Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHRISTINE
“Mommy, it’s on fire !” Casey shrieks and points at the stove.
I spin on my heel. The pancakes are, in fact, very smokey and undoubtedly burnt, but thankfully it’s not an actual fire. I quickly flip off the stove, remove the pan from the heat, and shove open the window over the sink.
That was my third attempt, and the last of the batter.
We’ve been at this for thirty minutes, and poor Casey is still waiting patiently at the table with his—now empty—cup of juice.
“I didn’t really want pancakes anyway,” Casey offers.
I close my eyes and let out a breathy laugh. One of these days I’ll master something other than cereal.
Despite the many years I have under my belt of fending for myself, I didn’t have access to a kitchen for the majority of that time, leaving my cooking skills rather lacking. And when I moved in with Julian, he always insisted his private chefs do everything.
Sandwiches, I can do. Snack trays, no problem. Anything requiring electricity…well, it usually turns out like this.
Sometimes I feel like a teenage boy who just went off to college with no life skills.
I slide a bowl of Casey’s backup cereal in front of him and shuffle to the coffee maker for a second cup. I’m probably more upset about it than he is. Pancakes sounded really good.
I glance at my phone on the counter as I stir in some coffee creamer. No response from Fletcher yet. Jacks and I are supposed to have our first study session, but we never agreed on a time or place. It’ll be a nice distraction for me since Julian’s taking Casey today. I chew on my lip and peek at Casey shoveling cereal into his mouth, remembering how our last transfer to Julian went. But he seems pretty calm about it today. Maybe he’s forgiven and forgotten the earlier incidents with Julian.
Maybe he just misses him.
Julian hasn’t pulled any other stunts since the skate park, at least. I didn’t get an apology, of course, and I had to coordinate today with his assistant, not him, but I think that’s as good as we’re going to get.
The thought of doing this for the rest of Casey’s childhood makes me want to crawl into bed.
Casey has barely finished his breakfast when there’s a knock on the door. “I’ve got it!” he calls, jumping to his feet.
I trail behind as he sprints to the door, swings it open, and reveals Dina, his nanny.
I can see his face fall even from here.
“Hi, Case!” She beams and squats down for a hug. He slumps into her unenthusiastically and pulls back just as fast.
“Where’s my dad?” he asks.
Dina meets my eyes over his head, an apologetic expression flashing over her face. “His meetings ran longer than expected, so he’s not back in town yet?—”
“He’s not even here?” Casey’s voice shoots up in a high whine that always precedes a full meltdown.
“He should be back tonight,” Dina rushes to say, as if also recognizing what’s about to happen. And with how much time she spends with him, she must.
I consider myself pretty freaking lucky on the kid front. Casey is as close to an angel as they come, but he’s still just a kid. A kid whose entire life has been flipped inside out this past year. The tantrums are few and far between, but when they hit, you can tell he’s been bottling things up for a good long while.
My chest twinges. Maybe that’s my fault. I’ve always thought he and I had a great relationship, that we talk. But maybe I should’ve found someone else he could talk to a long time ago.
I’ve never tried therapy myself, never really saw the point of rehashing all of my issues, as if I’m not already painfully aware of them. But with Casey, maybe it’s worth a try.
“He said he wants to take you out for dinner!” continues Dina. “Anywhere you want.”
“I. Don’t. Want. Dinner!” Casey turns away and bolts up the stairs.
Dina sighs and points after him. “Should I…?”
I wave her off and open the door wider. “Why don’t you come in? Let’s give him a minute. Do you want some coffee?”
“I—yes, that would be great. Thank you.”
I rub my eyes as she follows me to the kitchen. “Did he actually say he’d be back for dinner?”
Her hesitation is answer enough.
I sigh as I pour her a mug.
This entire situation is infuriating. I would’ve taken sole custody in a heartbeat. He’s the one who fought for this. And clearly not so he could spend time with Casey. It was about saving face. What would this town say about him if he just abandoned his child? He wants to look like the loving, involved father without ever having to play the actual part. And if it’s this bad at the beginning, I don’t have much hope that things will improve.
My phone lights up on the counter with a notification from Fletcher, but I don’t reach for it.
“I don’t want to derail your day,” Dina says. “I can watch him here for a bit, if you’d like, until I can convince him to go. I saw his overnight bag by the door. Is there anything else I should make sure to bring?”
“No, it’s all in there.” I offer her a tired smile, tighten my fist around my coffee, and head upstairs to try to console my son for the millionth time on why his father can’t be bothered to see him.
Since Jacks is still new to town and getting to know all the local shops, I let her pick our study location. After driving to the shore and parking, we walk up the main street. She lingers a little too long near the Brooks smoothie place for comfort, but we end up winding our way to the coffee shop beside Liam’s tattoo studio, Milano’s.
“What’s your drink of choice?” I ask, my voice painfully chipper as we step through the door.
She was silent the entire drive here, no matter my lame attempts at small talk— so how are you settling in? I heard you’re having dinner with Fletcher and his parents tonight—so fun! —and as the adult in this situation, I feel like it’s my job to make this not awkward.
She stares blankly at the menu overhead.
Maybe she doesn’t have a lot of experience with ordering at coffee shops. I can count on one hand my experiences before the age of eighteen, and even then, it was rare I was able to afford it.
“I love their iced lattes,” I offer. “They have a lot of flavors too—the lavender honey is my favorite. But they also have iced teas and hot chocolate if you don’t want caffeine!”
She glances at me sideways, then back to the menu. “Just…whatever you’re having.”
“Okay!” I beam. “Go ahead and pick out a table. I’ll meet you there.”
The second she walks away, I cringe at myself, but I can’t seem to turn the pep mode off. It’s a defense mechanism, I think. Slipping into the role I played in the Brooks household for the last eight years. Cheery and happy and there is most definitely nothing wrong with my life!!
