Secrets, Lies, and Family Ties

2. Gabrielle

2

Gabrielle

“I don’t suppose Deputy Haines carries a pair of scissors in his truck?”

“Scissors?”

“Or even a knife?”

Brooke braked at a stop sign and eyed me up doubtfully. “I’m not sure…”

I realised where her thoughts were going. Perhaps mine would have gone there too, given a few minutes, but I wasn’t about to try anything stupid with a small child in the back seat.

“I just want to cut off the bottom of this dress.”

Kiki gasped behind me. “Cut the dress? Noooooooo! You can’t. You can’t cut it!”

What choice did I have? “I doubt I’ll fit into a bathroom stall otherwise.”

And it was only a dress. Fabric and beads, forever tainted by the morning from hell.

“We could swing by my place if you want?” Brooke offered. “I’m sure I have clothes that’ll fit you. Kiki’s right—you shouldn’t ruin the dress. Even if you never want to wear it again, you could sell it.”

Sell it? No way. If anyone found out who it had belonged to, it would become a macabre souvenir that popped up at auction every few years to remind me of my bad decisions. But the idea of borrowing clothes filled me with relief. Brooke was shorter than me, and thinner too, but if she had something stretchy… I hadn’t cried since I left the house this morning, but now my eyes prickled, not with grief or longing or regret but due to her kindness. She had no idea who I was, and yet still she was willing to help me.

“That would be very generous of you.”

Another sideways glance. “Okay, so I guess that’s a plan.”

Brooke pulled into the driveway of a two-storey house, a little dated but neat and tidy. A family home. She hadn’t mentioned having children of her own, but since she was engaged, maybe she and her fiancé were planning ahead? I was about to pay a bland compliment out of habit when she carried on along the driveway and parked in front of a double garage at the back.

“We rent the garage apartment from my friend’s parents. I should have moved out earlier in the year, but I had a few problems with a stalker, and to cut a long story short, we’re having to rebuild part of the apartment I was meant to move into.”

“A stalker?” I gave an involuntary shudder. Being watched gave me the creeps.

“Don’t worry; he’s in jail now.” Brooke’s smile looked as fake as my own felt. “It’s over. But we’ll be here for another month or two, and it’s kind of the Crowes to let us stay. Do you mind dogs?”

“Not in principle, but I’ve never had one of my own.”

“Vega’s big, but he won’t hurt you. It turned out that being a guard dog wasn’t really his thing.”

A flight of stairs ran up the side of the garage, and I scooped up armfuls of dress to follow Brooke to the door at the top. Kiki clambered on ahead, and when she reached the landing, she bent to pick up a small box.

“Cookies? Did we get cookies?”

“Don’t shake them. Mrs. Crowe likes to bake,” Brooke explained. “A perk of living here.”

The apartment was smaller than my closet back home, but cosy. Colourful paintings decorated the walls, the couch looked squashy and comfortable, and the coffee table held a stack of well-thumbed magazines instead of a book of fancy photos and a flower arrangement. And it seemed Brooke enjoyed knitting, judging by the wool criss-crossing the floor.

“Vega! What have you done?”

The fireplug of a dog—one that looked like a German shepherd crossed with something much stockier—paused mid-leap and sat on his haunches, tail still wagging. He seemed quite pleased with his handiwork.

“This was meant to be a freaking sweater.”

“Bad Vega,” Kiki scolded, but then she flung her arms around his neck and giggled as he licked her. “He says he’s sorry. Can he have a cookie?”

“No, he can’t have a cookie. They’ve probably got chocolate in them, and chocolate is…”

“Poisonous for dogs,” Kiki finished. “Can I have a cookie?”

“How about you put the cookies on a plate while I clean up this mess, and then we can all have cookies?”

“Okay.”

She ran to the kitchen, which meant she didn’t run very far at all, and Brooke cursed under her breath.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, it isn’t usually this chaotic. Vega’s going through a ‘cat’ phase. He’s started playing with yarn and chasing birds, but at least he hasn’t brought me any dead mice.”

