Every Time He Leaves (The Raeven Sisters Book 1)

by Karington, Anna

  I'm not sure how I'll forgive her for this treachery. Does she even deserve forgiveness when she tried to turn her daughters on their own father? How dare she poison us with such foul thoughts about a man who she knew we adored?

  She knew she was in the wrong. She must have known. That selfish witch!

  As I pull into the driveway behind Mom's car, I eye the house as if it lied to me.

  I hope for Mom's sake she's in a mood to fight, because I sure am! And I plan on drilling this into her so severely she won't know what hit her. She'll feel bad about what she did, whether she likes it or not.

  I knock, far more calmly than I imagined I would knock. I feel as if I'm in the eye of the storm. My rage has generated a surge of energy within me—it makes me feel powerful, invincible. Where was this the night Kirk attacked Janet?

  She opens the door, a surprised look in her eyes. In white pants, a leopard-print blouse, and red shoes that match her belt, it's clear she was planning to head out. “Oh, Lana. I didn't expect you to come here today. You should have called.”

  Her words evoke further aggression. “I can't just come see my mother?”

  “Don't be like that. You can come see your mother whenever you want. I was just surprised, that's all.”

  I follow her inside and she leads me into the kitchen. “What have you been up to today?” I ask.

  “I'm about to have dinner with Shelley Rigby and Deanna Kower. I've been meaning to chat with them about the next Women's Club meeting for some time now, you know.”

  I spot a glass of what's clearly white wine on the counter. I guess she felt she needed to get a little alcohol in her before the meeting. At least I know where Janet gets it from.

  “Do you want me to put on some water for tea?” she asks.

  “That'd be lovely.” I'd never agree to have tea with Mom, but considering the circumstances, I don't mind dragging this out a bit.

  “How's that fundraiser for work going?” she asks as she fetches the kettle and takes it to the sink.

  “It's coming along. A few odds and ends I'm trying to sort through, but other than that, fairly well.”

  She sets the kettle on the stove and turns the burner knob. “That's good. I've been trying to get ready for this next Women's Club meeting. Megan thinks we should work with the community theatre on their production of Fiddler on the Roof, but I don't know how comfortable I feel being associated with the theatre. That's not really any of our concern. Beneath us, don't you think? It's my fault for insisting we contribute all that money to the symphony. Now we're supposed to be there for all the arts. It's all just so time-consuming—you don't even know. Of course, back in the day, your father would have thrown money at the theatre or any other cause he deemed worthy of taking all his hard earned money.”

  And here it is—not within five minutes of speaking with her, she's talking about the very thing that's pissing me off. “What did you say?”

  “Lana, I won't hear your defending him right now. I just spoke with Geoffrey today, and he is stubborn as ever that we shouldn't go to court over the trust.”

  “To court?”

  “I just believe we should contest the will so that we have total access to what's rightfully ours. If he had known he was going to leave us in that state, I'm sure he would have granted us access to that money, aren't you?"

  “I think Daddy was wise not to let you have access to it all at once.”

  “Me?” she asks, totally thrown by my obvious accusation.

  “You're the one who blew through his money,” I say, my words severe and bold. I won't let her sneak her way out of this. Not after how horrible she's been about Daddy. “You're the one who held your extravagant parties and bought all those designer clothes. You're the one who bought a second condo and a third. Did you think the money would last forever?”

  “How dare you suggest—”

  “I'm not suggesting, Mom. I'm flat out telling you that you wasted our money. Because that's what you did. I wasn't relying on Daddy's money. I'm still not relying on it, because you've hoarded what you've managed to get and used it on every frivolous thing you could ever think of, so don't tell me that he did this to us, Mom, because you did this to yourself.”

  “What's gotten into you?”

  “I spoke with Geoffrey. He told me the truth about everything you've been lying about all this time, so next time you try to turn me against Daddy just because you feel so guilty about how horrible you've been with our finances, tell it to someone who'll believe you, because it won't be me. Not anymore.”

  She shakes with rage. I know the look because she used to look like that whenever we tracked mud into the house...or just before she and Daddy got into an argument.

  “You think it was easy on me when he went and left us like that?”

  “Left us? You don't know what it means to be left. Left is when someone has a choice. He didn't, Mom. He died of a brain aneurism, and you know there was nothing he could have done.”

  “I was devastated. I had three girls I still had to raise.”

  “Raise? Is that what you call what you did? You didn't raise us any more than you did before he died. You never cared about us. You cared about your greedy, narcissistic pursuits, and how dare you try and convince us that our father was this wasteful asshole who didn't give us two thoughts, when in reality he was the most caring and nurturing man that we could have hoped for.”

  “You give me fits, Lana. Are you trying to give me an anxiety attack?”

  “God forbid I do anything that could lead to one of your anxiety attacks. Here. I'll make this real easy on you. I'm going. And if you need anything else from me, for any party or get-together, you know where to find Kelsey. I'm sure that even when she finds out what you've done, she won't give a flying fuck.”

  “Lana!”

  “Grow up, Mom.”

