My musings cut off abruptly as an unsightly burst of straw yellow hair catches my eye at the back of the church. A cold surge of anger freezes the blood in my veins as I whip around in my seat, hoping that my eyes have deceived me. But no, it’s really him. Daryl Hellman, the one person I have ever truly despised in my life, is shaking my father’s hand and giving my mother his condolences. I haven’t seen the man in a decade, and it hasn’t been a good decade for him. His wrinkled skin is tanned a hideous shade of orange, which clashes with the artificial yellow of his hair. He may have had the audacity to come here, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be staying for long. Not if I can help it.
Without pausing for a second thought, I stand and march toward the back of the church, intent on intercepting Daryl Hellman before he can take another step. I step up to him as he makes small talk with another old fogey friend of my parents’. My hand closes in a vice grip around his once-muscular arm, now gone flabby. He turns to face me, and I watch as his eyes flare with agitated recognition.
“Why, Calista,” he says, fighting to keep his expression neutral. “I had no idea you’d be here today.”
“It’s my sister’s memorial service” I reply bluntly, tightening my grasp on his arm and discreetly turning him back toward the exit, “And it’s time you were going.”
“Now, wait just one minute,” he chuckles lightly, unwilling to draw attention to the scene in the making. “Your parents are some of my oldest friends. I have to pay my respects to—”
“Respect?” I hiss sharply, wrenching the man back through the church doors and out onto the now-deserted front steps. “I didn’t think you were familiar with the word.”
“Enough with the hysterics,” Daryl sighs wearily, “Don’t be so unreasonable.”
“I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask the man who made a habit of molesting my sister to kindly leave her goddam memorial service.” I tell him evenly.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. “Let’s leave ugly words out of this,” he says sternly.
“Oh? What sort of words would you prefer?” I ask, my voice growing louder as resentment rises like bile in my throat. “Sexual assault? Child abuse? Pedophile?”
“Keep your voice down, Calista,” he commands, glancing toward the Church pews, packed with his friends and associates.
“My name is Callie,” I all but spit, “And you are out of your fucking mind if you think I’m letting you back in that church.”
Daryl Hellman gives me a long, searching look. He knows I have him beat. I know far too much about him, about the things he did to my sister when she was just a kid. The things he tried to do to me, too. Of course, my parents’ set would never believe me if I ever came forward about his crimes, but Daryl doesn’t know that. I watch the fight go out of his body, his shoulders slumping pathetically.
“I need to get back inside now,” I say, trying to keep the tears out of my voice, “If I see you lurking around here again—”
“Alright, alright. I’m going,” he grumbles, scowling at me. “You’ve become a bit of a bitch, haven’t you?”
“That’s right,” I reply with a cold smile, “Now get out.”
Before Daryl can respond, I watch his eyes flick up over my shoulder, going wide as he spots something behind me. Or rather, someone.
“Is there a problem here?” a familiar, rich voice inquires. The question is loaded like an unholstered revolver. And I know without looking who it is with his finger on the trigger.
Jack.
The sudden nearness of him makes my head spin as I turn around and take in the sight of Jackson Cole standing before me, towering over my petite frame as ever. But though I’ve seen pictures of him since we parted ways nearly ten years ago, watched from afar as he grew from a strapping boy into a staggering Adonis, nothing could have prepared me for seeing him in the flesh again. He’s impossibly beautiful, his dark blue eyes overflowing with grief, his stubbly jaw pulsing in anger at the sight of Daryl Hellman.
“I asked you a question, Mr. Hellman,” Jack says through clenched teeth, wringing every ounce of ire out of the man’s title.
“There’s no problem,” Daryl replies shortly, trying in vain to imbue his exit with a scrap of dignity. “Not unless you count Miss Benson’s attitude, that is.”
“I’d advise you to stop right there,” I snap.
“Yeah. I second that,” Jack puts in, his hands balling into fists.
