Chapter 11
Um. Hi,” I said. I ran my hand over the dog’s head and just left it there for a moment. God, he was a comfort right now. I took a shaky breath and tried to pull myself together, running my hand over his ears. When I moved it, they popped straight up again. I pushed my hand down again, to flatten them—then lifted it up. After a moment, Andy’s ears sprang back up and I laughed for what felt like the first time in hours.
I gave him one more pet, then pushed myself up to standing, lifting the dog with me. I moved the tent and the duffel onto the fake grass so they wouldn’t be in the way in case anyone needed to drive out, then picked up my canvas bag and started the long walk up the driveway.
I wasn’t sure how to get the dog back into the house—the last thing I wanted was to ring the “Darcy” doorbell, interrupt dinner, make a big fuss. But by the time I’d passed the balloon dog sculpture, I could see Chloe standing on the front steps.
I waved, incredibly relieved that I could just hand Andy off and go. “The dog got out again,” I called as I held him up, like she needed proof.
“Huh. Weird.” She seemed so unsurprised by this, I figured it must happen a lot. She opened the door and stepped through. “Let’s get him in.”
I’d been thinking I’d just hand him to her on the steps, but she was already in the foyer, so I didn’t see any choice but to follow her back inside.
She shut the door once I was in, and I handed the dog back to her. “Good boy,” she murmured to Andy before setting him down. He immediately tore off in the direction of the kitchen. I wasn’t going to say anything to Chloe, but honestly, no wonder this dog was always escaping if he was getting these mixed messages. “Thanks for bringing him back,” Chloe said, then her eyes widened as she looked at me. “Oh my god.”
I looked down and remembered what I was wearing. “Oh, right. I can turn it inside out?”
“No, it’s just that I can’t believe he ever thought that hair was the way to go.” Her smile faltered as she took a step closer to me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically. But I’d just cried harder than I had in years—of course it was going to show up on my face.
“I’m not sure you are.”
“No, I’m good.” My voice was getting high and tight, the way it always did when I was lying. But luckily, Chloe didn’t know that.
“I kind of think you’re lying.”
“I’ve already taken up way too much of your time. I’ll just—”
“Get an Uber to the bus station?” She made each of these things sound increasingly unappealing.
“Um, yes—”
“Last bus to LA leaves at midnight. It’s half an hour from here to the Strip, more if there’s traffic. Maybe you’ll make it if you leave right now. But the closest Uber is twenty minutes away.” She showed me her phone, and my heart sank as I looked at the distinct lack of cars around our little dot on the map.
“Oh well. That’s okay. I can just wait.”
“All night. At the bus station?”
“It’s what I was going to do in Jesse,” I pointed out. “Russell, too. We were going to wait there until the bus came at seven.”
“Yeah, at a bus station in Bumblefuck, Nevada. You want to wait all night at a Vegas bus station?”
I shifted my feet, not quite sure how to get out of this. But I did know the longer we debated logistics, the small window for making the midnight bus to California was going to close. “I mean—maybe I can get there by midnight.”
“You can’t.” Her voice was definitive. “And I really don’t want to send you there and then you get murdered and the guilt of it haunts me my whole life.”
“You could probably get a good true-crime podcast out of it, though?”
Chloe laughed at that, loudly, like I’d surprised her. “Just stay here. We’ve got more than enough room. One of the guesthouses is just sitting empty. You can have your own space; we won’t bother you. Get a good night’s sleep, and then we can drive you to the bus station in the morning.”
“That’s really generous of you. But I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask me. I offered. So you’ll stay.”
“I mean…” I looked around, and discovered that it is very hard to come up with rational excuses when you’re surrounded by Picassos and half-naked sci-fi portraits. I shook my head. “Russell—”
Chloe waved her hand in a gesture that somehow managed to be dismissive but not unkind. “Leave him to me. I’d really feel a lot better if you stayed.”
As I stood there in the foyer, the thought of a hot shower, a soft bed—things I hadn’t had in days—was too tempting to pass up. I could take a moment to breathe, pull myself together. And if Russell thought it was weird that I was here—well, I would never have to see him again after tomorrow. “It’s really kind of you.”
