Chapter 28
James
“So, your mom…” Stella starts as I slowly turn off the highway onto a quieter street.
“Massive bitch,” I confirm. I want to bring up the threats from my mother, but a niggling thought in the back of my head tells me to keep it to myself. Instead, I keep driving down the winding road.
We’re only an hour and a half away from my parent’s house now.
If my memory serves, there should be a small, mom and pop diner around here somewhere.
Nessa and I used to escape the house whenever we could, to get out from under the critical eyes that followed our every move, and to soothe the ache of being a constant disappointment.
They’re always open, no matter the holiday, or weather, and they’ve provided a safe haven for more than one set of siblings in our community.
The pressure of being born into these families is stifling, and I’m certain they’ve seen more than their fair share of escapees over the years.
“Oh my god, thank you! I can’t believe how nice she looks! You would never guess.”
“That’s kind of her specialty.” As frustrated and hurt as I was to have overheard their conversation, I wasn’t the least bit surprised.
My mom hates that I chose to be in a band instead of following the path they’d laid out for me.
It’s no shock that she would stoop that low to get what she wants.
She’s unaccustomed to hearing the word no, and is creative enough to find a way to get what she wants if she can’t buy it.
I pull into the parking lot of the run down, yet somehow still charming diner.
This place has stood here for ages, weathering storms and snooty people who want to tear it down to put up a chain coffee shop.
It’s practically an institution. Neither of us are hungry, but we both need something that was cooked with love and not steeped in resentment.
We hurry inside, racing through the cold to get to the sanctuary of the warm diner.
“What’s good here?” Stella asks, leaning into my side, my arm encircling her as if I’ve done it a million times, like muscle memory.
“You can never go wrong with poutine,” I reply, my arm instinctively pulling her closer.
She sighs. “It’s a classic for a reason.
” Her gorgeous, azure gaze flutters up to mine, and I can’t help but pop a firm kiss onto the top of her head.
A kind, older woman with deep smile lines set into her smooth brown skin comes to the front counter to take our order.
I ask for two orders of poutine, quickly handing the woman some cash before Stella can make any sort of protest, adding on a more than generous tip, given that they’re open on a holiday.
“Do you want to eat here or in the car?” I ask, even though the diner is practically empty, aside from a young man and, presumably, his daughter, sitting in the far back corner.
“Is it wrong that I want to eat in the car and, you know…”
“Get as far away from my parents as possible? Trust me, I understand the urge.” I fish my keys out of my pocket. “Why don’t I go keep the car warm and you can grab the food when it’s ready?”
“A quick getaway, I like it.” Her smile beams up at me. I feel proud, knowing I put it there.
I hurry out to the car, already cold from the few minutes it had been sitting out here.
The engine turns over without difficulty and I set the heat to blasting, as well as turn on Stella’s seat heater.
I watch through the diner window as the young girl sitting with her father walks over to Stella.
Stella crouches down to her level, smiling as the girl begins to talk to her, nodding along to whatever story she’s telling her, gesticulating wildly.
A small smile tugs at my own lips watching her, followed by a wave of unease.
My eyes flick to the envelope I shoved in the backseat on our way out of my parents’ place. It calls to me, begging me to open it, to know its contents, like some sort of fucked up ring of power.
Before I can overthink it, I reach over, extracting its contents hurriedly.
My eyes scan the pages quickly. The first few aren’t anything new.
There’s a few shots of her going to the shelter, or into Booze & Brews, or out with Nessa and Hazel.
There’s some bank statements, which seems invasive to check.
I already know that Stella shops primarily second-hand and is saving like a loon.
There’s a page that lists her assets, which is predictably blank. She doesn’t own property or a car, but these are all things I already knew. Why would my parents be making such a big deal? So, she doesn’t have or come from money. Who cares? That doesn’t inherently make her a gold digger.
I continue to leaf through them, keeping an eye on Stella. Our food still hasn’t come, but she’s still talking to the family. I don’t want her to find me snooping through information about her, even if I wasn’t the one who gathered it. That level of invasion of privacy would offend most people.