Tail wedged firmly between his legs, my sister’s abuser finally scampers away. I watch him go, willing my heart to quit pounding. Is it my confrontation with Daryl or the presence of Jackson Cole that has my blood racing so? One thing’s for sure—seeing my one-time friend and hopeless crush is throwing me for the loop to end all loops.
Jack swings his gaze my way, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Of course, my eyes skirt down along his impeccable form. His charcoal suit is cut to perfection, showcasing the perfectly balanced, muscular figure that I—and scores of women around the world—can’t help but ogle.
Checking out your sister’s fiancé at her memorial service, I scold myself, that’s real classy, Calie.
“Cal,” Jackson finally says to me, his voice ragged with emotion. “I...I didn’t know if you’d be here.”
“Of course I’m here,” I whisper, crossing my arms tightly across my chest.
“I’m just...It’s good to see you,” he goes on, taking a step toward me. His broad shoulders are locked with tension, his rich brown hair is tousled, and his signature stubble is thicker than usual. All told, he looks like he’s in hell. I feel my heart splinter down the middle as my own grief is redoubled by his. It’s too much to bear.
“Yeah. It’s good to see you too, Jack,” I mumble, countering his step forward with my own step back.
“I can’t believe that fucker Hellman had the nerve to show up here,” Jack growls, shaking his head. “After everything he did to Avery...Good for you, kicking his ass out. She would have wanted that.”
“That’s the only thing about this fiasco she would have wanted,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “My mom packed the place full of lilies.”
Jackson lets out a bark that’s half laugh and half sob. “Avery fucking hated lilies,” he says quietly.
The pain in his voice brings a fresh round of tears stinging into my eyes. “Yeah, well,” I mumble, “I—we—need to get back in there. So. Um...See you later, Jack.”
I turn on my heel and dart away from him, slipping back into the drafty church. Sinking back into my front row pew, I keep my eyes glued to the ancient priest. But despite my act of attention, I don’t hear a word the man says. It’s probably better that way—this man has never met my sister, doesn’t know a thing about her. But his droning sermon is lost on me. My thoughts are consumed—by the confusing rush of feeling that shot through me the second I set eyes on Jackson again, by the mounting realization that this is all actually happening, that my sister’s death is real and irrevocable.
I avert my gaze from the altar, blinking away my tears. But as I glance back over my shoulder, I find Jack’s eyes lingering intently on my face. I let my eyes lock with his as the service concludes, and a hundred strangers rise to their feet, glad to have made it through the motions of mourning once again. When I stand, peering around the milling bodies in search of Jack, he’s nowhere to be found.
Is he gone already? Why did I dash away from him, the one person who might actually understand what I’m going through right now? But by demolished heart can’t break any further in the wake of his disappearance. With cold, unfeeling numbness, I shuffle after my parents and head off for the reception at my former home.
Chapter Four
“Thank you...Thank you for coming...Thank you so much...” I mutter on repeat, stuck at the end of the Benson Family receiving line. My mother’s all but glued my feet to the floor here, greeting guests as they arrive at our cavernous house to nibble on appetizers and talk around my sister’s cause of dea
th. I’ve lost count of how many wrinkled, liver-spotted hands I’ve clutched so far.
“Would you at least try to sound sincere?” my mother hisses in my ear.
I glance at her, all decked out in her spotless black Chanel suit. My father, Howard, stands beside her, his rich man’s paunch growing as my mother shrinks down to nothing. It occurs to me, and not for the first time, that Avery and I were never going to be the daughters our parents wanted. Howard and Sylvia wanted chaste, modest, submissive girls. Girls who would attend good colleges, if only to meet their husbands. Girls who would marry, bear grandchildren, and ultimately become just like them. If nothing else, Avery got to break free of their expectations at the end of her life. She got to pursue the life she wanted...even if it was cut far shorter than was fair or right.
“There he is,” I hear my father’s gruff voice announce. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Jackson.”
