Chapter Fourteen
Ten years, one month, and one day ago
The sun was hitting off the bay, casting a golden glow over the entire neighborhood.
As Helen peered out the passenger window of the parked car, she was struck by how enchanting Tyler’s childhood home was. It
was a storybook house with three little pointed, gabled roofs. The uneven shingles made her think of straw hatch.
The entire street was charming, each house unique, but all with a front yard facing the bay as the suburban blocks sloped
downward toward the water. It was the kind of neighborhood Helen would love to jog in and pick out favorite houses as she
ran past.
“You grew up in Hansel and Gretel’s house,” she said.
“Can we please not bring up fairy tales with witches in them?”
Tyler’s eyes were teasing though. That morning, he’d awoken beside her at the bed and breakfast in a lighter mood, no longer
as nervous about introducing her to his father, siblings, and not-so-nice stepmother.
Helen asked, “Don’t most fairy tales have witches in them?”
“No, some have wolves that eat grandmothers and little girls.”
“But in the end, a lumberjack cuts the wolf open and saves them.”
“Sorry to break it to you, Helen. That’s the kid-friendly version. In the original version of ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ the
wolf wins. He eats the grandma and then the little girl, and he flees the house, happy and full.”
She gasped, pretend-scandalized. “That’s dark.”
He smiled. “Very.”
“I like the wolf,” Helen said. “He’s clearly a genius.”
“You’re dark.” Tyler laughed and reached into the back seat to grab the box of chocolates and the bottle of white wine. “Which do
you want?”
“The wine.”
He handed her the wine and kept the chocolates. Then he took a deep breath, and she watched as the playfulness left him on
the exhale and tension replaced it.
“What was that?” she said.
“What?”
“I just watched you turn from Tyler the Magical Professor of Grimms’ Fairy Tales to Tyler the Uptight Mall Security Guard.”
“I think some mall security guards would object to that description,” Tyler said with a deadpan delivery. Then he said in
a more thoughtful tone, “We need a code word. In case you need me to rescue you.”
“No, if you go in there expecting things will go badly, you’re setting yourself up for failure.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I mean it. Let’s go in there expecting the best from your stepmom and dad, expecting to laugh with your brother, and expecting
the unexpected from your sister, and that in and of itself will be a fun surprise. Let’s go in there like rays of sunshine.”
A sweet, slow smile spread over Tyler’s face. “How about we go in there like wolves?”
“Even better.”
At the front door, he reached for her hand and said, “The code word is ‘lumberjack.’ Just work it into any sentence.”
Helen laughed and squeezed his hand as they waited for someone to answer.
That someone turned out to be the Wicked Stepmother Evelyn. As the woman said, “Hello, Tyler!” Helen told herself to stop
thinking of her as the Wicked Stepmother.
“Hi, Evelyn!” Tyler let go of Helen’s hand and stepped forward to give Evelyn a quick hug. Then he stepped back, angling his
body toward Helen, gesturing her into the fold. “This is Helen.”
Helen went for the hug just as Evelyn extended her hand to shake, and she accidentally crushed Evelyn’s hand between their
chests, because the hug was already in motion as Tyler put an encouraging hand on Helen’s back.
“Sorry,” Helen mumbled. The confidence she’d felt was already fading. “So nice to meet you.”
When they stepped apart, Evelyn straightened the pearl necklace that hung over her crisp white blouse, and Helen straightened
her blue cotton sweater—not because it needed straightening, but because she was instinctively mirroring the older woman.
Evelyn reminded Helen of a character in a daytime soap opera, elegant but overly dressed and pressed for what was just a family
barbecue. Evelyn was in her early fifties, but her refined appearance made her seem both older and timeless.
“Something for your sweet tooth.” Tyler handed Evelyn the box of chocolates, and Helen was surprised by how formal it all
felt. She had expected it to be more casual. She wanted to hold up the bottle of wine and say, “Something for the awkwardness,”
but of course she didn’t.
Evelyn said, “Thank you, dear. Your father’s in the kitchen prepping the burgers.”
So they followed Evelyn from the foyer down a hallway, Helen still clutching the bottle of wine.
“How were your accommodations?” Evelyn asked over her shoulder.
“So nice,” Helen chimed in. “Have you ever seen the Ambrose? It’s really romantic. It was actually a brothel,” she said and
instantly regretted it, so she quickly added, “But it’s not anymore.” Shit, obviously.
Helen shot Tyler an over-the-top desperate look, but underneath the humor, her nerves were truly starting to fray. He gave
her a reassuring look.
“You two could have stayed here, you know.” Evelyn’s tone was an indictment.