Chloe shook her head. “It’s nothing. And besides, I had to make it up to you. I heard you were dragged in front of C.J.” She gave me a look that let me know she understood exactly what I’d gone through with the lawyer. “So you’ll stay?”
I nodded. After all, wasn’t this what I’d just wished for, sobbing out on the driveway? Someone to take me in hand, make things okay, take care of me? “I’ll stay. Thank you so much. I left my stuff…”
“I’ll get someone to grab it.” She grinned at me and clapped her hands together. “This will be fun. Let’s get you set up.”
I’d been worried that it might be awkward to go back into the house after I’d left it. But it was like Chloe wasn’t allowing for this possibility. Like she was bending the situation to her will.
We walked back into the main room, where everyone was sitting around the dining room table with half-eaten plates in front of them, laughing and talking, Artie on Sydney’s lap, his face covered in sauce. Neither Russell or Wylie was there, and clocking their absence, I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.
“Andy got out again,” Chloe said as she breezed past the dining room table, me following in her wake. “Darcy got him, though. She’s staying here tonight.”
“What?” Wallace asked, looking up from his plate, but Montana gave me a smile.
“Good work, Darcy! Come back here and play Fishbowl when you’re all settled.”
Before I could answer that, Chloe was opening a glass door and stepping into the backyard, and I hurried to follow.
The backyard was just as stunning as the front—the pool was huge, and ringed with loungers and round covered chairs that seemed like mini cabanas. There was a connected hot tub, bubbling away. Bobbing in the pool was a huge float that seemed to be a punk-rock unicorn with wings, and a smaller circular float that looked like a bagel with a schmear. Striped towels were flung over the lounge chairs and the big circular chairs, but there were also baskets all around the perimeter with neatly rolled-up towels inside them. There was a huge, hulking piece of black metal to the side of the pool, which I was pretty sure was a Richard Serra.
“Darcy?”
“Yeah,” I said, hurrying to catch up with Chloe.
I hadn’t known what to expect when I’d heard guesthouse—but not this. It was one of the five guesthouses ringing the backyard. And the one I’d be staying in was a little smaller than our house in Raven Rock—but honestly, not by much. It looked like a one-story version of the main house, all wood and glass and sharp angles. There were three steps up and a small porch in front with two Adirondack chairs facing the pool.
Chloe headed inside, and I followed. It was a proper house—we were in the living room, with a couch and a TV, an open-plan kitchen behind it. There was a hallway where I assumed the bedrooms and bathroom were.
“Wylie misses being on tour, so he named all the guesthouses after his favorite places and decorated them accordingly. This one is Bleecker Street, in the Village.”
I was about to ask what she meant by that—what village?—but then I took in the décor and realized, all at once, that she meant New York City.
Hanging above the couch was a large framed poster for Metropolitan. All over the walls were photographs and sketches of the city. There was even a huge, old-fashioned-looking metal sign hanging in the kitchen that read HH BAGELS—NEW YORK’S FINEST.
Even the furniture seemed to somehow say New York, though I wouldn’t have known that was a way to describe something until I saw it. The couch and chairs were a dark, soft-looking leather, and there were dark-red woven rugs on the wooden floors. Everything was angular and cool—it certainly no longer seemed like we were in the middle of the desert, outside Las Vegas.
“What?” Chloe asked. “Is it okay?”
“I—”
“Because normally, I could move you, but the other guesthouses are occupied at the moment, unfortch. Montana and Priya are staying in Hana Highway, and Kenya and Doug are in Beale Street.”
“No, are you kidding? It’s amazing. It’s a whole house!”
“I know. Much nicer than any house I ever lived in before I met Wylie.” She crossed into the kitchen, and I followed. There was a large basket of snacks and fruit on the counter, and just seeing it, I felt how hungry I was. But I didn’t know how this worked—was I allowed to have these snacks? I was basically a pity guest—they were probably reserved for important visitors.
