“Is all this land yours?” I asked Isaac as he unlocked the front door of the home.
He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah. All the way back to the river. It’s not much—just over an acre—but that’s more than you’ll find in most neighborhoods around here.”
I stifled a laugh. “Did you know that in Manhattan, there’s an average of one hundred and thirteen people per acre?”
“What? Like, living there?”
I nodded, following him inside as he flipped on the lights in the entryway. “We’re spoiled down here in the South.”
Isaac grinned. “You don’t have to convince me.”
“The contractor should be here any minute, but I want to go out to the garage. I think there’s another box of records I never moved.”
“How could there possibly be any records on the entire planet you don’t already have stored in the dining room?”
“There’s maybe a few left. Want to help me look?”
“I could. Or I could stay here and wait for the contractor.”
He shrugged. “Okay. The bathroom in question is the first door on the left at the top of the stairs if you want to show him where to go. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I strolled through the first floor of the house, looking for any signs of Dani, but everything personal must have been packed up and put away. Made sense with vacationers in and out so frequently, but I still felt a twinge of disappointment. Not one I would admit to out loud. But it was there, nonetheless.
The sound of boots on the front porch pulled me back to the front door where I let the contractor in and pointed him in the direction of the upstairs bathroom and the leaking roof. After, I went searching for Isaac. The garage was just off the kitchen, so he was easy to find.
“Did you find anything?”
He looked up and grinned, holding up an old fruit crate. “Springsteen, The Eagles, Steely Dan.” Isaac pulled an album out of the crate with both hands. “What?! It’s here! I thought I lost this thing in the move.” He turned the album to face me. “It’s an original release of Red Renegade’s first album. I can’t believe it’s been here all this time.”
I paused at an open box pushed up against the wall, my eye caught by a shiny gold tag I would recognize anywhere. I pulled a navy handbag out of the box, the LeFranc label clear on the left corner of the bag. In the box, there were others, all different sizes and colors. And all LeFranc. “Did Dani ever tell you she’s got a good friend who’s the nephew of Red Renegade’s lead singer?”
Isaac paused. “What?”
“Darius. She works with his husband at LeFranc.”
Isaac hefted the crate and crossed to where I stood. “Ohhh, you found Dani’s stash.” He looked over my shoulder. “I swear she took more than this with her when she went to New York. I’m surprised she had so many to leave behind.”
“Are they all LeFranc?” It was an impressive collection.
“The girl had a homing beacon to help her find them. Every thrift store, pawnshop, garage sale, whatever. If there was a LeFranc bag on the premises, she’d find it. But seriously. He’s legit related to Reggie Fletcher? The Reggie Fletcher?”
“By marriage, I think? On his mother’s side? But yes. I remember we were at Chase and Darius’s apartment watching a movie once and he stopped by on his way to London to give Darius the keys to his car. Did she only collect LeFranc?” I repeated. “No other designers?”
Isaac’s eyes were wide. “Don’t change the subject. You were actually in the same room with Reggie Fletcher? Did you talk to him?”
I dropped the handbag back into the box and pushed my hands into my pockets, suddenly surprised that Dani had never mentioned the encounter to Isaac. She had to know how much Isaac idolized him. “Just introductions. Nothing monumental.”
He shook his head, leading me out of the garage. “Anything would be monumental. Dani was there, too? I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. Or take a selfie with him. Or get his autograph.” He turned around, excitement in his eyes. “Do you think she could still get me his autograph? Seriously. I’m going to kill her for not mentioning this. I could send her my albums, except, no, I’d never risk putting them in the mail. Maybe we could drive them up there. Are you up for a road trip?”
Huh. Maybe I did understand why Dani hadn’t mentioned it. Fortunately, the contractor showed up in the kitchen to go over his estimates with Isaac, so I never had to actually commit to a road trip. I knew Isaac well enough to know he wouldn’t forget about the possibility of the plan, but his mind was busy enough he likely wouldn’t get around to bringing it up again for at least a week or more. That was plenty of time for me to text Dani and warn her.