“Next time,” Tyler said. “We wanted to book a couples’ thing.”
“Already needing to schedule your romantic time?” Evelyn said, and then she laughed as if she’d only meant it playfully, but
it didn’t really feel that way.
Tyler rolled his eyes at Helen, and she forced a smile.
In the kitchen, Tyler’s dad, Gary, was brushing marinade on veggie skewers. He looked up, and warm introductions were made.
Then he said, “I’d give you a hug, but I’m not exactly in the shape to do that.” He gestured to his black chef’s apron, which
was smeared with marinade.
“His barbecue apron is his favorite look,” Tyler said.
“It is,” Gary said. “Because it usually means my family is together.”
He grinned then, and Helen was struck by how much he resembled Tyler when he smiled. She found herself grinning too.
“What?” said Tyler.
“You two are definitely related,” Helen said. “Same smile.”
“You’re welcome, Son,” Gary said.
Tyler just laughed and shook his head.
Gary picked up a tray of hamburger patties with one hand and the veggie skewers platter with the other. “Get the back door for me, Tyler?”
Tyler glanced at Helen, and she nodded encouragingly. Go, go! And that’s how she ended up alone in the kitchen with Evelyn.
“This is for you.” Helen held up the bottle of wine.
Evelyn took the bottle and crinkled her nose as she read the label. “Is this from the grocery store?”
“Yeah, it is.” What did Evelyn expect? A bottle straight from a French vineyard?
Evelyn set the bottle on the counter. “Thank you, but Gary insisted on burgers, so we’re having hard ciders from a local brewery.”
“That sounds even better than wine.”
“Not really. I don’t care for cider, but with it likely being one of our last warm weekends, Gary wanted a proper barbecue.
I may have to slip away though for a glass of wine. I prefer a strong Burgundy myself—2005 and 2002 were spectacular years.
Do you have a favorite wine?”
“I like Burgundys too,” Helen said, even though to her there were just two kinds of wine: red and white. Too late, she realized
pretending anything else was a bad idea.
“What’s your favorite Burgundy, dear?”
Helen smiled ironically. “Trader Joe’s?”
Evelyn didn’t smile. “I understand you work in the corporate world. It might behoove you to learn a bit about wine. I imagine
many of your clients are oenophiles.”
Helen had never heard the word oenophile before, but she wasn’t going to ask its meaning. She could only guess from the context that it meant “wine lover.” Or as
she stared at Evelyn’s face: “wine snob.”
“You’re right. I should,” Helen said. “I’m only twenty-three.”
“When I was twenty-three, I started a catering business for high-end clients.”
“Oh, that’s really cool!” Helen perked up to show how cool she thought it was, then she cleared her throat.
“No, I meant I’m just starting to learn about wines.
Since I’ve only had a couple years of drinking under my belt.
” She wasn’t including the underage years of chugging cheap beer in the college dorm. “Do you drink wine a lot?”
The color drained from Evelyn’s face, and Helen wanted to take the question back. She’d simply been trying to talk to the
woman about something that was clearly an interest of hers: wine! Yet Helen had obviously touched a nerve.
“No,” Evelyn said in a clipped voice. “I don’t drink wine a lot. Are you normally so rude when someone invites you into their home? Do you always inquire about everyone’s drinking habits?”
“I’m sorry, no. I didn’t mean it like that,” Helen said quickly.
“Would you like to know what medications I take too?”
“No. I just meant, do you, like, attend wine tastings or go to vineyards?”
“Perhaps you should go help Tyler and his father with the burgers now.”
She’d been dismissed. Helen felt a crowd of emotions rolling beneath the surface, and if she went outside and saw Tyler’s
sweet face, she might burst into tears. So instead, she said, “Is there a bathroom I could please use first?”
“Down the hall. Third door on the left.” Evelyn didn’t even look at Helen when she said it.
Inside the bathroom, Helen turned on the faucet in case she did start to cry, but now that she was alone, she didn’t feel
like crying. Instead, she felt the anger crash in like a runaway train.
What a disaster! She could see what Tyler meant about the Wicked Stepmother. The entire conversation had felt precarious from
the beginning. It was as if Evelyn had been trying to keep her off-balance every step, as if she reveled in being cruel.
Looking in the mirror, Helen wet her fingertips in the running water and smoothed down the few flyaways at the part in her hair.
She grabbed a tissue and blotted the shine on her nose.
Then she licked her lips and smoothed the hem of her shirt.
No way was she going to cry on the car ride home like Tyler’s last girlfriend!
Helen was good at the sarcastic retort, the curtly raised eyebrow.
Watch out, because she could out-bitch this bitch.