Chapter 19
I’d barely finished detangling myself from Alaric’s arms and the million-volt aftermath of our collision before I found myself on a patio, cradling a mug of coffee, surrounded by women and men who regarded me with the sort of attentive concern usually reserved for haunted children or feral animals.
To be fair, I’d earned it.
Sal and Terri’s backyard was a winter spectacle but without the oversized and flashy yard decorations in the front.
Oversized Adirondack chairs were clustered around a firepit, solar twinkle lights strung overhead, a cracked stone Buddha, a gurgling fountain, and the whole tableau shrouded in a post-party stillness.
Abby had commandeered the best chair for the firepit and was spooning hot chocolate into her mouth. Staring at her, I tried again to place her face, overlay it with people I’d known in high school, and came up empty. She definitely seemed familiar, though.
Alaric was gone, along with Rex and the kids. The official story was “fetching more firewood,” but I suspected there was some strategy involved. That was fine. I liked Abby and Sal and Terri. As I’ve mentioned, they were fun.
Sal handed me a stick for roasting marshmallows. I accepted it. Conversation flowed. But then the topic turned to the Weston Company and how Terri had heard a rumor that the entire thing was being sold.
“I heard they got it right out from under James Weston.” Terri twisted his marshmallow stick over the fire.
James Weston was the same person as Duke Weston. I wasn’t sure why my biological father preferred the name Duke, but he did, and that’s what all his friends called him. The fact that Terri called him ‘James’ told me that Terri and Duke weren’t friendly.
I liked Terri more and more.
“Well, that’s a real shame, right? What will happen to all those job?” Sal sounded distressed. “I should call the Goodings, make sure they’re all right. Oh! And the Powells, and the Browns, and the—”
“They’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” I cut in. “It’ll work out fine.”
I watched as Terri and Sal traded a look, but Sal was the one to narrow her eyes on me and ask, “What do you know, Ms. Alison?”
“Oh! Wait. Alison Weston.” Terri hit his knee. Are you related to James Weston?”
My eyes widened as I looked between Terri and Sal, and I realized they didn’t know who I was, and who Duke was in relation to me, and therefore who Alaric was in relation to me.
Abby spoke up, “Sal, this is Aly Weston. Mr. Weston’s biological daughter.”
Terri flinched back, giving me a new once over. “I thought you were from Chicago.”
Sal gasped and smacked her own forehead. “That’s what they meant when they said y’all went to high school together.”
“No, wait. I’m still confused.” Terri sat forward in his seat, the marshmallow stick forgotten. “If you’re that Alison Weston, how would you know about the Weston Company? Aren’t y’all on the outs, but in a big way?”
Looked at Terri. Then I looked at Abby. Then I looked at Sal.
“Would you like to hear a story?
* * *
“So, you’ve been plotting all this time? Since you were a kid and your dad left y’all on Christmas? To get revenge?”
The words hovered, swaddled in the steam of her cider, and then landed directly in my lap. Sal’s voice was pure West Texas: a blend of sweetness and artillery.
I answered before I could talk myself out of it. “No. Well, I mean, a little.”
I’d just spent the last hour telling them the story of my planned revenge, trying to be as thorough as possible, leaving out none of the grittier details, and making sure to paint myself in the most unflattering light as possible.
Even so, they had follow up questions.
Terri made a face, one eyebrow hiking up. “I don’t understand. Either you were plotting or you weren’t plotting. Which is it?”
Sal clicked her tongue at him, then turned back to me. “Seems like a long time to hold a grudge. What are you? Thirty-six now?”
Terri leaned back, hands splayed over his knees, the picture of honest skepticism. “Seems a little immature and childish to hold on to things for so long, if I’m being honest. Which I am.”
It was Abby who spoke up for me. “Don’t call her childish until you know the whole story. Go on, Alison. Tell us the rest of your story.”
I wasn’t sure what moved me to actually tell it—maybe the firelight, maybe the fatigue, maybe the ghost of Viv hovering just behind my left shoulder—but I started talking, and once I did, it spilled out faster than I could edit it.
“I wanted revenge when I was a kid, yes. But then, when Alaric testified and we received all the back child support payments, and everyone found out that Duke had been lying about my mom and not paying child support, I felt like some justice—not enough, but some—had been served.”
Terri grunted. “But not enough? You were still thirsty for more vengeance?”