Chloe opened the fridge and pulled out a glass bottle. “Topo Chico?” I nodded. She took out two, opened them both, then slid one across the kitchen counter to me.
“So,” I said, after I took a long drink, letting my canvas bag rest between my feet. My mind was turning over what she’d just told me about who was staying where, not to mention what I’d seen back in the house. Now that I was going to be here for a bit, my curiosity was starting to get the better of me. “How does it all work?”
Chloe reached into the snack basket and pulled out a bag of chips. I was relieved to see that it would apparently be okay for me to eat something from it too. “How does what work?” She opened the bag and held it out to me.
I ate three—salt and vinegar, very good—then wiped my hands on my jean shorts. “Well… that Kenya and Doug are here. And Paula, too…” And you, I thought but did not say. But she seemed to be… living here? Co-parenting with her ex-husband? And somehow on good terms with Wylie and his kids—many of whom were older than her—and his ex-wives.
She nodded as she crunched down on a chip and then shook the bag. “You think it’s weird that we’re all here together?”
“Well… yeah.”
Chloe laughed, and I felt myself relax a little. Her phone beeped and she pulled it out of her sweatpants pocket. “Astrid’s awake now too. I swear, the kids know the second I’m out of the house.”
“Do you need to—check on her?” I didn’t want to be the one who was taking up her time, even though she didn’t seem like she was in any kind of a hurry to leave.
“I’m sure she’s fine. And if she’s not, there are a ton of people who can help. It’s the benefit to all of us being together.” She plucked another chip from the bag. “That’s what you were asking, right? How we manage to do it?”
“I’ve just never… known about something like this, that’s all. It’s not what I would have expected.”
“I mean, normally there aren’t this many of us. We turned the festival into an occasion to all get together—but we do try to get together as much as we can. Wylie was very clear about it from the beginning. Said he had no interest in siloed families, everyone separate. He likes siblings to be in each other’s lives, even if they don’t all have the same parents. He likes the noise and the chaos, everyone running around together and getting into trouble.”
“I can see that with the kids,” I said slowly. “But…” Their mode of living just seemed so separate from anything I’d seen in my own family, or in my friends’ families who were divorced, that I didn’t quite understand how it was happening.
“Wylie just says that if you chose to partner with someone, it was for a reason. He was clear with me about the time he spends with his exes, all of the kids… and we all make it work.” She arched an eyebrow and leaned forward, like she was about to give me the gossip. I leaned in to get it. “Sometimes, it works a little too well, in Paula’s case.”
“You mean…”
“Wylie and Paula got back together,” she said with a laugh. “After we were divorced. We joke that he’s had so many wives, he’s back around to the first one. And it’s better, honestly. He needs to be with someone his own age. He was getting tired of me not knowing who Burt Lancaster is. Was?”
“And everyone just… gets along?”
“I mean, for the most part. Like anything worth doing, you have to work at it. It doesn’t just happen. And his ex, Candace, hates him. As you’ve probably read. She’s not on board with any of this. But for the most part… it just works.”
I nodded slowly, trying to process this—that a millionaire rock star with a string of exes and a passel of kids could have these functional, happy relationships. But me and my dad were totally separate from Gillian and her new family—and I didn’t know my half-siblings at all.
Well, Didi chimed in. You’ve also never really… tried?
“What?” Chloe asked, and I realized she was looking at me closely, like she was reading something on my face.
“Nothing—I was just thinking about how I wasn’t sure that would be possible for me. With my mom’s new husband and family, I mean.”
Chloe nodded, crunched down on another chip, and held the bag back out to me. I’d just taken a bite when she asked, “Was that who you were yelling at in the driveway? It looked like mom yelling.”
“You saw me?” I felt a dull flush creep into my cheeks. I just hoped that it was only Chloe, and not the entire household.
“Why do you think I sent Andy out to get you?”
“You—what?”
“I mean, he has an actual problem, don’t get me wrong. He’s always trying to make a break for it. But he’s also a soft touch, and I knew you’d do the right thing and bring him back.”
