Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Four Weeks Later
Dallas, Texas
SKENDER
How many megawatts can I put here?
Is this a school thing? Because I’m not doing your homework for your degree.
It’s business.
Business?
I've got an opportunity to buy this piece of land.
With what money?
I’ll explain when you’re here.
Sken!
Please. Just look at the specs!
Fine. After my brunch.
“Everything okay?” Cheyenne asked as she reached for her Bloody Mary.
We were at our usual boozy brunch spot, enjoying our longstanding Sunday date.
She’d come straight from the mega church her family attended and looked every bit the part in her teal and navy Lilly Pulitzer dress.
“You’ve been looking at your phone a lot. ”
I winced. “Sorry. Family stuff.”
Flipping her blonde hair, she made a disgruntled sound and gulped her cocktail. She licked her lips and shook her head. “Don’t even get me started on family crap.”
I didn’t have to ask. For more almost two years, she’d been living in her father’s palatial estate acting as an unpaid nanny and governess and household manager for her stepmother.
It was supposed to be only a short-term thing after her stepmom had to be hospitalized with postpartum depression.
Two years later, and she was still there, giving up her career and her social life to keep her father’s disorderly household running.
“You still haven’t found a new nanny for the kids?”
“You’ve met my siblings. Anything less than Mary Freakin’ Poppins or a reincarnation of Maria Von Trapp isn’t going to work.” Then, scoffing, she added, “A whole team of nannies isn’t going to solve the problem.”
“Which is?”
“Addie’s pregnant again!” Cheyenne gritted her teeth and curled the cloth napkin so tightly in her fist I was sure it was going to leave friction burns on her skin. “Again, Elona!”
My mouth gaped open in shock. “Again? But I thought the doctors said—.”
“They did! I was with her when her obstetrician and psychiatrist and the counseling team at the hospital told her she could not risk another pregnancy. I helped her make the appointment for her tubal and arranged everything, but then that sack of shit pastor with his giant veneers and Baby Billy hair got involved. He started spewing all that garbage about God’s plan and God never giving us more than we can handle and how we shouldn’t question His design. ”
“Easy for him to say,” I grumbled. “He’s not carrying the baby or raising the others.”
“Exactly! I tried reasoning with Daddy, but you know what he’s like.
It’s been almost a year, and he’s still offended that I suggested he get a vasectomy.
” Cheyenne downed the last of her Bloody Mary and then glanced around in search of the waiter.
She got his attention and motioned to her empty glass.
“Another one?” I asked carefully.
“I’m not driving.” She picked up half an English muffin from her plate and started to slather peach jam on it.
Driving wasn’t my concern, but I let it go.
“Honestly, Elona, I think that preacher is trying to kill her so he can get his hands on more of Daddy’s money.
” She violently bit into the muffin. “He’s got Daddy wrapped up in some new finance thing that sounds like a scam.
He's always in Daddy’s ear about prosperity gospel nonsense.
I mean, how much more money does that church need?
They’ve got private jets. A fleet of them!
And mansions! And a giant arena and hundreds of staff and a full publishing arm! ”
“You know my feelings about all of that,” I said uncomfortably. Organized religion was really not my thing, and the more I saw of the mega church her parents liked, the more I was resolved to stay far away from it.
“They’ve got Addie out there shilling for their women’s ministry, and I'm in the background just trying not to lose my mind and call them out on the hypocrisy and lies. I don’t even think Addie believes any of it, but she’s so desperate to be loved and have their approval, she just goes along with it.
” Cheyenne made a face. “If anyone ever finds out what it’s really like at our house, she’s going to be humiliated and criticized for selling the trad wife fantasy to vulnerable young women. ”
“Maybe she should be,” I remarked rather unkindly. “She’s a multimillionaire telling young girls not to go to college or to give up their careers to raise kids and be wives when she’s got the safety net of all that money and a law degree.”
“And is she using it?” Cheyenne wiped some jam from the corner of her mouth. “She left a partner track to devote herself to raising her kids. She gave up her whole life because she bought into that nonsense.”
“She was vulnerable, Cheyenne.” I squirmed uncomfortably, remembering only too well how easy it was to be convinced to do stupid things. “Your dad was cheating on her. She went to that church and found friends and support. Your dad started going, and he committed himself to her and the marriage.”