I’m about to give up when my eyes lock onto one page. There’s a past due stamp on the front of it, and the return address has the name of a financial institution.
It’s a credit card bill.
For someone who lives so frugally, it’s the last thing I would expect to see. I look at the following few pages, and my stomach drops.
Visa.
Mastercard.
Amex.
Jesus, how many credit cards does she have? Is this what my dad was talking about when he called her a gold digger? Is this what my mother is trying to hold over her?
My mind swirls into a panic, warnings I’ve gotten from over the years about people manipulating you for wealth roaring to the forefront with a vengeance.
I come from money. She could have planned this whole thing, from running into me at my show to seducing me into her bed, to going to my parents’ house.
Was she casing the place? A friend in high school turned malicious once he found out how well-off we are and kept making reasons to come over, only for my mom to catch him climbing into her bedroom window to steal her jewelry in the middle of the night.
Stella doesn’t seem like someone who would do that. Then again, most people don’t.
And she didn’t tell me.
“You okay, stud?” Stella asks, scaring the hell out of me as she opens the door, sliding in with two steaming boxes of goodness.
“How do my parents know you?”
She stays quiet for a moment, her face frozen in surprise. She evaluates me for a moment, giving nothing away. “Seems you already know.”
“Tell me anyway.” I’m not letting her out of this one.
“My dad used to work for your parents’ company. Kurt Moore.”
Holy shit. I could swear the car is spinning and I clutch onto the steering wheel to steady myself. I know that name. “He was the one at that job site. When the scaffolding collapsed.” Realization dawns on me.
“Yeah,” Stella’s voice wavers. “It crushed his legs. Double amputation. Months in the hospital.”
“I remember reading the report. He was denied his insurance payout?” Kurt had been a foreman on one of my family’s sites.
He was supposed to be off work, but he went in to cover for someone, another manager who couldn’t be in.
He had gone in to help out with some inspections, and when he stepped out onto the scaffolding, apparently the parts were misaligned.
When he tried to go to the workers compensation board, the company fought back pretty hard.
They argued that he wasn’t supposed to be on the site in the first place, he hadn’t clocked in, and they made it seem like he had tried to get injured.
When the board saw the allegations and the “evidence” provided, they sided with the company and denied any kind of compensation.
It also meant that there was no black mark on the company’s record, no fine to pay, no increase in their insurance premiums. My parents took it further, alerting the health insurance company to potential fraud, voiding any kind of accident insurance that he had and prohibiting him from accessing any of his benefits.
“He got hurt, and my parents’ company ensured that he didn’t receive anything for it,” I summarize. Stella nods.
“Yeah. That’s where your parents know me from.” Her confirmation does nothing to quell the unease in my stomach. Everything starts clicking into place.
“That’s why they called you a gold digger.” Stella’s face reddens as she tries to hide it away from me, shame coloring her gorgeous porcelain skin.
“Yeah. Probably.”
“Did you know?” The question comes out before the thought has fully formed.
“Excuse me?” Stella’s icy tone cuts me to my soul. I can’t back down now. I’ve opened this can of worms.
“Did you recognize who I was, who my parents were to you and your dad when we met?” I can already tell how stupid of a question this is, but it’s like I no longer have control. The teenage boy who got taken advantage of, warned, is the one calling the shots now.
“Absolutely not!” Stella is rightfully offended. She leans away from me, putting as much distance between us as she can in the small space. I lock the doors when I see her reach for the handle. I won’t keep her here forever, but she is not getting out of this conversation.
“What is this then?” I ask brusquely, selecting the credit card statements from my pile and flashing them at her.
“None of your business,” she says as she tries to pull them from my grasp. I yank them back, refusing to let go of the damning evidence.
My parents were right. After all that, they were right. The walls are starting to close in on me. I’m never going to live this down.
“Tell me now, are you just after my money? My parents’ money?” Stella’s face shifts from shock to rage, heat flooding her cheeks as she gapes at me.
“Why on earth would I be after your money?” Her voice is low and even, completely controlled.