I finished my chip as I processed this. For a second I tried to figure out if I was angry about it, then decided I wasn’t. Chloe had used the dog subterfuge for good, and now that I was here, and seeing where I was going to be staying tonight, I was grateful for it. “Well… thanks?”
“I know a mom fight when I see one,” she said, setting down the chips and rooting around in the basket, finally coming up with an apple. “It’s our most complex and primal relationship.” I raised my eyebrows at that and she laughed. “Sorry, my psych major is showing.”
“Psych major?”
Chloe nodded, looking proud and a little nervous. “Yeah, I just started at UNLV. Just part-time, though.”
“You do have a very small child,” I pointed out.
“Two of them, even. You’ll meet Astrid in the morning.” Chloe looked at the apple critically, set it down, and pulled out a chocolate bar. “Much better.”
She held the bar out to me, and I broke myself off a square. She grinned at me, and I was struck again by just how young she looked. “Um…,” I started, cramming a piece of chocolate in my mouth to get my courage up.
“What?”
“Can I ask—how old you are? Sorry if that’s rude.”
Chloe laughed. “I’m twenty-four. I don’t think it’ll be rude for fifteen years or so.”
I nodded, and broke myself off another piece of chocolate. Gillian had been twenty-four when she had me. And even though my dad had always talked about how young they had both been, I’d always shrugged this off. Twenty-four seemed adult. But looking at Chloe now, it was hitting me for the first time what that had meant for my dad. For Gillian.
Needing to think about something else for just a moment, I nodded back toward the main house. “Do you think Russell will be okay? Is he in big trouble?”
Chloe grimaced. “Russell normally never gets in trouble. He’s the kid Wylie worries about the least. Not like Montana. She and Wylie could probably have a fight in shorthand by this point. But Russell and Wylie… it’s new to them. I bet they’re not having a fun conversation right now.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Something happened at the festival. Right before Wylie’s set—I saw the two of them arguing. And then after…” She sighed. “I don’t know what happened. But they were both upset. And then we couldn’t find Russell—he’d disappeared. He texted Connor that he wasn’t coming back with us, and he was going to LA on his own. But we didn’t know how, or where he was… Wylie was not happy. But he also refused to tell us what they were fighting about.”
I nodded, thinking back to the times that Russell had alluded to the friend he’d come to Silverspun with, the one who he’d been fighting with—who was, it turned out, his dad.
“And then a few hours ago,” Chloe went on, “Connor got another text from him. He said that he was okay and not to worry. That things were good with him, with like eight smiley faces. That did not go over well on our end, let me tell you. But then soon after that, Russell was calling Wylie and saying he was about to be arrested and needed help.” She pushed herself off the counter and shrugged. “So all in all, I’d say they have some things to work out.”
I turned this all over in my mind, realizing Russell must have texted Connor while I was in the bathroom at the Silver Standard. Russell had texted his brother, told him things were good, texted a row of smiley faces… because he was happy. Because of me. Because things had been going so well.…
It wasn’t real,Didi reminded me.
Itwas real, Katy insisted. Maybe the details were a little fudged. But everything that mattered was true. And you know it.
I suddenly wished that Russell would have told me the truth. So I could have known everything real about him, and he wouldn’t have felt the need to keep any of it from me. I could have actually known about his parents, his stepparents, his half-siblings, this crazy circus life. What it had been like to grow up like this, and if he played any instruments, and if his dad liked his Fun Facts as much as I had. The real him.
Chloe finished her chocolate and clapped her hands together. “So! Let’s get you settled in.” She walked out of the kitchen, and I grabbed my sparkling water and hurried after her, pulling my canvas bag over my shoulder.
“Everything should be stocked,” she said as she walked down the hallway, which was dotted with framed photographs on both sides. Central Park at night, the Brooklyn Bridge, Russell—
I stopped short and took a step closer to the photograph on the wall. Russell was standing on a New York sidewalk. He was wearing a suit—a dark jacket and pants, white shirt, no tie, his hair sharply parted. He looked so handsome it took my breath away. He was in profile, looking up at something. It seemed like maybe he was underneath a Broadway marquee? He looked so happy—just suffused with joy.