  I don't spend another moment in her house. I'm done with her. I'm furious. I can't deal with her lies anymore. Maybe I was a little too hard on her, but it's how I feel right now, and in some ways, I'm unleashing all my rage about the whole Jarek situation on her. I don't feel guilty about it, though. I hurry into my car and leave.

  I don't make it very far before I pull over, my face twisting in spasms and my eyes filling with tears. I grip the steering wheel and brace myself as I cry.

  It can never be easy, can it? Something always has to go wrong. I just can't take it anymore.

  KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

  Great. I totally need a visitor right now.

  I lounge on the couch. The sound of a particularly violent horror film fills the room. I don't know why, but right now, I'm drawn to the violence, the bloodshed. This girl, desperately running from the slasher, reminds me of myself. Like I'm running from all these demons within me.

  To think this is how I'm spending my Friday afternoon.

  My anger and frustration at Mom and Jarek has settled. Though I'm still pissed with Mom, I'm just confused with how Jarek and I left things. What did our experience at Mom's mean? Did it mean anything?

  I've tried to reject these thoughts, but they come unbidden, invading my mind, like a slasher chasing me through the night, stalking me. And even when I think I've lost him, I'm constantly searching around, waiting for him to leap out from some unknown hiding spot.

  The knock at the door forces me out of my brooding. I rise and answer the door.

  Jarek stands on the doormat just outside, wearing jeans, a tee, and a pout.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. The expression on my face must reveal my disapproval of his presence. However, I'm pleased that he's here, because it will perhaps give us a chance to establish where we really stand now.

  I don't want him out of my life. I'm not that good at resisting him. Yet I know better than to allow him as close as I have.

  “I'm sorry,” he says.

  “What?” Jarek Dean, you've totally thrown me yet again.

  “You were very clear from the get-go what this wa
s, and I went and changed the rules. So I'm sorry for that.” It's not the apology I was hoping for, but it'll do for this moment. Any apology from Jarek Dean is cathartic. “But just because we can't...” He stops himself, his gaze finishing his sentence. It's as if he wants to say something naughty, but I know what he's really reaching for is “be in a relationship.”

  “Can we at least be friends?” he asks.

  I don't know that I can, but after all that's happened, after how far I let it get, I can't help but think that I want him to be a part of my life in whatever way he's willing to be a part of it.

  “I'd be fine with that.” It's not true. I know it, because the girl in me is screaming at me, begging me not to accept it, reminding me of what he did. However, after all he's done, after all I've seen, I want to believe I can move beyond that.

  His smile fills me with relief. “If you're willing, I'd like to take you somewhere. I have something planned for this evening. Something I think you'll enjoy.”

  I eye him suspiciously. After the other night, I'm not sure I can take any of his surprises.

  He raises his hands, suggesting he's unarmed. I laugh, and I wish I hadn't, because he shouldn't be able to make me smile.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “If you come with me, I'll show you.”

  I could make up an excuse. There are so many reasons I could be unavailable tonight. A date with Janet. A date with Mom. A date with a man. However, if I dismiss him, I won’t get to know what surprise he has in store for me. It reminds me of when we were kids and he'd keep a secret just to make me beg for him to tell me.

  What am I going to do with you, Jarek? He smiles, because he knows he's won.

  I prepare to head out, dressing in casual clothes to match his less-than-glamorous outfit. He leads me to his car and drives us downtown.

  He hasn't spoken to me since we left my apartment. I can't even begin to speculate what surprise awaits me, but as the car slows down, I glance around, trying to figure out where he's led me.

  He passes a few tables set up on the side of the road with a large banner that reads, “Atlanta Hearts & Hugs.” AHH is the organization we used to volunteer for when we were younger. Has he brought me here to remind me of those times?

  As he slips into the parking lot across the street, the one where he used parked his truck, I check the time: 7:00PM. The stand opens at 7:30PM. He's brought me here to volunteer.

  I reflect on the conversation we had where I told him that I was bothered by my job because it wasn't the same as helping people face-to-face. I glare at him. This is along the same lines as what he did the other night, when he duped me into going on that date with him. Where he reminded me of all those wonderful times we had together. How could he do that to me? How does he do this to me?

  We approach the stand together. A few teenagers prepare the dishes across two fold-out tables. Some remove trays and paper plates. An older man wears a red apron, the sunlight reflecting off his balding scalp as he flips a burger. Behind him, beneath one of the tables, a woman riffles through a box of plastic silverware.

  I don't recognize anyone here. Surely everything has changed since we were younger.

  I feel guilty for not volunteering more. Certainly, there are plenty of opportunities like this available, but life always seems too busy to take a moment to reach out and help. The gentleman behind the barbecue glances our way and approaches. “How are you two today?” he asks, leaving me wondering if Jarek bothered to sign us up or if we're just crashing the stand.

  Jarek reaches his hand out and shakes the man's hand. “Good to see you again, Dirk. This is Lana.”

  “Do you know each other?” I ask Jarek.

  “He was here a couple of days ago,” Dirk replies. “Guy's got a knack for the grill.”

  A few days ago? Jarek just came down here and helped out? Now I'm really thrown. Surely a guy with a camera is about to hop out from some hiding place to let me know this has all been part of a cruel and humiliating reality gag.

