Cathy turned off the hose and began to coil it. “Hey, yourself.”
“Did your mom tell you about Ellen and Richard’s offer to send me to that expensive school?”
I hadn’t really planned on talking about it, but the words were out before I could stop them.
“Yeah, she did.”
“And?”
Cathy shrugged. “And what?”
Sometimes she can be so freakin’ annoying. “And what do you think about it?”
Cathy hung the coiled hose on a peg attached to the house. “I think,” she said, “that it’s a bit weird. I mean, they hardly even know you, and they want you to live with them? Of course, I guess it’s a generous offer in some ways. I mean, offering all that money. Mom said the tuition is, like, out of control. But . . .”
“But you wouldn’t accept.”
Cathy laughed. “First of all, you and I are in totally different situations. But if some long-lost relative of mine suddenly showed up and asked me to move away with them, I’d say no, and for all sorts of reasons. Number one, I’m happy where I am. Why would I leave?”
Happy where I am. I thought about that. Was I ever happy being where I was with my father? Yeah. A long time ago.
Am I happy being where I am now? What does happy mean, anyway?
“It’s probably what Verity wants,” I said, “for me to go away. I’d be doing her a favor if I go to live with Ellen and Richard. Face it, I got dumped on her. She didn’t ask for me.”
But even as I was saying those words, I knew it wasn’t at all true, that Verity would want me to leave. I had ample proof of that, even if I discounted the now shut-down website. Verity is happy I’m where I am. That much I know.
“That’s not fair,” Cathy argued, echoing my thoughts. “I know Verity. She does want you. She’s always wanted you.”
And then I snapped. Blame it on that stupid call from Alan.
“You know her? You’re not her daughter, her flesh and blood. I might only have met her a few weeks ago, but trust me, I can tell about her.”
Cathy didn’t say anything for a moment but looked at me intently. It made me nervous.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing. Look, are you really seriously considering saying yes to Ellen?”
Now it was my turn to shrug.
Only later, after I’d been home for a while, did I realize what had really been behind my snapping at Cathy when she’d claimed to know Verity. My attitude toward Verity has changed. I no longer consider her the enemy. I’m not saying I love her or anything, but if I’m honest with myself I can say I like her. I believe her to be a good person. I believe she cares for me, even if I can’t yet—maybe ever?—care for her back to the same extent.
Happy where I am.
Things seemed to have been straightening out for a while, but now, since Ellen and Richard came to Yorktide intent on being, in Ellen’s words, Fairy Godparents, things are feeling seriously confused again.
After the life I’ve had, I’m not a big fan of confusion.
Chapter 89
Verity was invited to my Phony Birthday dinner at some new restaurant in Ogunquit called Aquamarine, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. On the one hand, I guess it was nice of Ellen and Richard to ask her along. But on the other . . . I know Verity doesn’t like or even trust Ellen and Richard—and I’m not sure I do, either, at least, not much—and I imagined a seriously uncomfortable time with the three of them, me being the only common link. And with the question of Greyson Academy hanging over us . . .
As it turns out, David had gotten two tickets to hear a jazz trio play at a little club up in Portland that night. The night of my Phony Birthday. When I told Verity about the invitation to dinner, she immediately offered to cancel on David, but I convinced her (it took some doing) that she should go and have fun. I don’t know what she thinks Ellen and Richard are going to do when they get me alone. Whisk me off to . . . Oh. I’m almost laughing right now. Verity has a reason to worry about people stealing me. Sorry.
I didn’t enjoy myself much, though the food was okay, but the waiters were stiff and they hovered over us, replacing silverware for no reason I could see and refilling the water glasses every time one of us took a sip. Give me The Friendly Lobsterman any day. At one point Ellen asked me if I’d given more thought to their offer to live with them and go to that fancy school. I said that yeah, I had.
“And?” she asked, leaning toward me.
An eager beaver, I thought. I shrugged. “That’s it.”
