Chapter Thirty
The Allred Mansion
Cash
I’m still sharing a room with Wilder and Ingrid. We’ve been home for three days. I thought I’d get a break from their obnoxious cuddling and giggling once we got home. But when I woke up this morning, I couldn’t tell where Wilder ended and Ingrid began.
Maybe I should be happy for them.
Maybe some part of me is.
But I’m mostly annoyed. At myself, really.
Letting go isn’t as easy as it sounds. I’m trying. I miss her. Not the intimate stuff. But just knowing someone as long as I’ve known her. I felt comfortable and safe. My parents never made me feel that way, but she did.
If I have to let Ingrid go, at least I’m letting her go to someone who knows how lucky he is.
Which is why I’m pulling into the driveway of the Allred Mansion.
I haven’t been here in weeks.
People always talk about happy memories or sad ones or even angry ones.
But why doesn’t anyone ever talk about the ordinary ones.
The ones that hit you on a Tuesday afternoon while you’re driving down Main Street.
They aren’t sad or happy. They’re just… memories of a life that doesn’t exist anymore.
The blue floral couch in the den. The smell of chicken baking. The ringer on the phone in the office.
They hit me and I wonder if any of it was real. That life. That family. That memory.
Or am I just filling in blank spaces with normalcy?
This was never a happy home, but it was home.
So, I walk up the front steps and stare at the red door, hoping a memory—sad, happy or angry—hits me.
Nothing comes up but the distant sound of church bells ringing. Must be noon.
I unlock the door and push it open.
The afternoon light pours into the entryway, dust floating through the air like everything’s been frozen since I last left.
The rooms all look the same. Gold chandeliers. Floral prints on every piece of furniture. Gaudy wood tables. Family pictures framed in ornate frames.
My mom loved this life. Even the dark parts.
She loved the parties and the money and the shopping sprees.
She loved my dad, too.
But I wonder if he ever loved her.
Or enough to not cheat on her.
I think I already know that answer.
Archibald Allred only loves himself.
Still, why did my mom risk all of this? She risked her home, her son, and her reputation to hurt Ingrid.
I can’t imagine why anyone would hate someone their child loves. And I never understood it. Ingrid is so easy to love. She’s thoughtful, easy-going, and kind. Well, when you haven’t pissed her off.
I wanted a life with her—a future—but my mom made that nearly impossible. She was always trying to break us up or point out Ingrid’s flaws. She never got to know her. Not really. I don’t think she ever gave her a single birthday or Christmas present even though Ingrid always brought her one.
If I’m lucky enough to have kids one day, I already know that no matter who they love, I’ll love them like my own.
And if I don’t like the person they’ve chosen to spend their life with, I’ll fake it.
I’ll make sure they know that no matter who they choose to be with, I will love them because they love them.
My feet stop in front of the office. Mom’s office.
The last time I kissed Ingrid was right here in this room.
That memory hits all at once. It’s not a happy one, but a sad one.
We never know when something will be the last time. Last kiss. Last dance. We definitely know the first time. First kiss. First love. But the last time? We don’t know until it is.
The desk is dusty, but there’s an envelope that looks like it was recently placed on the top.
My name is written across the front in my mom’s handwriting.
Cash.
I pick it up and stare at it.
I’d like to think my mom hasn’t always been selfish, but I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t always about her.
Even now.
She’s on the run and she still had time to leave this behind.
Is it her will? An apology? The reason she blew her life up?
A somber sigh leaves my mouth. I know what this is. I can pretend it’s closure, but it will never be that.
Against my better judgment, I rip it open and stare at her handwriting. It’s flowy and big—written in blue ink.
To my Cash,
I wanted to do this on the phone, but you haven’t been answering my phone calls. I can’t say I blame you. I wouldn’t answer an unknown number either. I talked to Ingrid, but she wouldn’t let me talk to you. After everything I’ve done for her, the least she could have done was hand you the phone.
That’s not why I’m writing this. I have to go away. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I made them for you. You may not have always agreed with me, but I know what’s best for you, my son. Ingrid was never going to be the woman who made you better.
I know you’ll figure out what you want to do with your life, and you’ll move far away from this town—from this place we used to call home. I hope you carry some part of me with you.
My choices have made our relationship non-existent, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d give up my whole life to make sure you didn’t choose the wrong one.
If there’s ever a time I feel it’s safe to contact you, I’ll reach out. Please don’t change your cell phone number. And if you find it in your heart to answer an unknown caller, it just might be me.
Love,
Mom
I reread the letter, trying to figure out whether to shred it apart or ball it up and toss it into the trash can.
She can claim she did all of this for me, but I know the truth. She was overbearing and controlling. Guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.
Now, I just have to make a decision about where to move. Go to Baltimore and beg Johns Hopkins to let me in… or move with Wilder and Ingrid to New York.
I know I shouldn’t be torn, but I am.
What if I’ve been told my whole life I’m supposed to be a surgeon, but there’s something else out there that will make me happier?
Am I just rebelling in spite of my parents?
I run a hand through my hair. Life would be so much easier if I was more like Wilder. If I knew what I wanted, even if circumstances kept getting in the way.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I sigh in relief.
