Chapter Fifteen
FIFTEEN
Phoebe
The room has not frozen over. The air has not been vacuumed out. Our moms entered the Berkshires mansion as if they belonged. As if nothing has transpired these past few months.
It’s hard to pretend that we’re in a normal stasis when rage and hurt have made a toxic home in my heart.
It’s difficult to look at her . My mom— Elizabeth . My brain screeches like a record scratch every time my eyes meet hers, like it’s trying so hard to rationalize how the mom who raised me could be the same woman who might’ve had a hand in kidnapping Trevor.
I’m nothing if not stupendous at putting on a facade, and I make sure to contain the swirling, pent-up anger from twisting my face. Rocky’s doing less of a stellar job—but the rage in his gray eyes that screams I hate the world and everyone in it isn’t a new feature that they’re surprised by. I’m sure they think he’s just in one of his many moods that could be attributed to just about anything.
Woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
Saw a black cat.
Accidentally drank expired milk.
The list is quite endless.
We’ve all lit cigarettes as we wait for Everett to arrive, and we’ve remained on our feet like he could be here any minute. The full-windowed sunroom has a view of an overgrown backyard and mossy green pond. Fallen russet leaves blow across the weeds as the evening sun descends.
Elizabeth and Addison found a crate of old records and laughed over which we should listen to. Discarding Korn and keeping the Supremes and Blondie. I dusted off a few records, and Rocky even helped fix the player.
Melodic female vocals now flood the room, and we’re all casually smoking like we’re catching up on lost time between jobs. The feigned normalcy draws my heartbeat to my eardrums, pounding louder.
“This place is darling,” Addison compliments, her gaze roaming around the vaulted ceilings, and she tugs off her gloves. “Where’d you find it?”
“I didn’t,” Rocky says. “It’s Nova’s place.”
Elizabeth seems proud. “He’s always so good at finding the diamonds in the rough. Isn’t he?”
“Quite,” Addison says, slipping her a furtive look that I can’t decipher. With her hair newly dyed a deep shade of red and without glasses, her eyes pop. She seems less mousy than when I saw her at the country club, and more like a trial lawyer who could slit my throat.
Truth be told, Elizabeth and Addison might as well be Thelma and Louise—only replace the nineties jeans with ankle-length designer dresses and trendy cat-eye sunglasses. Elizabeth perched her Dior pair atop her head, while Addison keeps her Chanels hooked in the collar of her blouse.
The music switches to a poppy tune, and Elizabeth raises her hand with the cigarette pinched between her fingers like she’s trying to pause space and time. “ This song,” she says excitedly. “You remember, bug?” She whirls toward me in a sea of honey-blonde hair. Her eyes carry a vivacious energy that hasn’t dulled in all the years I’ve known her.
But it’s Debbie Harry’s silky voice on “Heart of Glass” that has tossed me back into the past. I fight the urge to go there. To experience the pang and heartache of nostalgia.
“I don’t remember,” I lie horribly, unable to hide the bitter edge in my voice. Be nice. Be pleasant. But why? Why do I need to hide these feelings that torment me?
She frowns deeply, her eyes dimming. “Phoebe?”
Rocky glances to me, then to Elizabeth. “Remember what?”
She pauses briefly to slip me another confused look before she tells Rocky, “Phoebe was what—ten, eleven?” She takes another pause, waiting for me to confirm.
I don’t speak. Bitterness drives into my heart. How could she dredge up this memory right now? Is it manipulation? Or is it just love?
Off my silence, she continues with a breezy smile. “Anyway, I got this call to pick her up from summer camp, and when I get to the office, she looks mad as a hornet. Ready to pluck out the eyeballs of the girl sitting next to her.”
Rocky’s brows rise, and he swings his head to me for an explanation.
“She called me the Scarlet Witch,” I say. “I didn’t know it was a comic-book reference. I thought she was just being extra cruel.”
“It was still cruel,” my mom confirms. “That was the day Phoebe got her period. Bled right through her jeans. On the drive home, we stopped for ice cream and this song came on the radio. We turned it up and sang our lungs out.” Her hazel eyes meet mine, and she searches them for answers. “You do remember that?”
Of course, I remember.
I remember how she tossed my jeans in the wash and bought me my first box of tampons. I remember how she told me girls like Madeline were just unhappy with themselves, and that’s why they were so mean to those around them. I remember the mint-chocolate-chip ice cream. I remember the song.
Mostly, I remember feeling like I could have lived inside that moment with my mom forever. But now…now it feels like swimming through tar just to reach that love.
Seeing her, I thought I could mask this hurt. But I can’t. I just can’t.
“I was never in Victoria for a job.” I unleash that truth in one acidic second. “Hailey and I came to Connecticut to get away from everything. To quit.” It feels like I’m an angsty teenager, throwing my one act of rebellion in her face.
I catch Rocky smiling before he takes a quick drag from his cigarette. He’s amused by my outburst. Lovely. At least he’s not scolding me for caving too early. We were at least supposed to wait for his dad.