Richard spoke up then. “Now, Ellen,” he said, “Gemma has a very big decision to make. She needs time.”
“But—”
“Ellen.”
I was grateful to Richard for controlling his wife—is that a bad term to use about a husband and wife, controlling?—and then he started a conversation about who was running for president in the next election. I listened closely, though I’ve never really paid much attention to politics. It was interesting. Richard is like the exact opposite of Alan, in that he seems to care about what goes on beyond the walls of his own home. I thought then of David, too. David is more like Richard than like Alan—he’s not a loser—but he’s also different from Richard. David is . . . Well, I don’t know what he is, but I like him.
The most annoying parts of the night were the times when Ellen—never Richard—made nasty comments about my father. Not always nasty but definitely critical, like telling me about a time when they were teens (Ellen’s a few years older than my father) and he begged her (that was her term) to let him come along with her and her friends to some party and she let him and he got seriously drunk and threw up all over an expensive couch. I wanted to tell her not to talk about him at all if she couldn’t say something nice (and clearly, she can’t) but like I said, since Marion told me about Alan’s violent past, I can’t seem to defend him. I’m pretty disgusted with my cowardice, if that’s what it is. Or my lack of loyalty. I mean, I’m usually right out there with whatever comes into my mind, and I’ve always been good at sticking up for me and for Alan.
This is a weird thought, but I wonder if I didn’t say anything because Ellen was paying for dinner in that fancy place. Did I allow myself to be bought?
Is that what it would be like if I do for some reason accept the offer of living with Ellen and Richard and going to that private school? Am I going to turn into a wimp?
They gave me a watch. (What are they going to give me next, a diamond ring?) I’ve never worn a watch in my life, and I don’t intend to start now. But I took it and said thanks. I even put it on, though I took it off the minute I got home. Verity wasn’t back yet from the concert, which was good because I don’t want her to see the watch. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it. I can’t pass it on to Verity, because she won’t wear it. And Ellen will probably want to see it on me, so I can’t sell it, though Verity and I could use the money. I wonder if I can return it, nicely. Say, Thanks, but I don’t wear a watch.
I mean, gifts aren’t supposed to come with ties, right? You’re supposed to give someone a gift because you like her and not because you want her to give you something in return. But of course not everybody thinks that way.
I feel—weird. Maybe it’s the raw oyster Ellen convinced me to try.
Chapter 90
This morning Ellen called and said she wanted us to go for a massage.
“Full body, with hot stones and soothing oils, the whole works,” she said. “You’ll love it.”
I wasn’t sure of that at all. The idea of lying naked on a table while some stranger—man or woman—touches me all over gives me the creeps. As nicely as I could, I said no thanks, and then Ellen insisted I at least get a pedicure.
“Every woman should get a pedicure once a month,” she said. “It’s essential maintenance.”
What about men? I wondered. Don’t they need to “maintain” their feet? But my feet were kind of a mess, so I said sure. I’ll get a pedicure.
So we went
to a salon in Kennebunkport. The staff spoke in hushed voices, and there was odd but nice music playing really softly. The furniture was in tones of tan and taupe and sand, and there were vases with fat pink flowers. Peonies, I think they’re called. I’d never been in a place anything like this salon, and I felt massively out of my element. I mean, people go there to be pampered. Pampering isn’t something anyone in my old life knows anything about.
My old life. That was a lot about being loud and getting by.
Ellen went off for her massage, and I was led into the room where they do manicures and pedicures. The pedicure was great, actually. Kind of ticklish at times, but the massage part was amazing—they used hot stones on me, too—and my feet have never looked so good. Ellen had paid in advance, but I snuck a look at one of the brochures stacked on the front desk of the salon. The pedicure cost sixty-five bucks. Unbelievable.
Maintenance is expensive. I wonder when Verity last had a pedicure.