And I realized that I recognized it—it was how he’d looked for a lot of tonight. When we’d been happy. Together.
“Darcy?”
“Yeah,” I called back. I pulled myself away from the picture, and continued down the hallway, past a framed poster of the famous Simon Garfunkel concert in Central Park.
“Bathroom,” Chloe said, opening a door and flipping on a light switch. “There should be everything you need in there. Towels, products, hair dryer…” She walked to the door just off the bathroom and opened it. “You can take whichever bedroom you want; they both should have sheets—”
She turned on the light and groaned. The room was bigger than my bedroom back home—upholstered headboard, fluffy-looking gray duvet cover, an explosion of pillows. And right in the middle of the bed, taking up most of it, was Tidbit.
He looked at us with his huge eyes, unimpressed, like he was wondering just why we were disturbing him.
“Tidbit!” Chloe sounded exasperated. “What are you doing here?”
“How did he even get in?”
“He can open doors,” she said with a sigh. “He does it with his head. He was probably trying to escape Artie. He keeps trying to ride him.” She looked back down the hallway, toward the house. “I should probably go investigate, actually. You okay?”
“I’m great—thank you so much.”
“Come back to the house when you’re settled,” she said, then gave me a smile. “Or not! You might have had more than enough of us for one night. You’re welcome either way.” She turned to the dog. “Tidbit! Come.”
Tidbit didn’t even raise his head, just snuggled more deeply into the duvet.
“Maybe take the other bedroom? It’s like trying to move a boulder.”
“Um, okay. Do I need to… do anything?”
Chloe shook her head. “He’ll let himself out when he wants to leave.” She leaned over the bed and rubbed his ears. “You weirdo.” She straightened up and headed out of the room. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said, giving my arm a quick squeeze as she passed me.
“Thank you again,” I called, even though I knew it was inadequate for everything that had just been handed to me.
“Sure,” she called back to me. “See you in a bit.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied, figuring that this was easier than telling her that I was planning on locking the door and staying here for the rest of the night. Even though I would have liked to have tried Priya’s pasta. And I was still curious about what Fishbowl actually was… but to go back up to the main house would be to risk running into Russell.
Chloe stepped out the front door, giving me a wave as she went. I kicked off my sandals and dropped my canvas bag next to them. And then, feeling like I had been in these clothes for far too long, I stepped out of my jean shorts and pulled off my Nighthawks sweatshirt and tank top. I tossed them onto the bed next to Tidbit, who seemed affronted by all of this. I smiled at him, then headed into the bathroom.
I felt like I could cry as I looked around—the bright white tiles, the sunken tub and glassed-in shower. The very idea that I was back to indoor plumbing felt like a miracle.
The bathroom was stocked with fancy products, the kind I’d seen on influencers’ social media but had never tried out myself. I treated myself to them now, though, taking a long, hot shower. I washed my hair and then just stood under the warm water, eyes closed, until I felt something in my shoulders loosen, my neck unwind, like my body at last understood that I didn’t have to stay on guard anymore. That I could finally set down some of what I’d been carrying.
There was a gray fluffy robe on the back of the door, and I wrapped myself in it. Chloe had been right—the bathroom was stocked with everything I could have needed. Brushes, combs, moisturizers…
I took the opportunity to dry my hair—I felt I needed to after letting it dry slowly with pool water in it for the last few hours. When my hair was dry and I felt like I was fit for civilization again, I headed back into the bedroom, feeling lighter and calmer than I had in days. I’d see if there was a phone charger in this house—there had to be one somewhere—and then I’d text Katy in her dorm at Scripps. I knew she’d still be up, and I wanted to go through all this with her. Didi would be upset, I knew, that she hadn’t been looped in, but she went to Colgate, and it was very late on the East Coast. And maybe Bella would have brought my duffel, and I could change into my pajamas. They were creased and dusty, but it was still miles better than sleeping in my clothes at a bus station.
I stopped in the doorway of the bedroom and looked around. My sandals were still there, and my canvas bag. The dog was still there.
But my clothes had disappeared.