I could also text Darius, but we hadn’t chatted in a while. In the breakup, Dani had kept our closest friends.
I thought back on the collection of LeFranc bags sitting out in the garage. Dani had always spoken highly of LeFranc and had been open with me about her desire to design for the company, but clearly, the dream had roots.
Deep ones.
Chapter Seventeen
Dani
$14.23. That’s all I had left over after a one-way flight from La Guardia to Charleston, twenty-five dollars to check my baggage, and a bagel—the only food I’d eaten in thirty-six hours—on my way out of the airport. Which was tricky. Because the cab ride to my brother’s front door totaled $23.50.
I dug through my purse, banking on the fifty-dollar bill I kept tucked away in the side zipper pocket. I hated to spend it. The bill was symbolic for me in a lot of ways, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
The cash wasn’t there. I checked the opposite pocket, the one without a zipper where my sunglasses lived, then every other pocket in my purse. It didn’t make any sense. I had hoped the cab ride would come in under fourteen dollars, but I’d climbed into the cab knowing that if it didn’t, I’d still be covered. Because my fifty-dollar-bill was always in my purse, an ever-stalwart symbol of my survival, a talisman I’d grown to equate with my success in the city. My father had given it to me the morning I’d left for New York to attend design school. In case there’s an emergency, he’d told me.
I still didn’t know what kind of an emergency could ever be solved with fifty dollars alone, though I guessed the mess I was sitting in probably qualified. Only, the cash wasn’t there. For years I’d hung onto it with a certain religious zeal. I lived paycheck to paycheck. I budgeted. I paid my bills and scraped together the extra to buy fabric or lace-covered buttons or a new pair of Gingher knife-edged sewing shears. But I always took comfort in knowing that I had that fifty dollars socked away. Ready to feed me or buy off a criminal or pay cab fare if I ever wound up in a not-so-safe part of town and didn’t want to walk to the subway.
I sank back onto the faded upholstery of the cab’s back seat. Fitting that now, in the middle of my abject humiliation, the very moment most defined by my failure as a New York designer, my talisman was gone.
“I’m sure I’ve got something,” I said to the driver.
“You got a credit card? I take them all. VISA, Mastercard, American Express . . .”
Of course I had a credit card. But living in the city wasn’t cheap. Especially when all your friends made more money than you did and constantly invited you to go to this restaurant or that club. My credit limit wasn’t that high—intentional self-preservation—but I still managed to keep the balance hovering right around the maxed-out mark. When I’d tried to use it at the airport to buy something better than a bagel, it had been declined.
Verifying one last time that my purse wasn’t hiding anything but a coupon for a free manicure and a receipt for Chinese take-out, I resigned myself to my inevitable fate, willing myself to accept how much pride I would have to swallow in the next five minutes.
“Give me a minute, okay? I can get the cash inside.”
The driver shot me a look over his shoulder, then pulled out his cell phone. “Fine, but I’m leaving the meter running.”
I paused on the sidewalk and stared up at Isaac’s house. Suddenly I wished I’d given more credence to Paige’s advice. She’d told me I should have called first, but in the end, I’d opted not to. Maybe there was a tiny smidgen of avoidance in my reasoning, but mostly, I just knew my brother. He’d have a harder time refusing me if I was literally stranded on his doorstep.
A light, drizzly rain started to fall so I hurried across the sidewalk, pausing outside the hospitality door that led onto Isaac’s front porch. As a kid, I’d taken numerous walking tours through downtown Charleston, mostly with classes from school, to study the architecture and history of the city. I’d loved the crazy huge porches of the single houses. The porches didn’t face the street but sat perpendicular to the sidewalk. So the home’s front door—the hospitality door—actually just led onto the porch. When people felt like company, they could open up the door and welcome people onto their porch. When they didn’t, the door stayed closed and locked.