Elizabeth shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to understand,” I say snidely. God, who am I? “I quit grifting.”
They both cringe at the word. “We don’t grift ,” Addison says.
“Lying, cheating, scamming, whatever you want to call it—I was out.”
“ Was .” Elizabeth catches that word. Her eyes flit to Rocky, then back to me. “So this was just a break?”
Maybe. I grind down on my teeth. “I haven’t decided,” I say truthfully.
Elizabeth slowly sinks down onto the wicker settee and pats the floral cushion. “Here, sit, sit ,” she says to me, like we’re about to have a heart-to-heart about the boy I like in school. And you know, not discuss how I was trying to leave the family business of deceit and fraud.
“I don’t want to fucking sit,” I tell her.
Her face pulls into confusion, hurt. I’ve never rebelled, not really. I’ve been the dutiful daughter. The team player. The one you can count on. It’s what I’ve prided myself on, so right now, I try not to hate myself more than I hate her.
“It’s not a big deal,” Rocky says casually, and I love him for it. Especially since I distinctly remember he was the one who drove to a motel and told me I’d lost my fucking mind.
“So this means what?” Addison asks, putting out her cigarette on the ashtray. “You’ve been living in Victoria and doing what…?” She gasps suddenly. “Are you and Hailey actually servers at the country club? You aren’t shills?”
Elizabeth pales. “No.” Her appalled gaze swings to mine. “You’re really a waitress ?”
“I do more than just wait tables…”
That explanation doesn’t help much. Addison leans back like she might be sick, and she grabs my mom’s hand again. “Bethy.”
“I know.”
“We’ve taught them nothing,” Addison says in an anguished breath.
If Hailey were here, she’d say, You taught us everything.
But I just have her brother here instead, and he says, “Jesus Christ, it’s not the end of the fucking world.”
“Says the person she’s waiting on,” Elizabeth retorts, giving him a sharp glance. “Grey Thornhall.”
“Phoebe didn’t want to be a rich bitch like me,” Rocky says, which almost makes me smile. “You two talk about choices . Respect hers.”
They’re disappointed in mine. I’m trying to get used to it, because I’m about to pile on the disappointment until it’s one giant landfill.
Elizabeth taps ash to the side. “If you wanted to stay here without running a con, you could’ve put yourself in a position of power like Rocky did.”
“Do you know how those men talk about the servers?” Addison asks me.
“Of course, I know.” I hate how they believe I’m na?ve in my decision to choose an honest job. Heat in my lungs, I tell them, “News flash, the world needs servers, and it’s a thankless, demoralizing position at times—but I wouldn’t trade it. Because I get to work with my best friend, and we’re not terrible at what we do. We’re actually the best ones there.”
Okay, I’m not in the running for any VCC Employee of the Month awards (not that those exist), but they don’t need to know that we’re slowly learning.
“She’s not sixteen,” Rocky points out. “She’s an adult. She can choose whatever bland job she wants.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Addison seems nauseous. “Great, she’s old enough to be objectified daily by club members, and are you a part of those groups, Bray?” I didn’t expect her disappointment to swing in his direction. “Have you just sat by while they dig at Phoebe? At Hailey—your sister? When there’s no recourse in sight for those people? No plan to pick at their pockets? No plan to make them pay?”
Rocky grinds his molars. Before he responds, I cut in. “It is what it is,” I say. “It’s not something you can decide or control. So just…let it go.”
Rocky looks at me like I just won a national spelling bee competition. He is impressed .
My cheeks heat, and I fixate on my mom. “I lied to you, and I thought you’d be more upset I let you believe we were pulling a job here when we weren’t.”
Her gaze is gentle on me. “I am hurt, but I know you must’ve had a good reason to lie. You didn’t want to hurt me? You and Hailey thought Addison and I would disapprove?”
“Because we do,” Addison says bluntly, but there’s little bite to her voice. It’s almost in a matter-of-fact way.
Elizabeth softens even more, like she’s compensating for her best friend. “We’re just trying to steer you on the right course, bug. That’s all we’ve ever tried to do.” Worry blankets her face as she looks between Rocky and me. “Which is why we’re still urging you all to leave Connecticut.”
Rocky mutters under his breath, “Here we go again.”
Addison holds up a hand. “You don’t understand, Bray.”
“Help us understand then,” he shoots back. “What the fuck is so big, bad, and ugly here that you want us on the train out tomorrow?”
Elizabeth and Addison share an indecipherable look, and then my mom utters three words I despise. “We can’t say.”
Rocky’s wrath bathes him in pure ice. “You can’t say?” he asks in disbelief. “I’m sorry, is the devil gripping your vocal cords? Why in the fuck can’t you say?”
“Brayden,” Addison snaps. “Don’t talk to Elizabeth like that.”
“He’s right, though,” I cut in. “If you want us out of Connecticut, you should at least give us the decency of telling us why .”