After we left the salon, we went to this little Italian-themed café where Ellen drank, like, four glasses of water before ordering a glass of wine—she said you’re supposed to drink a lot of water after a massage. We sat there for a while, and Ellen didn’t mention one word about Greyson or Paris or living with her and Richard, though I knew we were both thinking about it, so at one point, after I had eaten half of the tiramisu I’d ordered (good stuff; I’d never had it before), I decided to bring it up.
“What I want to know is, why me? I mean, I know I’m a relative, but that doesn’t really mean anything. Why are you offering so much to me?”
“You’re family,” Ellen said promptly.
“But you have no use for my father,” I pointed out. “And he’s family too. I mean, you hate him. So why care about me?”
Ellen shook her head. “You’re not your father, Gemma. You have nothing at all to do with him. And he has nothing at all to do with you.”
Except for the fact that we share DNA, I thought. But I didn’t argue. Knowing what I now know about Alan, I’m not in any need of being identified as his flesh and blood.
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything,” I said, “but I—”
Ellen didn’t let me finish. “After all you’ve been through, Gemma,” she said, “you deserve this opportunity. You deserve this opportunity to excel, to show the world what you’re made of.”
Do I? Does anyone deserve good stuff in life? I mean, people who do disgusting things like rape and murder other people deserve to be punished, but life can really suck. And let’s say, okay, people do deserve good stuff to happen to them, most times it doesn’t happen. That’s just the way life is.
“I don’t think I deserve anything in particular,” I said.
Ellen looked at me so intensely, it kind of weirded me out. “Yes,” she said, and her tone was fierce. “Yes, Gemma, you do deserve a way out. A way up.”
The way she said it, like she was determined to convince me no matter what it took that I was worthy of special treatment, of serious attention, kind of shook me.
Maybe, I thought, I am worthy of this life she’s holding out to me. This chance.
Maybe.
Chapter 91
“What an ass!” Gemma cried after she’d slammed down the receiver and come stomping out of her room earlier and into the kitchen, where I was answering a few e-mails on my laptop.
“Don’t call your father an ass,” I said.
Gemma laughed. “What? Seriously? You of all people are telling me not to call my father an ass? The man who ruined your life for seventeen years?”
I winced. “Sorry. Knee-jerk reaction. I was channeling The Spirit of Parenthood. So, what happened?” I had never asked her what she and Alan had discussed during their scheduled phone call. But now it seemed the right thing to do.
“He won’t take the plea bargain,” Gemma said, yanking out a chair and dropping into it. “I’ve been arguing with him about it for weeks. Me and his lawyers. He’s such an idiot! Do you know what this means? This means he’ll have to serve the full sentence the judge eventually gives him. He could be in prison for, like, ten years! Maybe more, I don’t know!”
The news didn’t come as much of a surprise to me, I’m sorry to say. Alan’s lawyers, I thought, must be ready to wash their hands of him. “I’m sorry,” I said. And to myself I added: I’m sorry you wasted your time trying to make Alan see reason.
Gemma bent over and put her elbows on her knees, hands clasped in front of her. “It’s just that I thought . . . Forget it.”
“You thought what?” I asked gently.
A long moment later Gemma said: “Even after what Marion told me about his past, I guess I still thought I could maybe rely on him to be smart. That maybe the thought of having to spend even more time in jail away from me would set him straight. I was wrong.”
I wanted to agree with Gemma that Alan is an ass, but nothing will ever make me change my policy of maintaining a neutral public attitude toward her father. I don’t believe in feeding the hate. I can’t afford to, especially not now with Ellen and Richard vying for my child’s . . . what? Her love?
“Alan,” I said carefully, “never really understood his own best interests. We all have moments when we make decisions that are bound to hurt us, but some people, and Alan is one of them, can’t seem to make the other sort of decisions, the ones that will benefit him. I don’t think he can help it. I don’t think we can really blame him for what he’s done.”
But Gemma was having none of it. “I can blame him,” she said, looking up at me with an expression of fierce determination, “and I do. In fact, that’s it. I’m cutting off all communication with him. The next time he calls, I’m going to refuse to take the call. I’ll let the prison people know I don’t want anything more to do with him.”