“Oh, please.” Cheyenne poked her fork into the runny yolk of her fried egg. “He’s not committed to anything but his own pleasure. He’s a selfish dickhead, and I’m embarrassed to call him my father.”
“He’s cheating again?”
She snorted. “He never stopped.”
“Does Addie know?”
Cheyenne nodded. “She pretends she doesn’t, but, like you said, she’s not dumb. She’s convinced herself it's her fault. If she prays harder, if she keeps sweet, if she showers him with love, if she gives him what he wants and serves him—he'll love her and choose her again.”
I hated that I understood Addie’s mindset.
Of course, I’d had the excuse of youth. She was thirty-six or thirty-seven, but she obviously struggled with the desperate need to be loved and wanted.
That I could still understand even now. Even after years of therapy, even after half a dozen very healthy relationships, I still desperately wanted to be loved, to belong.
“I’ve got to get out, but I don’t know how.” Cheyenne smiled at the waiter as he approached with her Bloody Mary. “Can we get a refill on the bread basket and also some more orange juice?”
The waiter smiled and nodded before gathering up the empty glasses and bread basket.
“I know.” She rolled her eyes at me. “Carbs and sugar.”
“Girl, please.” I frowned at her. “Like I’m ever going to say a word about what another person chooses to eat.”
“I’m starving. The last few weeks, Addie has been back on that Gwen Shamblin stuff.
Starving herself for Jesus or whatever. I thought she’d gotten rid of all those books and DVDs and journals after the scandal and that documentary, but I guess she had them squirreled away somewhere.
” She waved her fork around and shook her head.
“She was even talking about trying to get on Ozempic and maybe getting a BBL or new boobs the day before she took a pregnancy test.”
“What!” Addie had a well-earned Pilates physique. Lean, elegant, strong. She was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met. “She’s fit and healthy.”
“I’m sure she thinks that Daddy would be faithful if she looked more like the women he cheats with,” Cheyenne said. “Which is crazy because he’s not cheating with prettier or richer or more accomplished women. He goes after women who need something—money, a job. Just out there exploiting.”
I scrunched up my face. “He really is the worst.”
The waiter returned with the bread and juice, and Cheyenne smiled at him again. When he was gone, she reached for another English muffin. As she stabbed it with her fork to separate the halves, she confessed, “I offered to get Plan C or take her on a camping trip to New Mexico.”
I nearly dropped my fork. “What did she say?”
“She didn’t say anything for, like, five whole minutes. She walked away, went to the window, watched the kids playing out back.” Cheyenne slashed the soft mound of butter with her butter knife. “She finally came back and said she’d think about it.”
“Is she thinking about it?” I couldn’t imagine the kind of courage it would take for Addie to choose herself, to choose her sanity and her health over another pregnancy.
Cheyenne shrugged. “Maybe? We haven’t talked about it again. That was four days ago.”
Certain we should not be talking about another woman’s private life, I said, “It’s probably best not to bring it up again.”
“I know.” Cheyenne glumly sipped her Bloody Mary. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I promise it wasn’t coming from a selfish place. It’s not because I’m tired of being a caregiver to six kids under the age of ten. I’m worried about her. Like really worried.”
“I know you are.” I reached across the table to touch her hand. “No one could ever accuse you of being selfish. Not after everything you’ve sacrificed.”
She squeezed my fingers, silently thanking me for the support. “It’s not like I’m suffering. I may not be earning what I’m worth, but I have all my expenses covered. I’ve got health insurance and dental and vision. He’s even covering my retirement.”
“But it’s not what you wanted to do.” She’d spent four years studying finance and accounting as an undergrad and then two years for her master’s in arts management.
She’d wanted to reopen her late mother’s philanthropic foundation and do something with the giant pile of money her mother had left behind for her.
She’d wanted to do something useful, something that would help others.
“No, it’s not,” she agreed.
“What will it take for you to be ready to leave?” I couldn’t help with the more complicated parts of her family dynamics, but I could help her come up with a plan to finally cut ties. “What do you need in place so you can draw a line and walk out?”