I let the smile drop as I order the coffees, suddenly exhausted. By the time I meet Jacks at the corner table by the fireplace, she’s already spread out the books we picked up from the library and is currently flipping through one.
I hand her the latte and brace myself as she takes a sip. To my relief, she turns the corners of her mouth down in an appreciative way and nods. I twist my head to see which book she was looking at.
“So, you like science?”
“It’s one of the few things I don’t suck at,” she mutters, her eyes flicking up to meet mine.
“That was always my best too,” I say quietly, a million things I haven’t thought about in a long time rushing to the surface as if they’ve been waiting years for this opportunity.
I swallow hard, hoping it doesn’t show on my face.
Back when I was preparing for the test, I had the most ridiculous plans. Biology major in college. Med school. Not that I particularly liked science—or even thought I’d like being a doctor. Pretty sure I plucked the idea out of thin air. Just something to prove to my mom that she was wrong about me.
But it always came back to money. I didn’t have enough for a college application fee, let alone tuition—let alone med school. And besides, by then, I’d met Julian.
And if you don’t try, you can’t fail.
So I guess she was right about me after all.
The doctor thing never would have worked out anyway. Being fueled by spite only would’ve lasted me so long. Maybe I didn’t make something of myself the way I thought I would…but I got Casey. And I wouldn’t change a single thing that led me here for that alone.
“What do I need to score to pass this anyway?” asks Jacks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“You need at least a 145 in each subject. There are 800 possible points, so?—”
“I need a C, basically.”
I smirk. “Sounds like you’re pretty decent at math too.” I pull a notebook from my bag and flip to the page labeled GED. “They offer the test pretty often, so you could really take it just about whenever you want, but I think we should nail down a date so you have something specific to work toward. You can take each subject on a different day, or do it all at once, but if you do that, that’s nearly eight hours of straight testing. There’s also not a ton of pressure since you can retake the test twice if you need to. And if you need more retakes after that, you’d just have to wait sixty days first.”
I glance up to find her staring at me with wide eyes.
I wince and click my pen. “Too much information?”
“I’m just…surprised. That you know so much.”
“I like to be prepared.”
I don’t bother adding how much free time I have these days, and the moment I had a task that felt meaningful , I couldn’t help but spring on it like a feral animal.
Most of the details of the test seem the same from when I took it—the main differences being the rules in Virginia versus New Jersey.
Her eyebrows lift as she nods slowly.
“So. We can circle back on picking a date after we lay some groundwork to see how much time you want for studying. Do you want to start with one of your stronger subjects then, or get your least favorite out of the way first?”
“The social studies one is probably going to kick my ass.” She winces. “I always skipped that class.”
The bell above the door rings as someone enters the building. I don’t turn, but an ice-cold chill travels down my spine as the woman orders her coffee.
I recognize her voice immediately, and my shoulders tense up to my ears. Two others chime in their orders, then the clack of high heels against the hard floor fills the store as they take the table on the opposite side of the shop.
I press my lips together and let out a slow breath through my nose. It doesn’t matter. I will not let this matter.
“I think we should start with social studies then,” I say, forcing enthusiasm back into my voice. “At least get a baseline for where you’re at so we have an idea of what we’re working with.”
Jacks nods her agreement and fishes that book out of the stack.
“I think Thursday is a much better choice for book club night,” trills Lola Bartlett. Her voice carries through the store like Styrofoam rubbing together. “That way it doesn’t clash with tennis on Wednesday anymore.”
“I told Mimi she could join us,” says Francine. “Since we have that open spot now.”
My eye twitches as I take the book from Jacks. Seriously, are we thirteen years old?
“Do you have a way you learn best?” I ask, and it comes out through my teeth. “Flash cards, maybe?”
“Oh my gosh!” gasps Brooklyn. “It just occurred to me we’ll need to find a new place for the getaway trip. You know, since we can’t use”—she lowers her voice, though it’s still perfectly audible—“Julian’s cabin anymore.”
My fist tightens around my coffee.
Honestly, I don’t care that I got kicked out of book club. I don’t care if I ever see any one of them again. I don’t even really care about the pathetically transparent way they’re trying to rub my nose in it right now. I just want one fucking day of peace in this town.
And maybe, I realize, Jacks has something to do with it. Maybe it’s wishful thinking that she hasn’t heard the gossip yet—that there’s one person around here who can get to know me for me, without all the baggage—but I should’ve known that wouldn’t last for long.
Their conversation dips too low for me to hear their next few sentences, but I catch bits and phrases.
“…did you see …”
“…I mean, how young is he?”
“Is that even legal?”
“…maybe he cheated on her, and this is some kind of revenge…”
“…well, I heard…”
I refuse to look over and give them the satisfaction, but Jacks glances from me to their table. Slowly, a single eyebrow arches, then plenty loud for them to hear, she says, “You know they’re talking about you, right?”
The conversation comes to an abrupt halt. They at least have the decency to look a little embarrassed. Francine’s blush has spread all the way to the roots of her poorly bleached hair.
“It’s sad, isn’t it?” Jacks continues. “How much hearing they must have lost in their old age if they can’t tell how much their voices are carrying.”
Now they’re all red, but I don’t think it’s from embarrassment. Jacks has no idea how much of a sore spot she just hit—or maybe she does. I was always the youngest of the group—a point of contention that was never voiced, but I always felt. Maybe under different circumstances I’d have some sympathy for how pressured they felt for all of the Botox and hair dye and surgeries.
Maybe.
Their chairs all shove back at once, and the bell above the door rings as they leave.
When I meet Jacks’s eyes again, her mouth is curled into a smug little grin, and I find myself smiling back.