“It’s better if you don’t know,” Elizabeth says and rises to her feet. She pulls the needle off the record, cutting off the music.
“I’ve heard that before,” I say coldly. “We’re not five anymore, Mom. You can’t keep us in the dark.”
“I’m sorry, spider, but this is something that’s bigger than you. It’s bigger than all of us, and it’d be worse, I promise you. It’d be much worse if you knew.” Fear invades her eyes, but how am I supposed to trust it? Trust her ?
My chest rises and falls heavily, the lies compounding.
Rocky is blistering beside me in his own brewing rage. “You won’t tell us why?” he asks them. “Then give us something else. Because you sure as hell haven’t been completely honest with us, Mom .” The dry bitterness on that endnote causes Addison to turn a shade paler.
“What do you mean?” Addison breathes out.
“You tell me,” Rocky flings back, snuffing out his cigarette on the windowsill. “It seems like you all might’ve kept something from us. Something else. Maybe because it’s ‘better if we don’t know.’?” He uses finger quotes.
“No,” Elizabeth says quickly. “We’d let you know if there was information we were withholding.”
I grimace. “I don’t believe that.”
Her face fractures, and I realize those words hurt her more than anything else I’ve said tonight.
“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Bray,” Addison says, putting out her own cigarette on the ashtray. “Maybe if you gave us some context.”
“Context,” Rocky laughs dryly. “How’s this for context. Your son was fucking stabbed on Halloween by his stalker, and in order to save his life, we had to give him a blood transfusion. Except—oops—none of us even know our blood types. What an inconvenience that turned out to be.”
“Is Trevor—?” Addison starts.
“He’s fine,” Rocky cuts her off quickly. “But six blood tests later, it looks like he can’t be your biological son. So what’d you do? Steal him from a grocery store? Snatch him out of a crib?”
She shakes her head over and over and looks hurriedly to Elizabeth. My mom has a hand to her mouth, shell shocked.
“We saw you, Addison,” I say. “You had a pregnant belly when we were little. Was that a lie, too?”
She touches the edges of her eyes, trying to stop the tears. “Give me a moment.” She rises and flees toward the powder room.
Elizabeth shoots to her feet like she means to follow her.
“You walk out of this room, and I walk out of your life,” I tell her sharply, the ultimatum spilling out of me in an uncontrolled frenzy. I’m not even sure I really mean it, and my heart thumps so loud in my ears.
She stares at me like I’m transformed. A figment of the daughter she knows. I’m glad she can understand the feeling . “She lost the baby, Phoebe,” she tells me so softly, so painfully. “She had a miscarriage, and then she adopted Trevor. And instead of telling you all about it, Everett, Addison, and I agreed to just let you all believe he was hers. But he is hers. In every sense of the word.”
A lump lodges in my throat.
Adoption.
I just theorized this upstairs, but aren’t there holes to this story?
My stomach knots. Aching. I shake my head. “You can’t adopt a kid. You can’t leave paperwork.”
“She had a different name. Fake identity. Fake papers.” Her eyes slide between both of us, and Rocky is rigid. An ice block. “He needed a home. We gave him one.”
“Where was he born? What adoption agency?” Rocky asks.
“New York. Um, I can’t remember the agency Addy used. It’s been so long. Like all of you, we don’t like paper trails. Birth certificates get burned.”
Whether Rocky believes her, I can’t tell. I’m not completely sure I do, but it’s not as if they can give us more proof.
“What about us?” I ask, my voice tight. What about me? “Are we all adopted, too?”
Her face cracks. “No, bug. I carried you three.” She touches her heart. “I was pregnant with triplets. Your brothers and you. I gave birth to all three of you.” She looks to Rocky. “And you and Hailey are Addison and Everett’s biological children.” She returns her attention to me. “Is this why you’ve been so…?” She doesn’t know the word. Angry. Combative. Different.
“I don’t want to be lied to,” I tell her. “Not by you.”
“I’d like to think I raised you well enough that you could tell when I lie,” she says gently, but it feels more like someone slipping a needle in my neck. Her gaze flits to where Addison left, and I think she might leave for her. But she returns her attention back on me. “Connecticut,” she says. “We can’t stay in the state longer than a couple hours at a time. There was a con—before your time—that we pulled.”
Rocky’s eyes darken. “What con is so big that you can’t come back in decades?”
“And that’d make it unsafe for us to be here, too?” I add in confusion.
“One that didn’t end well.” She sucks in a tight breath, and I know she won’t explain more. That we’re going to have to be satisfied with those half answers. Now’s not the time to even push. We have to get them on board with the Koning job, and it might be a little difficult considering we just made Addison cry.
I truly can’t remember the last time I saw her shed a tear—and I feel a little like shit if they are telling the truth. If she did have a miscarriage. And is it my place to question that? Should I take it at face value?
I think of Hailey. The purplish crescent moons under her sleepless eyes. Her obsession with finding answers. Proof. We need proof.
DNA. The dinner. We have to stay the course.