I braced myself, fully expecting the hospitality door to be locked, but to my relief, the door swung open. I ducked onto the porch—the rain was falling heavier—and crossed to the main entrance.
It wasn’t hard to remember what the internet had told me Isaac’s house was worth. With less than twenty bucks to my name, even just standing outside the front door was a burn to my ego.
I glanced back down the driveway to the cab still idling on the street. It was maybe a better option than going inside. Isaac was inside. Even worse, Alex was probably inside too. Frustratingly enough, he’d taken up more than his fair share of my thoughts over the past twelve hours. Nothing like powering through the biggest failure of your work life by facing down rejection in your personal life.
Paige’s voice echoed in my head. Buck up, she would tell me. I squared my shoulders and before I could lose my nerve, pounded my fist on the front door. Before I’d even sounded a third knock, the door swung open.
Alex.
Alex in jeans and a t-shirt. Hair all mussed and loose. Face unshaven.
The man was gorgeous. He froze when he saw me. “Dani.”
I smiled weakly. “Hi.”
“What are you doing here?”
Inwardly, I groaned. Could he sound any less excited? “Is Isaac home?”
“Alex, dude. Close the door. It’s cold.” I heard Isaac’s voice before I saw him appear over Alex’s shoulder. “Dandi? What are you doing here?”
Great. Warm welcome all around. “It’s a long story. And I’d love to tell you, but I’m sort of . . .” I looked back at the street. “Can I borrow twenty bucks?”
Isaac followed my gaze. “Are you seriously asking me to pay your cab fare?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to. Please? I’ll explain everything, I promise, but he’s still running the meter and—” Before I could even finish my sentence, Isaac turned and stalked back into the house. “Seriously? Isaac!”
“Maybe he’s getting you the cash?” Alex said, his voice more hopeful than I felt.
“Probably not.”
Alex drew his eyebrows together in question. “Did you guys fight about something?”
“No,” I quickly answered. “Or, I don’t know. I might have offended him the last time we texted.”
“Right. When you asked him about his little charity thing. I remember.”
My cheeks flamed red. Were they that close? That I should start worrying about Alex reading all of my texts to my brother?
“That’s not what I meant. I really did want to know how things were going. It just came out wrong.” A few weeks before everything had gone down with Sasha, I’d made a genuine attempt to reach out to Isaac and see how things were. But the tension between us. The sarcasm and the snark and the constant needling. It was hard to undo all that history. Even when I tried, I still wasn’t great at filtering it all out.
I pressed my forehead into my palm. “This has been a very long day.”
Alex touched my elbow. “Hey. Go find your brother. I’ll take care of the cab.”
The tenderness took me by surprise and sent all kinds of feelings sparking through my chest. But no. This was Alex. The last thing I needed was charity from him. I shook my head no. “No, no. Don’t do that. I’ll go after Isaac and—”
“And if he gives you the money, you can pay me back. It’s not a problem.”
Before I could object again, he ducked into the rain and hurried toward the cab.
Reluctantly, I stepped into the house, following the sound of Isaac’s voice to the kitchen. He was on the phone, so I waited in the doorway while he finished his call. He pushed his phone into his pocket then folded his arms across his chest. “If you came all this way for Alex, you can’t have him back.”
Well, that wasn’t what I’d expected. “Um, what?”
“I saw the way you two looked at each other when we were in New York. Clearly there’s still something going on between you, but you can’t have him. He’s happy here. He doesn’t need to move back to New York.”
“Isaac. I’m not here for Alex.”
“He’s the best thing that ever happened to me, Dani.” Isaac pressed on like he didn’t even hear me. “You can’t have him. Also he’s dating someone. And he likes her. A lot.”
“Likes who?” Alex stepped into the kitchen behind me, sliding my suitcases up against the wall.
I looked from Alex to Isaac, then back to Alex again. I didn’t even know where to start. Alex was dating someone? The thought settled in my stomach like a pile of river rock. Cold and hard and heavy. “Um,” I waved my hand in Alex’s general direction. “Isaac thinks we’re . . .” I paused. “He thinks I’m here to see you.”