Sal cut him a look so sharp it could’ve stripped paint.
“Hush! Let her finish. And may I say in defense of Alison, I remember all that. And even then, even after everyone knew the truth, there were still plenty of blabbermouths who defended what Mr. Weston had done, saying all kinds of mean things about your momma, how she’d tricked him into marriage and he should have to pay for kids he never wanted. ”
It hit a nerve, the phrase “kids he never wanted,” and I felt a little wobble in my chest, a child’s panic that refused to be starved out by adulthood. I tried to hide it by examining my coffee mug, but it wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Yes. I know. I also remember.” The words tasted like dust. “That didn’t go away just because the checks started showing up. People still talked.”
Terri made a noise of agreement, like an engine turning over. “Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten about that. Like Mr. Bailey. Duke made him the CFO of the Weston Company, didn’t he?”
Sal’s nose wrinkled. “That man is just nasty. He was the worst of them, calling your momma all kinds of names.”
Abby nodded, setting her hot chocolate aside. “He was sour on account of his wife leaving him and taking half of everything when they divorced. Doesn’t open his mouth without saying something about women being evil.”
Sal’s voice sharpened. “His wife deserved that money. Didn’t she raise his children? Cook his dinners? Do his laundry? What do people think stay at home folks do, that a house cleans itself and kids grow up knowing right from wrong intrinsically? I swear.”
Terri just said, “Let Alison continue,” and held up his hands as if in surrender.
Sal nodded. “Oh. Sorry. Please go on.”
“Anyway,” I said, “when I left home for college, I wanted to leave it all behind and forget about Alenbach and my biological father, start over. Several years passed and I did mostly forget. And then my sister got sick.”
A gust of wind rattled the twinkle lights, and for a second, nobody said anything. Then Sal reached across and patted my forearm, the tender. “Oh! Yes. I heard Viv passed. I am so sorry, baby. Losing your sister after your momma is so hard.”
I nodded, staring into the fire. “The thing is, she needed a bone marrow transplant and Duke wouldn’t even get tested.”
Abby nearly dropped her mug. “Oh my God!”
“Right?” I said, and tried to laugh, but it didn’t come out right. “He wouldn’t even do the paperwork. The hospital sent him three different registered letters and he just ignored them.”
Terri let out a string of words that wouldn’t pass muster in most households. “No wonder. I’d want revenge, too. Sorry I said you were childish. I admit my mistake. I’m the one who is immature. He deserves everything coming to him and more.”
Sal’s hand was still on my arm, a physical reminder that I wasn’t narrating this to an empty room. “So that’s when you started plotting your revenge?”
“It was a little after Viv died that I started exploring the possibility, but it wasn’t until the Malcom lands went up for sale that I—as you say—actually started plotting.
” I tried to make it sound casual, like it was something everyone did in their spare time.
You know, Pilates, meal prep, low-level vendettas.
Abby sharply honed in on the most important question. “Why include all the employees of the Weston Company in your plans? Why not just Duke?”
I hesitated, picking at the edge of my glove. “I'm definitely not doing that anymore. But, as you said, men like Mr. Bailey and the rest of the executives that Duke installed, his henchmen, they did a lot of damage to my family, maybe even kept some good people from helping us when we needed it.”
Sal sniffed. “Yes. They did. Them and those country club assholes.”
Terri added, “There’s a special place in hell for those who lead others astray.”
“Shh. Terri. Let her finish,” Abby implored.
I took a breath. “Um, well, laying everyone off is revenge against Duke in a way. I want everyone in town to know he leveraged the entire company to bankroll his lifestyle and didn’t give a shit about them.”
Sal practically cackled. “Even though he’s always acting like such a big man. He inherited that company from your granddaddy, served to him on a silver platter, and he ruined it.”
“I wanted to destroy the whole thing, tear it down in front of Duke, leave him nothing to fight for.”
Sal sat back, satisfied. “That makes sense to me.”
Abby, eyebrow arched, said, “Wait, you said ‘wanted,’ not ‘want.’ Did you change your mind?”
“I did change my mind. If it were any other private equity firm acquiring his debts and therefore the company, they would be focused only on the profit margin. But, yes. I’m not going to fire everyone. Just the executive team. Or anyone else who pisses me off.”
Sal lifted her mug in salute. “That’s fair.”