My eyes snap upward as Jack appears at the head of the receiving line. I was afraid he’d left for good after that dreadful service. My bruised heart leaps into my throat at the sight of him here once again.
“Of course, Howard,” Jack says politely, giving my mother a kiss on the cheek. “If there’s anything I can do...”
“Not at all, Jackson,” my mother says warmly, squeezing Jack’s hands. “Just try and keep your chin up.”
I let out a wry snort of laughter at my mother’s glib suggestion. The corner of Jack’s mouth twists upward ever-so-slightly. He’s good at playing “the boy you bring home to your parents,” but he’s always found this stuffy scene as absurd as I do.
“Sounds like you could use a glass of water,” Jack observes, keeping a straight face as he steps toward me.
“Yeah. Sure,” I reply, “Only, Mom wants me to stay here—”
“Please, take her,” Sylvia snaps, turning her attention to the other guests as they arrive, “She’s of absolutely no use as a hostess.”
“Right,” Jack nods sagely, swallowing a grin as he lays a hand on the small of my back and steers me away from my insufferable parents. My body thrills at this touch, no matter how tiny it is.
“Now, when you say ‘glass of water’,” I mutter, stealing a glance at Jack’s sculpted profile, “You really mean ‘vodka tonic’, right?”
“Obviously,” he replies, leading me straight to the impressive bar my parents have set up across the great room. That signature lopsided grin of his is starting to come back to his face, little by little.
I watch, impressed, as Jack sets to work on our drinks, moving like a real pro. He catches me watching him and asks, “Admiring my form?”
“Just wouldn’t have figured you for the mixologist type,” I say lightly, accepting my drink and taking a long sip. It’s perfect.
“I did my fair share of bar tending when I first moved to New York,” he tells me, “Back when I was a super-serious and very broke theater actor.”
“You had a day job?” I laugh, strolling toward the deserted grand staircase, away from the rest of the guests.
“Of course,” Jack replies, sipping his cocktail, “Those Manhattan rents are no joke.” He spots my surprised look, seeing right through me. “Ah. You assumed I was being bankrolled by my parents the whole time, is that right Cal? Just another trust fund kid mooching off Daddy’s money in the city?”
“I said nothing,” I reply, a sly smile lifting the corners of my mouth.
“Yeah, well. You didn’t have to,” he says, returning the small grin. “Good to know that you think so highly of me, after all these years. I must have made a great impression on you back when we were kids.”
“You were a teenage boy,” I remind him, as he sits beside me on the marble stairs, “There was only so good of an impression you were going to make.”
“That’s fair,” he shrugs, clinking his glass against mine. “To steering clear of these goddamn Westchester parties whenever possible, and at least finding good company when attendance is inevitable.”
“I will certainly drink to that,” I tell him.
We sit in silence for a moment, looking out across the crowded room. I can’t get a read on Jackson’s emotional state. He seemed pretty wrecked back at the church, but now he’s giving me the bulletproof alpha male act. I don’t know what to make of him.
“So...How’re you holding up?” I ask, “I know that’s a stupid question, but—”
“What’s that thing people are always saying at funerals?” he shoots back, “Oh, yeah. ‘I’m doing as well as can be expected’.”
“I’m not asking what people always say,” I urge him, “I want to hear what you have to say, Jackson. Really. I mean, you were the only person here who was actually close to Avery when...at the end.”
“Was I?” he says shortly, his voice hardening.
“I mean...You guys were engaged,” I stammer. Clearly I’ve said something wrong. And I feel like I’m only making it worse, bringing up their sudden engagement.
“Look Cal,” Jack goes on, “We’ve always been pals, right?”
“Right,” I allow, my heart sinking at the platonic term.
“And we’ve always been pretty straight with each other,” he goes on, “So when I tell you that you don’t actually know shit about what was going on in Avery’s life, let alone mine, you’re gonna have to take my word for it.”