Alex wiped raindrops off his forehead and the tip of his nose. “Oh. Are you?”
Had he seriously just asked me that? I scoffed. “Of course not.”
“So you don’t have any plans to lure him back to New York with your weird girl magic?” Isaac said.
Alex chuckled. Possibly just at Isaac. But it also felt like maybe he was laughing at the idea of me luring him anywhere.
“Even if I did,” I said, “I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t work.”
Alex shot me a sideways glance, but he didn’t disagree.
“Oh.” Isaac reached for a bag of chips sitting on the counter and ripped it open. For how ancient the outside of the house looked—all historically appropriate and such—the inside was full of modern, clean lines. The kitchen was light and open, the appliances new, the countertops a shiny white marbled granite. It took me a minute to figure out what felt off about the room, but then it clicked. It was clean. Really clean. For a house full of bachelors, that didn’t seem right. “So why are you here then?” Isaac asked.
My eyes darted to Alex. “It’s kind of a long story.”
Apparently, it was all the hint Alex needed. “I’ll, uh, sorry. I’ll be in the next room.” I watched as he disappeared through the kitchen doorway.
As soon as he was gone, I glared at my brother. “Seriously? What was all that? Weird girl magic?” I crossed the kitchen and reached for the bag of chips. I was going on a bagel, after all. The second he’d opened the bag, the smell of the salt and oil had made my mouth water and my stomach rumble. Isaac pulled it out of my reach before I could get any.
“What else was I supposed to think?” he said. “You haven’t been home since before Mom and Dad left.”
“That’s not . . .” Okay, so it was true. But traveling was expensive—today had proved that, if nothing else—and our parents had been out of the country themselves for nearly a year. It’s not as if I’d been intentionally missing cozy Christmas dinners and Thanksgiving meals where everyone sat around and lamented my absence. There hadn’t been much to come home to. “Fine. But still. What was with all that stuff about Alex? Can you please share the chips? I’m starving.”
He rolled his eyes, then dropped them on the counter, nudging them my direction. He shrugged. “I thought with all your history and c
rap, you were . . . I don’t know. He’s been preoccupied lately. And he’s asked about you a billion times. I thought maybe you were getting back together.”
He’d asked about me? Why had he asked about me? “I haven’t talked to him since you were both in New York,” I said, my tone flat. “And I thought you said he was dating someone.”
Isaac raised his eyebrows but bless him, he seemed to know better than to ask why I sounded so disappointed. He waved away my question. “He went out with Jasmine Cooper. You remember her? But only once. It was nothing. You still need money for the cab?”
I shook my head. “Alex paid for it.”
“Sweet. So why are you broke?”
I took a deep breath, buying time with a handful of chips. Deliciously incredible, best-I’d-ever-eaten chips. “That’s a funny story.”
I expected sarcasm. Some sort of slanderous rebuke about my wannabe socialite lifestyle, or my pandering for attention from New York City’s fashion gatekeepers. Instead, he just stood there, a concerned look on his face. “Let’s hear it.”
I crossed the kitchen to where a roll of paper towels sat in the corner and ripped one off. I wiped the chip grease off my fingers then folded the square into thirds, creasing it over and over without looking up. I had to tell him. I needed to tell him. I couldn’t exactly ask for help if he didn’t know what was going on.
I swallowed and finally looked up, meeting his gaze. “I lost my job.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s a long story, and not one I feel like telling right now, but I basically lost everything I’ve been working toward for the past four years. My dream job, my dream apartment. It’s all gone. And I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I can do to get it back.”
“Wow,” Isaac said. “Do Mom and Dad know?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. And I don’t want to tell them. Not until I’ve figured out what’s next. I don’t want them to feel like they have to come home and help me.”
“I’m sorry, Dani. That really sucks.”
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