“Are you sure it’s really what you want?” I asked gently, and I reached over and put my hand on her arm, for just a moment.
“Yeah. I guess you’re happy about that.”
I felt a tiny sting of hurt, but I reminded myself that she was upset. Disappointed. Angry. She wasn’t in full control of her emotions. And it was clear to me that she was wrestling with self-pity, something alien, I think, to her personality. Well, I thought, if anyone deserves to feel self-pity, it’s Gemma.
“Actually,” I said, “my feelings are complicated. On the one hand, I’m glad you want to put some space between you and your father. I can’t see what real benefit it’s been, keeping in touch with him. Then again, I’d be expected to say that, wouldn’t I? But on the other hand—don’t doubt me, here—on the other hand I’m genuinely sorry it’s come to this. I’m sorry it’s come to your feeling it’s best to put Alan aside for however long you need to. No child of whatever age should be put in the position where she has to choose to break away from a parent.” Frankly, I thought, it’s heartbreaking. And then I thought of my own father and felt. . . uncomfortable.
Gemma shook her head. “I don’t understand why you’re being so . . . so generous! He’s an idiot. You’re sorry I’m rejecting an idiot. That doesn’t make a lot of sense, Mom.”
Mom. “It doesn’t have to,” I said, carefully hiding my elation. “Feelings usually don’t.”
“Yeah. That’s the truth.”
“Do you want to get out of here for a while? Drive to the beach.”
Gemma rubbed her forehead. “No. Wait. Yes.”
I got up from the table. “I’ll get my keys.”
Chapter 92
The day Alan got arrested and I learned who I really was felt like the absolute worst day of my life, a total end to something, to everything. But now, I don’t know. Now it feels even more final, like every last stupid little half hope I had of Alan’s doing the right thing, the smart thing, of his not letting me down, has been stomped on. Completely shattered. I have no faith in my father anymore, none.
What if, I wondered, by some weird chance, some flaw in the legal system, he was released from prison tomorrow? Would I wan
t to go back to him?
The answer to that is no.
Nothing and nobody can work miracles for you, I figured that out a long time ago, but I wonder if going to Greyson Academy would somehow really, completely stop me from ever going downhill like my father, from being such a total loser and screwing up the lives of the people he had loved, the lives of the people who had loved him.
Ellen said I had nothing to do with my father and that he had nothing to do with me. But that’s not right, and she knows it. Everyone knows it. Bad shit is inherited just like good shit comes down through generations.
I think I called Verity Mom when I was telling her about Alan refusing the plea bargain. I’m pretty sure I did. If I did, it just slipped out. She didn’t comment on the “Mom,” but that’s like her. She wouldn’t embarrass me by making a big deal out of it.
I never really thought about it like this, but if I go to live with Ellen and Richard, there’s a chance Richard might become a sort of replacement father or a father substitute.
Do I want that, someone taking over where Alan left off?
Or David. If Verity marries David someday, he’ll be my official stepfather.
But it’s ridiculous to think about father figures. I have one father, and he’s more than enough trouble. Besides, I’m too old to be influenced by some new guy, too old to be positively affected by his attitude toward me. What Alan did to me is what I’m stuck with, right?
I’m so freakin’ confused. I’m thinking like an idiot.
For all I know, Richard doesn’t really want me to live with them. He could be just putting up with Ellen’s whim or fantasy of a happy family or whatever it is she really wants to make us into. And if Richard is just tolerating the idea of the three of us living under one roof, that could be really miserable for me in the end.
How can I know what’s really going on?
How can I really know the right thing to do?
Chapter 93
I wonder if Gemma realized what she’d called me after she’d gotten off the phone with Alan. Mom. I wasn’t going to point it out to her at the time, and I’m still not. For all I know, it was both the first and the last time I’ll hear that word from her.
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