sprawling mansion that backed onto the Atlantic.
It was magnificent. No one could deny that. But it had also been a cage for me in my teenage years that I’d been desperate to escape. If I ever caught my father putting pressure on Roy the way he used to do to me, I’d have a big problem on my hands. Roy loved his Papa, and my father loved Roy, but there was no way in hell I was going to let my dad sink his overly critical claws into my son.
I parked the car and let Roy out. Then we walked up to the front door. I knocked, and my father’s current housekeeper opened the door. She was a plump, middle-aged woman with freckles and curly brown hair. She had a sweet smile, and she said hello to Roy before she greeted me. I was all right with that.
She was shooed away when my father came down the winding staircase. He was dressed in black slacks and a dark gray, long-sleeved sweater. It may or may not have been cashmere. I decided I didn’t care.
Roy took off running across the grand marble entranceway to my father, who took a knee and hugged his grandson in greeting. He whispered something in Roy’s ear, and my son shot off down the hall like a rocket, yelling goodbye to me over his shoulder on his way.
Grandpa’s house was always fun for Roy.
My father came and greeted me at the door. “You’re late.”
“I know. Time got away from me.”
“Funny how much that tends to happen with you, Dallas.”
I shrugged and slipped my hands in my pockets. “How’ve you been, Dad?”
“Good. Quite good. Keeping busy.”
“I hope I’m not putting you out by needing you to watch Roy tonight.”
My father shook his head and frowned. Wrinkles appeared at the corners of his mouth and eyes. His gray hair was slicked back without a strand out of place. He looked the same as always. Cool. Collected. And very rich. “You’re not putting me out at all, my boy. Not at all. You know I love spending time with Roy.”
“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? Val has been slow cooking a roast all afternoon.”
“I can’t, Dad. Mr. Johnsons was—”
“Important. Yes, I know. But really, there are better things you could be spending your time doing, right? Like having a meal with your family. Or working on discovering your next big writer. Treo is a good place for you, Dallas, but at this rate, you’ll forever be in my shadow. You need to do something great, and greatness is not achieved at small-town dinner parties with old high school teachers. I started the company as my legacy, but now as I grow old, I want it to be yours.”
And so it started. I always tried to forget the fact that my cynical father was also my boss, but he never hesitated to remind me of it.
I shook my head. “I know you think nights like this are indulgent,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But sometimes, you have to sacrifice time for people you care about. Mr. Johnson helped me out a lot in high school. I’d like to celebrate with him.”
My father nodded, but I could see the disdain in his deep brown eyes. “Ver
y well. Try not to indulge in conversation with anyone who might, you know, see an opportunity in you.”
“Dad, nobody there will be looking for a handout.”
“Even if Elise is there?” he asked.
I blinked. I hadn’t expected that—but I should have. I definitely should have. My dad was not Elise’s number one fan. “She won’t be there, Dad. Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, if she is, you just be wary of her. She’s no good for you. Never was. Never will be. And I know you’ve got a soft spot for her.”
“Dad—”
“Us men can’t help ourselves sometimes. She’s a pretty thing. That’s for sure. But she only wants what she can get from you.”
“All right,” I said a little too sharply. “I have to go. Otherwise, I’ll be late.”
“You’re already late.”
“Bye, Dad. Thanks again. I’ll be back in the morning to pick up Roy.”
I picked Elijah up at his place. He was standing at the curb with his chin tucked into the collar of his black military-style jacket. He dropped down into the passenger seat with a huff and cranked the heat while scowling at me. “It’s fucking freezing out there, you jackass.”
“Why is that my fault?” I asked.
“Because I’ve been waiting outside for fifteen minutes.”
I shook my head. “Well, you made that choice, not me.”
We drove in stony silence to the cafe Mr. Johnson had booked for his retirement event. It was a coffee shop by day and a pub by night, and I’d been there many times before. We pulled up, parked at the curb, and made our way into the little cafe.
We were greeted with the scent of vanilla and nutmeg. And something spicy. People were milling around, chatting amongst themselves, and I spotted Mr. Johnson in the far corner, a beer in one hand and his phone in the other.
Elijah fell into line at the bar to order us each a drink as I cut through the crowd to meet up with my old band director. He was talking to two young women when I drew up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.
He turned around, and his face lit up when he saw me. “Jansen!” he cried before throwing his arms around me in a hug.