2. Gemma
Chapter 2
Gemma
M y statement lands with the exact effect I intended, and I almost feel sorry for the guy. Almost.
He frowns at his hands on the bar and shakes his head before turning back to give me one more squinty-eyed, searching look. I watch him come up short.
“Sorry,” he says again.
This time I believe him.
I shrug. “It’s okay. I’m sure that mausoleum was a revolving door of staff and their dumb kids.”
That’s sure how it seemed to me. When we moved there around my tenth birthday, it was the largest house I’d ever laid eyes on. Our posting before it, where my mom worked as a live-in maid for an elderly couple in Queens, ended with no warning, and she kept saying how lucky we were to have landed at the Adams estate.
I’d been too young to question her. I just took her at her word that this was what good fortune looked like—even if it came with an extra-long bus ride to school, and one tiny, shared bedroom where I was forced to spend a lot of my time.
We weren’t technically allowed to use most of the house or grounds, confined to the staff quarters kitchen, living room, and side yard, but I was a kid. There were plenty of times I followed the other staff children out through the side staircase into the main yard where we would play tag, ride the estate bicycles, and try not to get in trouble. Most of the staff, and probably the family of the house, always seemed to have a blind eye for children.
“Yeah, I guess there were a lot of people working there. I never really paid all that much attention to who ran the house,” he says finally, still not meeting my eye.
“Well, I remember you.” It might be the beer talking, but I can’t seem to shut up.
I don’t know what I was thinking sitting down here next to him. Maybe it’s because the place is packed, and my only other option was sharing a table with a slimy looking guy who would for sure get the wrong idea. Maybe it’s because it’s Christmas and normal rules don’t seem to apply today.
Whatever the reason, I jumped from admiring this man’s easy smile and shaggy golden-brown curls from across campus the last few years to sitting next to him on a barstool, sharing stolen beer and rapidly cooling fried fish.
“What do you remember about me?” he asks with a smile.
Just as self-interested as I would expect from a guy in his position in life, but I don’t mind.
“I remember you being alone a lot of the time, but the other kids told me we couldn’t ask you to play.”
His eyebrows raise like I surprised him. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. And I remember you didn’t have a mom, which I noticed because I didn’t have a dad. I imagined your dad and my mom falling in love, you and I being siblings, and me getting to move into my own giant room in your giant house.”
His face expands in all directions as he smiles. “I can’t believe you just told me that.”
I shrug. “Why not? I’m not the servant’s kid any longer. I go to the same college as you. We’re peers. I’m not ashamed of my dumb childhood fantasies.”
He’s nodding, smile still in place. “I suppose that’s true. I guess I’m just not used to people being so…what’s the word?”
“Blunt?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Forward? Forthcoming? Candid?”
He laughs, and I bask in the attention.
“What are you, an English major?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “Something like that.”
“Okay, so what happened instead? I mean, I know my dad didn’t fall in love with your mom and make us stepsiblings.”
“He fired her, we got a new job at another estate, and she fell down the stairs and died of head trauma.”
He stops short, glass halfway to his lips, mouth hanging slightly open. “What?”
I shrug again, unwilling to repeat myself, especially when I know he heard me just fine.
“Really?”
I nod.
He sets down his glass without taking a sip and shakes his head. “Gem, I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
We both stare anywhere but at each other for a long, awkward moment. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one to crack first, and I don’t have to wait long for Ainsley to give under the pressure.
“My mom died of cancer,” he blurts out.
An offering of pain for my pain.
“I know.”
He nods. “Yeah. I guess you would. Everyone knew.”
I take a long sip of my beer, wondering where to go from here. Wishing I’d pretended to be a stranger who happened to sit next to a tall, effortlessly handsome, unseasonably tan, college student in a bar on Christmas.
Would we be locked together in a grimy stall right now instead of sitting here awkwardly, thinking about dead moms?
I silently curse my honesty.
“So, how did you get from…from that,” he stumbles a bit in his usually confident speech trying to avoid repeating what I told him about my mom’s accident. “To college in Seattle? I mean, you must be really smart, of course?—”
“Because I didn’t have rich parents to pay my way?” I interrupt him, narrowing my eyes playfully.
He blushes slightly, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s fine. I don’t want to talk about my life story anyway.”
“Okay,” he starts hesitantly, as if trying to decide whether to call out the fact that all we’ve talked about so far is my sad life. “What do you want to talk about?”
I narrow my eyes and glance around the room, turning halfway in my seat before I spot them. The perfect odd couple for this game. “Those people.” I point with my nose, and Ainsley turns to follow my gaze.
I spin around completely on my red vinyl stool, so my back is against the bar, pint in hand. “What’s their story?”
Ainsley spins as well and folds his arms as he considers. “Well, they’re siblings, obviously.”
My head turns to him sharply as my mouth falls open. “Siblings?” I exclaim in horror. “What on earth makes you say that? ”
“The sweaters. His green one has some kind of white leaf pattern on the front, and it looks brand new. Her purple one has the same leaf on the sleeve—also clearly brand new. They each got a package from their mother this morning to find yet another disappointing sweater. So, they put them on and came down here to share a beer and talk about how glad they are that they live thousands of miles away from their parents and will never have to wear the ugly things again.”
I’m laughing and shaking my head. “That was so bad. This has to be your first time playing this game.”
He shrugs, not one bit deterred by my criticism. “Think you can do better?”
I turn back to the couple in question, who are now leaning toward each other over the narrow, laminate table, whispering conspiratorially.
“They killed someone.”
Ainsley laughs in surprise. “What?”
I nod. “Yup. Last night at the office holiday party. It was an accident. They only meant to teach the guy a lesson about taking credit for other people’s work, but they weren’t strong enough to keep hold of his legs as they dangled him over the roof of the parking garage. They thought they could manage it together, but they failed to take his struggling into account.”
Ainsley is glowing and rosy cheeked from laughing. It's all I can do to keep my focus on the game and not stare at him.
“Okay, so what’s their plan now? Where’d they hide the body?”
“It’s still in the trunk of his car. They’re trying to decide whether to drive out to the peninsula and dump it or dump the whole car in the bay.”
He scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. Police would find the car right away and track it back to them.”
I shrug. “Driving hundreds of miles with a body in your trunk isn’t a great option either. And then they have to get it out without anyone seeing them.”
“No one’s going to see them, though. It’s Christmas.”
I laugh. “Christmas really is the perfect day to dispose of a dead body.”
Ainsley turns his stool so that he’s leaning sideways on the bar, facing me. I try not to hold my breath as the full force of his magnetism hits me all at once. He’s like a prince in disguise amongst the paupers, his ripped jeans and faded zip-up hoodie unable to hide the glow of his true identity.
Unfortunately, his words are predictable. “Do you want to get out of here?”
I roll my eyes. “And go back to your fancy apartment for an unsatisfying one-night stand that we’ll both have to pretend not to remember if we ever see each other on campus? Pass.”
The blush in his cheeks rises as I fluster him with my answer.
“That’s not what I meant.” He shakes his head and turns back to the bar. “Do you live nearby?”
“I promise the one-night stand will be just as unsatisfying at my house.”
Another soft laugh, and now he can’t look at me.
I turn back around and rest my head on one hand, elbow on the bar, giving in momentarily to the need to stare at the guy. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Let’s totally get out of here.”
He turns just his head, gaze meeting mine as his eyes narrow. “I don’t know. The last thing I need is more awkward encounters from terrible one-night stands getting in the way of my academic career.”
I smirk at him. “Not for that.” I slide off my stool and take one last gulp of beer before gesturing toward the door with my head. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”