“Tom Sullivan,” he said, holding out his hand. Or paw. His hand looked more like a paw. And he was as wide as two of her. How did he fit through narrow doorways? She must have been staring because he gave her a sheepish look and said, “Played football in college.”
She’d never been all that into sports. Michigan Stadium had been too long a hike from the dorms. But he looked like a guy who had played Division I football, and it was pretty admirable to go that route and end up at an Ivy League medical school. “Christine Spencer,” she said.
“You’re sharp,” he observed. “Knocked that physiology professor on his ass.”
This guy was definitely a first year like her. And had apparently witnessed her intellectual prowess a few moments before. The professor had to have been at least ninety years old, his best years as an educator long behind him. She could have toppled him with a feather. He’d lobbed her a softball, anyway. Anyone with two brain cells would have answered it correctly.
“I have a chemistry degree,” she said.
“That doesn’t cover the half of it. You know your stuff.” He tried to look as nonchalant as possible. “I, on the other hand…”
Maybe the brain those paws were attached to wasn’t quite as skilled as it appeared. “We haven’t been here that long. You’re still well within the adjustment period.”
“You rattled off facts and figures like you’d memorized the damn book,” he said.
She virtually had, since studying and avoiding her own residence was about all she did. She’d signed a lease on a studio apartment with her limited financial aid scraps. Wallpaper peeling, appliances of questionable reliability, asshole landlord. If she were smart, she’d keep a gun under the bed for safety. And she was damned if she would ever live that way again. Which was why Christine practically lived in the library.
“I have a good memory,” she muttered.
“How do you like it so far?” he asked.
Did he have a mental list of questions he used to pick up chicks? So blatantly obvious. “It’s tough. I like tough.”
“Where you living?”
Check another question off, apparently. She was tempted to tell him about her literal hellhole of an apartment but restrained herself. “No place special.”
“I live in an off-campus house with a bunch of other guys,” Tom said. “Pretty sweet. Way better than anyplace I lived in South Bend.”
“You went to Notre Dame?” she asked.
“Don’t tell me you went to Michigan.”
Had he heard the undisguised disdain in her voice, or did she give off that upper Midwest vibe? She’d worked so hard to eliminate any trace of her accent. “I did.”
“Oh man.” He rubbed his chin. “You’re a Wolverine. I’m a Domer from Ohio. Pretty sure there’s a law on the books somewhere that says we’re not allowed to fraternize.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she mumbled.
Tom smiled at her. “You could be a little friendlier,” he said. “It wouldn’t kill you.”
She looked up at him, trying to read his eyes for a hint of malice, but there was none. No, he was just trying to be nice. Why, she had no idea. But there was no point in speculating. “What’s your end game here?”
“Damn.” He whistled. “Not a fan of casual conversation, are you?”
“I’ve got more important things to do.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“If you’re going to ask me out just get it over with so I can politely decline and we can both continue living our lives.”
“Not interested?” He pretended to look sad. “And here I was, offering myself up as a willing study partner to the hardest hard-core gunner in the first-year class.”
Had she read him wrong? “You… don’t want to ask me out?”
He smiled. Gently. “There’s no answer to that question that doesn’t make me out to be an ass, so I’ll be as blunt with you as you’ve been with me. I’ve got the grades. I’ve got the test scores. I just don’t quite have that extra something I think I need to succeed. You do.”
“Are you asking for my help?”
“Does it make you think less of me?”
It actually endeared her to him. More than she thought it would. “Study partners, huh?”
“No pressure,” he said quickly. “If you think I can’t keep up with you, you can drop me at any time.”
She had to know exactly what she was getting into. “What specialty do you want to pursue?”
“Surgery,” he said. “Haven’t decided on a subspecialty yet. Probably depends on how classes and early rotations go.”
She stared at him.
“Oh.” He wiggled his fingers. “Noticed these, eh? Yeah, they’re stubby, but they’re wicked precise.”
“Uh huh.”
“Plus if you keep giving me that look of disbelief, it provides me with motivation.”
“‘I’m gonna prove this bitch wrong’ motivation?”
The smile faded. “I would never say that to you. Or any other woman, for that matter.”
“There aren’t many of us here for you to say it to.” Christine, and every other female student, was outnumbered two to one.
“I don’t mean only medical students. I’m not a disrespectful kind of guy. To anyone, but especially women.”
She hoped he wouldn’t give her a speech about how much he loved his mother. They hadn’t covered Oedipus and Electra complexes yet. “You genuinely need academic help.”
“Yes.” He almost looked relieved. “You’re smart, you don’t bullshit, you know your stuff. You can help me. I know it.”
“What do I get in return?” she asked.
“I could teach you to be more personable,” he said.
Ouch. “I’m sure we can think of something.”
He picked up her backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. “No time like the present. You gotta be anywhere?”
In a study room, apparently. Good thing she’d packed extra snacks. Tom Sullivan looked like he’d need a few sandwiches to help him retain information.
She gestured toward the library. “Let’s crack those books, partner.”