A distraction.
My eyes widen when I see the name on the screen.
Elowyn.
We’ve been texting for two weeks, but we haven’t spoken on the phone.
Do I answer? Do I let it go to voicemail? Do I tell Wilder?
I have to answer, right?
“Hello?” I say into the phone, my heart beating a million miles a second.
“Cash?” I hear.
“Yeah.”
“I, uh, didn’t know who else to call,” Elowyn begins.
“I tried Wilder, but he doesn’t really answer all that often and then I told myself I can’t call Ingrid because that would be so awkward.
And my dad… I don’t know where he is. He barely comes home.
As far as friends go, well, you’re the only friend I have. ”
I swallow hard. “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” she replies as she sniffles.
“I’m picking out flowers for the funeral, and I can’t remember if my mom liked lilies or hydrangeas.
I didn’t think to ask her. There were so many other more important things to ask.
Like how she knew my dad was the one and why we never spent any time with Wilder and I’m rambling, aren’t I? ”
I force a laugh. “Um… yeah, you are.”
“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. “We’ve never even spoken on the phone before and I’m trauma dumping on you.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her as I sink into the dusty office chair. I like the sound of Elowyn’s voice. It’s soothing. Even if she’s rambling. “Keep going,” I say.
She exhales. “I know I shouldn’t be mad at Wilder, but I thought he would be more helpful. I thought he might help me pick out a casket or make arrangements with the funeral home. I didn’t realize I would be doing all of this on my own.”
My first instinct is to defend Wilder, but I also don’t want to alienate his sister.
I choose a different approach.
“Isn’t your dad helping you?” I ask.
Elowyn blows out a long breath. “No.”
“Why not?” I press.
“Because he’s too busy drinking at the bar,” she explains.
I should have guessed.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I stand. “Why don’t you send me the address of whatever flower shop you’re at, and I’ll head that way right now.”
“No, I couldn’t ask that of you,” she says.
“I want to help,” I tell her. “Wilder has a lot going on right now, but I don’t. Let me help you.”
“Really?” she says, her voice relieved.
“Really.”
“Thank you, Cash.”
We hang up and I immediately get a text with the address.
I leave the note from my mom on the desk and hurry down the hall. It’s not until I collide with something hard that I realize someone else is in the house, too.
“Cash?” I hear as I hit the wall.
“Dad?” I frown as he grabs my arm and rights me.
“What are you doing here?” we both say at the same time.
“I sleep here sometimes,” he admits. “When things are… anyway. What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood and stopped by to check on things,” I tell him.
“I appreciate that,” he says. “But you won’t have to do that much longer. I’m moving back in.”
Of course he is.
“With Clem?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
That’s a no.
“I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?”
I shake my head. “You’re never satisfied, are you?”
“In what context?”
I let out a groan. “I know about the other woman.”
“Your friend Wilder needs to stay out of my business,” he snaps.
I roll my eyes. “Wilder didn’t tell me. He didn’t have to. I just want to know how many other half-siblings I have in this town that you’ve kept a secret.”
Dad crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t get smart with me, young man.”
“Did you even love Mom?”
His eyes shift to the carpet. “What do you want, Cash?”
What do I want? I want my family back together. No, not that. I want a new family. One that doesn’t manipulate, control, and destroy one another.
Wait… I think I have that.
Wilder and Ingrid.
They’re my family now.
And I think I know what I want.
“I know I can’t access my trust fund until I’m 25, but I’d like my college fund,” I tell him. “I want to go to New York and figure out what I really want to do with my life.”
“New York?” Dad gasps. “Are you serious, Cash!”
Dead serious, Archibald.
“I know you’ve worked hard your whole life for everything that we—you—have,” I say to him. “And I understand if you don’t want to give it to me, but I just need to cover rent while I explore my options. I won’t blow it on tattoos or drugs or alcohol.”
“What about Johns Hopkins?” Dad says, more resigned than I thought he’d be.
“If it ends up being what I want, I’ll figure out a way to pay for tuition.”
Dad nods slowly. “I guess after everything your mother and I have put you through, running away to New York isn’t the worst thing in the world.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you,” I say.
“You haven’t disappointed me,” he returns with a small smile. “You’re much stronger than your mother ever gave you credit for.”
“Uh... thank you?”
Dad studies me for a long moment, like he’s seeing me for the first time. Not as Fanny’s son. Not as his legacy. Just me.
“I’ll give you the money on one condition,” he says.
Oh great.
“What’s the condition?”
“You have to call me once a week.”
“To tell you what I’ve spent the money on?”
“No.” Dad laughs. “I just want to say hello and catch up. No money talk.”
I think I could live with that.
“I can do that.”
“I’ll have the money wired into your account by the end of the day.”
“Thank you,” I say to him.
He steps aside to let me by. I take the stairs two at a time.
I can’t believe he’s going to give me my college fund. There’s a lot of money in there. Not as much as my trust fund, but there’s more than enough to cover rent and Wilder’s first two semesters at NYU.
I can’t believe it.
I’m going to New York.