55. Amelie
55
AMELIE
Margot stares at me like she thinks I’m going to drag her out of here by her ankles and start a fight in the hallway.
I might. Not sure yet.
“Amelie,” she starts, “ please don’t?—”
“What on God’s green earth were you thinking ?” My voice is rising, and I’m not oblivious to the fact. Henry and Roman take a generous step away from Margot and I, clearly aware that this isn’t going to be as quiet of an argument as theirs. “What is this? Is it a joke? Is that why you wanted me at the cabin?”
“No.” She sighs. “Amelie, please. Listen to me?—”
“I want the truth, then,” I say. “All of it.”
“Not now,” she mutters, glancing over her shoulder. “This is a bad place, and?—”
“ Now. ”
She swallows. Looks awkwardly over her shoulder at Roman, who is staring out the door.
“Go,” I tell him, getting his attention by snapping my fingers. “Get out.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice. Roman walks out of the room, hands in his hair like he might tug it out. I don’t look away from the door until his footsteps have gone silent, and when they have, I turn back to Margot.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“ Talk .”
She exhales. “Roman saw me. A couple years ago, he saw me in the city and he thought I was you.”
Something heavy settles in my chest, because that was the last thing I expected her to say. “What?”
“I didn’t even recognize him at first because I’d never seen him. He told me who he was, and I connected the names, then told him who I was. We talked briefly, and I mentioned that I was in art school like Henry, and he—” She takes a breath, like this conversation is physically painful for her. “—he offered me a spot in his museum. I declined, because I was still in school and wouldn’t be in the city much.
“Well, about a year ago,” she continues, looking anywhere but me. “I went back to The Gallery and asked if his offer was still there. I wasn’t getting any work, so I thought it was smart. But he said no. He said that spot had been filled. So…he gave me something else.”
Margot swallows hard, looking almost ill at this admission. “I helped him steal a piece. One singular piece. That was it. I didn’t do much of the hands-on work, but I figured things out. And I hated it. A lot. But he gave me a decent cut, and I needed it.
“He didn’t contact me after that. By the next month, I had job interviews, and I wasn’t worried about it. I’d forgotten about him until a month ago when he got back in contact with me.” Her words are running together now, like she doesn’t want to tell me this, but she can’t make herself stop. “It was me. This time, I was doing the hands-on work, and I was swapping out the pieces you were looking for. I did it all, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Amelie. I should’ve—I should’ve just told you.”
I’m silent. Frozen. Because it all makes sense now.
Margot never kept my work quiet for our family’s sake.
She did it for herself.
“But you hate me for what I do,” I whisper, hating that my voice is shaking. “You’ve said?—”
“I hate that you want it, and I don’t.”
“You weren’t forced,” I say, though I’m not trying to be accusatory. I’m not trying to be rude. I’m simply stating what seems to be a fact.
“I wasn’t,” she agrees. “Not at all. But once I was in it, I don’t think I could’ve gotten out. Before you did all this, that is.” She motions to the phone I’m still clutching at my side. “I don’t reckon he’ll be contacting me any time soon.”
I shake my head, still not convinced that this is real. “But you knew . When we talked at Brenn’s, you knew what you were saying was true.” I pause. “Were you trying to warn me? Or trying to prove a point?”
“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” she says again, avoiding my question. “I thought he’d keep you away.”
I close my eyes and take a moment to breathe, because my chest seems to constrict tighter with each breath. Never in my life did I expect Margot to team up with a man who so strongly hates my family. Who so strongly hates me. I understand we aren’t on the best of terms—I understand that it’s partially my fault.
But I didn’t think she had it in her.
“I would’ve never done this to you,” I whisper. “Not now, not ever.”
“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m so?—”
“Stop apologizing. I don’t want to hear it.”
Her mouth snaps shut.
“I don’t want to see you. Not for a very long time.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Right now, I hope I never see you again.”
She exhales shakily. “You can’t be angry, Amelie. You don’t?—”
“I can’t be angry ?” My voice sounds hysterical, even to my own ears. “Margot, I am livid. This past week, you knew what he was doing to me. You were the one doing it, and you never cared. You put me down, then turned around and did the same thing.”
She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even try.
“What are you going to do?” She asks instead.
I stare at her. “What do you mean?”
“Are you going to turn me in?”
Reluctantly, even though everything in me is saying yes, I shake my head. “No. I’m not. But if you ever—and I do mean ever —pull this stunt again, I have no problem doing so. And don’t think for a second that you can turn it around on me. I can almost promise that I’m better at hiding things than you.”
Margot nods. She opens her mouth to speak, then snaps it shut and leaves the room without a word.
I note that my eyes are stinging, but I do little to stop it.
“Hey,” Henry whispers, grabbing my hand. “You’re okay, Amelie. You handled everything so well.”
“Let’s just go home,” I say quietly. He’s trying to read what’s on my face, but I can’t tell if he’s succeeding tonight. “I’m tired.”
He nods. “I have to find Liz first. I can’t leave her here.”
“I’ve already got her,” I tell him. “She was in the hallway with mascara running into her mouth. I tossed her in the van and told her we’d take her home.”
Henry smiles lightly at that, though I think he’s trying to keep his face neutral for my sake. “Okay, then,” he says, pressing a kiss to my hair. “Let’s go home.”