My mouth falls open as Jack sips his drink, not even deigning to look at me. I swear, this guy can go from upstanding gent to asshole in about three seconds flat. I’m about to tell him so, too, until a couple of octogenarian women stop in front of us on the steps, giggling all over Jack like schoolgirls.
“My, my,” says the first woman, beaming beneath her blue-tinted curls, “Jackson Cole, you certainly have grown up nicely.”
“Behave yourself, now,” the second woman chides. “Or you might break a hip.”
“We just wanted to come over here and tell you how proud we are of all your success,” the first woman gushes, taking Jackson’s finely formed hand in her own frail claw. “All of us old broads around here just go wild every time we see you on the television.”
“That’s very sweet of you to say,” Jack smiles charitably, “That’s why I got into showbiz, you know. To impress beautiful women such as yourselves.”
My eyes roll all the way back in my head as the two old ladies shriek with scandalized laughter. Jack shoots me a million dollar smile. He always has known exactly how to push my buttons, this one.
“We’ve been following that new movie of yours,” the second women goes on at last.
“Oh, right,” I say, remembering the film that Avery and Jack were cast in together—Jack in a much larger role, obviously. “What’s the deal with that movie, again?”
The women look up as if they’ve just noticed me sitting here.
“My dear, how have you not heard the details of this new endeavor our Jackson is setting out on?” the blue-haired lady asks. “It’s one of those gritty, New York police dramas. It’s going to make him a real star.”
“Though he’s already a star to us,” the second woman says, giving Jack a wink.
“I guess I forgot to read the press releases for that one,” I offer, “I mean, I knew that there was a movie. But I’m usually interested in more indie film stuff, you know?”
The women blink at me as though I’ve started speaking French and turn their attention right back to Jack.
“I do so hope that the production doesn’t suffer because of...you know...circumstances,” the first lady whispers confidentially.
“Was Avery able to finish her part before...? Oh, the poor dear,” says the second woman, shaking her head.
Now that piques my interest. “Aren’t you guys done with shooting yet?” I ask Jack.
“You know what, ladies? It’s been a pretty rough day,” Jack tells the older women, ignoring my question completely. “I might head upstairs to take a little breather, if you wouldn’t be offended.”
“Oh, of course!” the
first woman gushes, “Go, go!”
“You poor thing. Losing your fiancee so tragically,” says the second, laying her hand over her heart.
“And your sister too, of course,” the first woman says to me, remembering just in the knick of time.
“Right. Thank you ladies. Your support means so much,” Jack sighs, surprising me by taking my hand in his. I stare up at him as he pulls me to my feet and starts leading me up the marble steps, away from his ardent admirers. The second the women are out of earshot, he lets out a low groan. “Good Christ. Can’t get away from it anywhere. I’m surprised they didn’t start asking for autographs.”
“So, are you going to fill me in on the status of your movie, or I am going to have to read about it online, like I do with every other aspect of your life?” I ask Jack, hurrying along as he leads me down the second story hallway. Where he’s taking me, I have no idea. But to be honest, I’m pretty OK with that.
“You make a habit of reading up on my life, Cal?” he asks, grins smugly.
“No, I mean, ugh,” I exclaim, flustered, “Just give me the scoop, would you?”
“Here we are,” he says in response, leading me through a very familiar space. Or at least, what was a very familiar space. My childhood bedroom.
These days, my room of old is filled with an elliptical and a free weight set that appear to be untouched. A home gym. Typical. Jack brushes past the workout equipment and out onto the balcony. I follow him, speechless. Does he have the same memory of this place as I do? Is he having the same trippy deja vu about the night of my sweet sixteen party, when he very nearly kissed me for the first time? Standing here with him now, I feel that old insane rush of adolescent lust, coupled with very adult knowledge of what I’d actually like to do with Jack, now that I know a thing or two about what can happen between a man and a woman.
Damaged In-Law Page 3