  “Lana, do you think you could help me?” the woman riffling through the box of plastic utensils asks as she rises from her work. “I need to get some boxes from the van, and it's just going to take me forever if I try to do it on my own.”

  “Certainly,” I say with a smile, happy there's a way I can contribute. I eagerly follow her to her car while Jarek takes his place at the grill.

  After I help with boxes, I return and help scoop out various food items from aluminum tins onto the trays of some of our visitors, who have started lining up at the stand. “How are you today?” I ask a man who has two kids on either side of him.

  With a five o'clock shadow and a disheartened smile, I can tell he's not eager to accept the charity, but I figure he's doing it for his children more than himself. And while it pains me to see that expression on his face, I'm pleased I'm offering him something of value. This reminds me of why I enjoyed volunteering so much—why I enjoyed helping people, why Daddy enjoyed helping people.

  Jarek steps up beside me. “What'll you have, young lady?” he asks the young girl beside the father.

  The girl grins broadly, clearly pleased that Jarek is paying attention to her. “A cheeseburger, please,” she says as she nestles her head against her father's khakis.

  “You got it. And for you, man?” he asks the boy, who equally beams.

  It really is just like back then.

  The boy asks for a hamburger. Jarek's glance shifts to the father, who seems even more bothered now that he has two of us assisting him. “You've got two beautiful kids there,” Jarek says.

  His words soften the man's expression. “Thanks.”

  Jarek takes the man's request and then heads back to the grill to get the burgers as I finish piling food onto their trays.

  This makes me feel that what I do for a living is trite. While I appreciate the opportunities it's provided, it's not the same as this—being here, really assisting people who are struggling to survive.

  We continue for three hours before the line has cleared. Then we pack up.

  Once we're finished assisting, Jarek drives me to his hotel so I can clean up some of the grime I've collected on my arms and face, which feels like it's been collecting grease from all the steam I've been around for the past two hours.

  As I enter his suite, I'm as impressed as I figured I'd be. The wide room is packed with décor I don't usually see in hotel rooms. Peculiar, modern artwork that surely only a designer with more eclectic tastes than myself could appreciate fills the room. French doors on the far wall open out to a balcony that looks down at the city lights.

  Jarek shows me to the bathroom, where I rinse my arms and face before returning to the living room where Jarek lies stretched out on an oatmeal-white couch. He appears so at ease, so relaxed. He's clearly as exhausted as I am from the workload, but the look on his face reveals that he's just as satisfied as I am by what we've accomplished. “You want a drink?” he asks.

  I consider, but I know he wants more than a drink. I want more than a drink as well, but I don't think that would be wise. I know where this will end up, and I have a feeling that if I get too close to his freshly acquired barbecue fragrance, I might lose control of myself.

  “No, thank you,” I say. “I'll call a car and head home, I think.”

  He pouts, then rises and approaches me. “You don't have to.” Those beautiful blue eyes pierce through me, and I feel that same sensation welling up within me, the one that was so powerful the night we fucked at Mom's party.

  No. Don't. Not again.

  Every time I give in, every time I don't fight, I'm left feeling weak. Like I've lost a part of myself to him, and I don't want to give him any more of me.

  I can't do it again.

  “I'm sorry,” I say, “but I have to get home.”

  He moves in likes he's about to kiss me, but he's waiting for me to offer some sort of approval.

  I won't. Not tonight.

  I
slip past him and walk to the door before turning back around.

  He gazes at me, as if in awe that I've managed to escape his charm. I'm not proud that I have, but I feel that I'm finally wise enough to do the right thing.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “For what?”

  “For today. For being my friend.”

  Though he appears disappointed, I feel more at ease than I ever thought I could feel around him. Because while I can never have him the way I want him, at the very least I can keep myself from destroying my own life with these masochist impulses that keep bringing me back into his arms.

  I want to ask him, to end the questions, the confusion, about why he left that day, but I stop myself. We'll never be together, so what's the point? Why dig that back up right now?

  “I'll see you Saturday for the fundraiser?” he asks. I nod and head out.

  As I make my way to the elevator, I realize this is the first time I've walked out on Jarek. It feels cathartic, though it doesn't take away the sting of the memories, the one that I know can never heal, no matter how much good Jarek may do. No matter what he could possibly do to make up for leaving.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I've scrambled around for hours, tending to VIP seating, catering, and equipment rentals. Derren and Stephanie have stepped up their game, helping me juggle the many tasks that must be handled immediately, assuring me that it’s only mundane, day-to-day jobs they choose to neglect.

  Jarek texted me ten minutes earlier to alert me of his arrival, but I haven't had a chance to meet up with him yet, as I've had so much to take care of. Though I made my intentions with him clear, considering how much he helped me, it would have been insulting not to invite him as my date. He's here as my friend, and though I'll never shake these feelings that linger for him, at the very least I can get through one night.

  I haven't spoken to Mom since our argument at the beginning of the week, and I don't plan on reaching out to her, though she's left several voicemails—none of which I've listened to. She doesn't deserve my response. I did, however, tell Janet she could invite Mom to the fundraiser. If she chooses to come, I'm willing to consider a truce.