*****
Tossing and turning had done little to help me rest. Everything felt wrong. I ripped the sheets off our bed and marched down the hall, coming to a halt when I got to Jessica’s room. The door was shut and it creaked when I opened it and flicked on the light. The room was largely unchanged; some yellowing photos on a bulletin board, a few framed items and posters, the drawers and desk and closet untouched. Jessica had never really moved out after college and spent her time working for advocacy groups that paid little, while she debated whether she wanted to go to graduate school. Tom and I hadn’t really pushed the issue since both of us were keen to keep an eye on her as the political situation slowly spun out of control.
We’d had our issues but it had been so nice to have her at home. I should have told her that. I never did.
I wondered if Caroline had barred the housekeeping team from going into Jessica’s room. That was the kind of thing she’d do. It had been the one place I hadn’t reviewed during my room-to-room check earlier in the day.
Sure enough, there was a solid three years of dust on everything, from the nightstand down to the bedspread, which puffed up a great cloud of sneeze-inducing powder when I placed my hand on it. The cleaning crew hadn’t touched the place. I didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not.
The dust was lighter on a corner of the nightstand. Where a family picture had stood. I remembered it well. The Christmas that Caroline and her children had spent with us the year after her first husband passed away. Caroline had lost a bet with Tom and was forced to wear an ugly sweater for all holiday events, and she’d been goaded into joining us for a photo. Her daughters had jumped in at the last minute, making faces and sticking their tongues out at the camera.
It took a minute for me to realize that Jessica had taken it with her, that she’d put it in her backpack among
her clothes and personal items, that she’d had it weighing her down when she’d been running into the woods and keeping Marguerite, Sophie, and me safe, that it had been important enough to stuff in there when time and space and energy were at a premium and… now it was gone.
Along with everything else in this house that mattered.
*****
Christine hated their over-the-top New Year’s parties, but she’d never say that to Tom. He had too much fun planning them, spent too much time drinking and laughing and slapping backs and having a jolly good end-of-the-year experience for her to ever tell him that they needed to stop holding such exhausting affairs.
The day after, however, was always rough. Random cups and plates laying around, dirty floors, the strange combined smell of potluck dishes, sparklers, and expensive liqueur suspended in the air. Everyone in the Sullivan clan was nursing a hangover except her.
Nevertheless, the random gathering of humanity in her living room the next morning took her aback. Her husband, both her daughters, Jessica’s friend Leah from college, and… Caroline? Christine had invited Susannah to brunch, but her best friend was a surprise. Shouldn’t she be at home with an ice pack on her head, hydrating herself and slowly coming back to reality?
Although that did explain the presence of a sports car in the driveway. Christine had heard it pulling up, struck by the unusual sound the engine made. But she wasn’t worried about vehicles. Something else was up.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Caroline.
“Nice to see you too, Chrissy,” Caroline said.
Her voice was too high. She was definitely hiding something. “No, really. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to say goodbye to Jess,” Caroline replied.
Her best friend wasn’t even trying to fool her. “Are you still drunk?”
Susannah, Jess, and Leah had already taken spots on the couch. Caroline sat down on the armrest next to Leah, knowing full well that it would irk Christine. “No,” she said tersely. “I am not. I see you’re in a spectacular mood this morning.”
Christine took the spot on the loveseat across from them, next to Tom. “I know something’s going on. Just get it over with.”
“No fooling you, mom,” Jess said quietly.
Her daughter was correct. There was no point in trying, because she’d figure it out sooner or later. At least her family knew her well enough not to hem and haw. Christine crossed her legs. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”
Susannah looked around the room. “Am I the only one who has no idea what’s going on here?”
“I’m sure Caroline knows,” Christine said pointedly.
Tom put his hand on her knee. “Calm down.”
Leah nudged Caroline. “This is not a good sign,” she whispered.
Oh, now Caroline was forming close personal relationships with eighteen-year-olds? Christine swallowed the retort she’d had planned for her and glared at Leah instead.
“Why are you here?” she asked Caroline.
The look on Caroline’s face indicated she hadn’t anticipated the situation escalating so quickly. “Jess asked me to come. I was respecting her wishes.”
“Why is Caroline here, Jessica?”
Jess sighed. “Mom, you never make anything easy.”
Susannah put her arm around Jess. “What’s up?”
Jess took Leah’s hand, smiling at her shakily.
“Go ahead,” Leah said softly. “Best to say it as quickly as possible.”
“I’m gay,” Jess announced. “Leah is my girlfriend.”
Christine gaped at her.
“Finally rendered you speechless,” Jess said.
Tom didn’t appear angry or even shocked. Just… confused. “Are you serious?”
Their daughter nodded as she continued to grip Leah’s hand.
“Well,” he said. “This is a bit of a… turn.”
“No kidding,” Susannah said.
“It can’t be that surprising,” Jess said. “Not if you really think about it. Caroline wasn’t shocked at all.”
Aha. Caroline already knew. Surprise, surprise. “Yes,” Christine said. “Now we know why you’re here. She told you first. Congratulations.”
