Chapter 2
When I walk out of the airport, bright sunlight hits my eyes, making me squint. It’s not very sunny in New York, and on the days that it is, the sun is hidden by all the tall buildings.
Yanking my backpack over my shoulder, I walk toward what I think might be the place I’m being picked up.
“Rumor Bennet?” I hear a voice say.
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I look ahead and see a man walking toward me. He’s older, with white hair and really tan skin.
My uncle sent someone to pick me up? I should’ve known he’d do that. He’s too important to get me himself, or so he thinks. He’s such an ass. Actually, I’ve never met him, but sending a stranger to pick me up makes him an ass.
“I’m Rumor,” I say to the old guy. “Are you my driver?”
“I am.” He smiles and outstretches his hand. “Harley Jacobs. Welcome to California.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as he takes my backpack.
“It’s right this way.” He walks down to a shiny black sedan and pops open the trunk. He sets my backpack inside, then hurries over to open my door.
“I can get it,” I tell him.
“It’s part of my job,” he says, still with that huge smile. I wonder if smiling like that is also part of the job. Or maybe it’s a California thing. If you smiled like that in New York, they’d think you’re crazy.
“First time here?” Harley asks as he pulls the car away from the curb.
“Yeah,” I say, looking out at the palm trees that line the road.
“How long are you staying?”
I sigh. “A year.”
“You don’t sound too excited about it,” he says with a laugh.
“I’m not.” I watch as we pass some houses that look like they’re made out of concrete. They’re all really small and look identical.
“So how do you know Brock?” he asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
“I’m his niece.” I pause. “How do you know him?”
“I work for the studio. I’ve been Brock’s driver many times over the years for various events. When he requested I pick you up, he didn’t mention you were his niece.”
“I’m more like a distant relative.” I take the elastic from my wrist and pull my hair into a ponytail. “I mean, I am his niece, but I’ve never actually met him so we’re basically strangers.”
“So you’re Devon’s kid?”
I lean forward, gripping the back of the seat. “You know my dad?”
“Can’t really say I know him. Only met him a few times.” He glances back at me. “Sorry to hear about the relapse.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s been an addict my whole life.”
“You see him much?”
“Nine whole times since I was born,” I say with a humorless laugh. “Not exactly Father of the Year.”
“So you live with your mother?”
“Not anymore.” I stare down at the leather seat, noticing the neatly stitched line along the seams.
“Is she an addict too?” he asks.
I swallow. “She’s dead.”
“Oh.” He pauses. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Silence follows, although he keeps glancing at me in the mirror like he wants to say something. After a few minutes, he does.
“I don’t mean to pry, but is that why you’re here?”
“Yeah.” I run my hand over the stitched seam on the seat beside me. “She died a couple weeks ago. I had nowhere to go. The social worker said I’d end up in foster care if Brock didn’t want me. He’s the only family I have other than my dad, but he’s in rehab.”
“That’s tough. My father passed when I was around your age. My mother wasn’t well, so I went to live with my aunt. That’s how I ended up here in LA. Never planned to stay but I’ve been here fifty years.”
“I’m not staying,” I say, adamantly. “As soon as I turn eighteen, I’m outta here. I’m going back to New York and moving in with my boyfriend.”
He nods. “Is the boyfriend someone you met at school?”
“We went to different schools. I met him at a concert. He’s a couple years older than me.”
“Is he in college?”
“No. He’s not sure what he’s going to do. For now he’s working part-time at this place that sells guitars.”
“So he’s a musician.”
“Not really. He took a few lessons but didn’t like it.”
“What about you? Are you planning to go to college?”
“I can’t. I don’t have the money.”
“Brock could certainly afford to send you. Perhaps he’ll offer to while you’re here.”
I laugh. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t even know me. And he hates his brother, which means he’ll hate me too.”
“Families are complicated,” he says with a sigh. “Just can’t seem to get along.”
“I got along with my mom.” I stare out the window. “We were best friends,” I whisper.
A lump forms in my throat, and I close my eyes and focus on my breathing to make the sadness go away.
The car slows, then comes to a stop. I open my eyes and see us parked on a busy street lined with shops and restaurants.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Santa Monica. You’re meeting Brock for lunch.”
“I’m not going to the house?”
“I’ll take you there after lunch. You can leave your things in the car. I’ll be waiting here until you’re done.”
“You’re waiting in the car?”
He holds up a newspaper. “Gives me time to catch up on my reading.”
“You want me to bring you something? Maybe a sandwich?”
He chuckles. “No, but thank you for offering. Wait there. I’ll get your door.”
I open it myself and get out.
“Keep doing that and I won’t have a job,” Harley scolds.
“Sorry. Just seemed easier to do it myself. I’m not used to people doing stuff for me.”
He smiles. “Right this way.”
He leads me down the sidewalk to a cafe. A young blonde woman greets us at the hostess stand. She’s gorgeous. She looks more like a model than a hostess.
“She’s here to have lunch with Mr. Halliway,” Harley says to the hostess.
“Of course.” She smiles. “Follow me.”
“See you back at the car,” Harley says, patting my shoulder. He leans down to my ear. “Don’t be nervous. He’s not as intimidating as he looks.”
The hostess walks off, and I hurry to catch up with her. She takes me to a seat at the side of the restaurant by some windows that look out at a flower garden. This state really likes flowers. I passed by tons of them on the way here.
The hostess stops suddenly. “Mr. Halliway, your guest is here.”
She turns and walks away, leaving me face-to-face with my uncle. Even though I’ve never met him, I’ve seen him on TV. I didn’t actually watch the shows he was in, but I’d see him when I was flipping through the channels.
He looks different in person. His hair is darker, and he’s really tall. I always thought actors were short, but maybe it just looks that way on TV. Or maybe Brock is the exception. He’s got to be at least six foot two, maybe taller.
“Rumor,” he says, holding his hand out. “Welcome to California.”
“Thanks.” I quickly shake his hand, then sit down at the small round table.
I’m suddenly really nervous. Is it because of Harley’s comment about being intimidated by Brock?
Why would I be intimidated? Because he’s famous?
I don’t care about fame. I’ve seen famous people in New York and wasn’t intimidated by them.
My dad’s an actor, and he doesn’t intimidate me.
He’s not famous, like his brother, but still.
Brock sits down across from me, his long legs bumping me under the table.
“Sorry about that.” He scoots back. “These tables are too small.”
“You’re really tall,” I blurt out.
He chuckles. “Does that surprise you?”
“Why are you tall but my dad isn’t?”
Brock clears his throat. “I’d rather not talk about Devon.”
“Why? He’s my dad. I’m not allowed to talk about him?”
“We can talk about him later. Not now.”
“Why not now?”
“I don’t want to get into it.” He taps on the menu in front of me. “Find something to order. I only have an hour before I need to be back at the studio.”
What a jerk. He doesn’t pick me up at the airport. Tells me I can’t talk about my dad. Makes me hurry through lunch. He didn’t even ask how I’m doing after losing my mom.
He swipes through his phone, then types something while I sit there in silence. After a few minutes, he finally sets his phone down.
“So,” Brock says, “how have you been?”
“Well, let’s see. My mom just died and I got shipped out here to live with people who don’t want me.”
He leans back and lets out a long sigh. “Rumor, I know this is difficult but let’s try to make the best of it. It’ll be an adjustment for all of us.”
“Really?” I huff. “Did you have to leave your home, your friends, the person you love?”
“I realize the situation is much different for you, but—”
“Stop acting like you know what I’m going through. You have no fucking clue.”
“Keep your voice down!” he hisses in a harsh whisper, checking the restaurant to see if anyone heard. He looks back at me. “You don’t want to be here. I get it. But it was either this or foster care, and if I recall, you chose this.”
“I changed my mind.” I fold my arms over my chest. “If it means I can go home, I’ll take foster care.”
“Too late.” He takes the cloth napkin from the table and sets it on his lap.
“It’s not too late. I could leave right now. Have Harley take me back to the airport.”
“You’re not leaving. Everything’s already arranged for your stay. Your room is ready. I’ve enrolled you in school. And your cousins are excited to meet you.”
“Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes. “I’m sure they can’t wait for me to move in.”
“Okay, yes, perhaps they’re not thrilled about it, but they will be once they get to know you.”
“Just let me go home. I know you don’t want me here. Why not just send me back?”
“Because you need to be with your family.” He pauses. “We’re all you have left.”
“You’re not my family. I’ve never even met you people. Sharing some DNA doesn’t make us family. Families care about each other. Spend time with each other. Have holidays together.”
“Not all families do those things, especially when they live on different coasts. It would’ve been nice to see you over the years, but the distance prohibited it.”
“You’re an actor. I’m sure you go to New York all the time.”
“Not all the time, but occasionally.”
“And I’m sure you brought your kids with you.”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“Then why didn’t you come see us?”
“You want the truth?”
He pauses, and I wait for him to continue.