Caroline took a deep breath. “Chrissy-”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Christine snapped. She whirled on Jess. “You two were sharing a bedroom. Sharing a bed. In my house. Do you have that little respect for me? For our rules?”
Jess bit a trembling lip. “Mom—”
Christine spun back around to Caroline. “When did she tell you?”
Caroline adjusted herself on the armrest, almost losing her balance. Was she getting defensive? Good. “The day after Christmas.”
“That was almost a week ago. You could have told me before now.”
“I promised Jess I wouldn’t.” Caroline paused. “I don’t share our private conversations with her, and I wasn’t going to betray her trust either.”
Oh, did she think that twisted logic would absolve her somehow? “That’s different,” Christine said. “That is completely different.”
“No,” Caroline said calmly. “It’s not.”
“I asked you last night if you knew what was going on, and you said everything was fine.”
“Which was the truth,” Caroline said.
Christine rolled her eyes. “Maybe from your perspective.”
Jess looked down at her hands. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Then pretend you didn’t,” Christine said.
Tom sighed. “She can’t do that, Chrissy.”
Some help he was. “Don’t call me that.”
“Jess is happy,” Caroline said. “Can’t you see that?”
Christine shifted on the loveseat and didn’t say anything. It was hard enough knowing she wasn’t a particularly competent mother. She didn’t need reminders of it everywhere she went, let alone in her own house. In the guise of her best friend.
“Well,” Susannah said. “This is certainly not what I expected when I came over for brunch.”
Leah laughed nervously. “Happy New Year?”
Caroline tittered softly, and the dam holding back Christine’s anger finally broke. “Shouldn’t you be at home with that husband of yours? I saw that car parked in the driveway. What is that, a Maserati? Who gave you the keys to that little number?”
Caroline slid off the armrest, all pretense gone. “Don’t go there, Chrissy.”
“Why the hell not?” Christine asked angrily. Caroline was the one everyone loved. Everyone liked. And she made everything—political acumen, easy humor, motherhood—look so easy. It made complete sense that Christine’s child—her own flesh and blood—would turn to a woman like Caroline Gerard before turning to her. “You just have to insert yourself into everyone’s lives whether they like it or not, don’t you?”
Tom patted her arm, his cue for her to stop. “Christine,” he warned.
“Shut up.” She twisted away from him. Tom leaned back in stunned silence.
Caroline opened her mouth again to speak. Oh, that was what she was going to do? Try to fix the situation with her pretty words, butt in where she didn’t belong?
Christine cut her off. “You’d better not get used to this life, Caroline,” she said. “Your little fantasy won’t last forever.”
“Christine,” Tom repeated. “Stop it.”
Christine rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Thomas,” she said. “It’s not like I’m telling her anything she hasn’t already figured out. Everyone knows that man only married her to further his own career prospects.”
Caroline brought her head down, her hair obscuring her features, but not before Christine saw the pain in her eyes. Good. She deserved it.
“Mother,” Susannah said. “We know you’re upset. Don’t take it out on Caroline.”
Her eldest daughter dared to call her out when she’d skipped town to marry her unemployed boyfriend the previous August? When she hadn’t e
ven told her parents until well after the fact, when nothing could be undone? Every statement ever made by anyone else in the room was up for grabs, every past indiscretion or mistake fair game. “You’re one to talk. Your decision-making isn’t the best right now, either.”
Susannah threw her hands in the air. “I’m out.” She gave her sister a little hug. “I’m sorry, Jess. I don’t have time for this. I’m not going to sit here and watch her destroy the people who love her. We’ll talk later,” she said, grabbing her purse off the dining room table and making a hasty exit.
Christine heard the front door slam. Jess started to cry as Leah rubbed her back.
Tom glowered at Christine. “You need to stop behaving this way. Now.”
Christine stood up. Her target wasn’t sitting next to her. She was across the room, allowing Jess to grab and squeeze her hand, nodding in assent to some unspoken statement or question, being the type of maternal figure Christine would never be. That truth had wriggled its way into her heart long ago, tearing away a piece of her day by day, weaving its path of destruction into her psyche and leaving only a stinging ache in its wake. Deep, seething jealousy coursed through her, and her tongue loosened.
“What will you do when it falls apart, Caroline? You’re just a number to Jack, another in a long line of women he’s used. Only you were foolish enough to agree to marry him. Who’s going to be there to pick up the pieces for you and your children when he moves on to something else?”
Caroline brought her head up to look at Christine. “Careful, Chrissy,” she whispered. “Don’t say anything you can’t take back.”
“I haven’t,” Christine spat.
“Excuse me,” Caroline said, fumbling her way toward the powder room near the kitchen.
Jessica’s crying turned to heaving sobs. Christine stared down at the floor.
“Jesus Christ, Christine,” Tom said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Her? HER? The entire room had been against her from the beginning. She might have made it worse with her honesty but that was what people wanted from her. The brutal truth, laid out in a way that no one could mistake for lies.
Songbird (Bellator Saga Book 7) Page 5