“Do you want me to unravel some of this?”

“I think…” Brooke surveyed the mess. “I think it’ll be easier to just buy another ball. I work in a craft store, so I get a staff discount. Or Kiki might do it. She likes to keep busy.”

“You spend a lot of time with her?”

“Sometimes I babysit to help out. Colt needs a break, and her regular sitter is on vacation.”

“His wife works too?”

Brooke lowered her voice, and I had to lean closer to hear.

“Hannah died. Kiki was barely two years old, so—”

“They’re double chocolate chip cookies! We get two each, and that leaves one for Daddy and one for Luca. Luca is Brooke’s boyfriend.”

My heart stuttered as Kiki giggled. Colt had lost his wife? Kiki had lost her mom? For so long, I’d been living in my own bubble with my own grief, but this was a reminder that I wasn’t the only person who had to deal with tragedy. And Kiki did a better job of smiling than I managed.

“Thank you, min skat.”

The endearment slipped out, the way it had from my father to me and from me to my sister before she went through her bratty phase, and Kiki tilted her head to one side.

“Why am I a mince cat?”

“Min skat. In Danish, it means ‘my treasure.’”

Her smile turned into a full-on beaming grin. “Like gold?”

More like “honey,” but she seemed to be fond of sparkly things.

“Yes, like gold.”

“And diamonds?”

“Yes.”

“And rubies?”

In some ways, she reminded me of my sister. At seven, Elin had been a magpie, always collecting shiny trinkets, which everyone thought was cute until she snaffled a pair of diamond earrings from our mother’s dressing table and couldn’t remember where she’d put them. The staff had searched for days, even used metal detectors, and eventually the earrings had turned up months later in Elin’s dollhouse microwave. I made a mental note to keep my own earrings safe. They’d been a gift from my father for my eighteenth birthday, one of the few pieces of jewellery he’d given me.

“Yes, like rubies too.”

“And emeralds?”

Brooke smothered a chuckle. “How about we go and find Brie something to wear?”

“Can you do my hair the same as Brie’s? I want it all…all…all fussy like that.”

“Well, I could try, but you’ll have to sit still for a long while.”

“I can do that.”

“Why don’t you practise while we eat our cookies?”

“If I eat mine really fast, does that mean I only have to sit still for a short while?”

Brooke herded Kiki into the bedroom, and I heard a closet door open. The sounds of rummaging. These people were so nice. So normal. And they treated me as if I were normal too. What would have happened if instead of moving to LA three years ago, I’d run to a small town on the Oregon coast? Back then, I’d figured that if I hid out amongst movie stars and music moguls, I’d be small fry for the paparazzi in comparison, but perhaps if I’d made my life so utterly uninteresting that they’d gotten bored with following me around, it would have been a better strategy? Maybe I’d have been able to make real friends? And as an added bonus, I’d never have met Emmett, or Vania, or any of the others who’d flocked around us like wasps on sugar.

I’d spent two hours driving this morning, and alone with time to think, I’d seen what I’d been blind to for so long. That I’d created a world in my head, the world I’d wanted, rather than living in the reality that existed. Grief had dulled my senses. Blunted my intuition. I’d assumed that because Emmett’s family was wealthy, we were equals, but money wasn’t everything. Phil, bless her, had tried to warn me the first time they met, but instead of listening, I’d brushed her concerns away.

More fool me.

“These might fit?” Brooke held out a pile of clothes. “You’ve got much bigger boobs, but I accidentally bought a sports bra that was too big and I never got around to returning it.”

“I’m so very grateful.”

“You can use the bedroom to change. Or the bathroom, whatever works. Do you want drinks here rather than going to the coffee house? I could make sandwiches as well if you’d like.”

Anything was better than sitting in public. I couldn’t take the anxiety, not today.

“Thank you.”

“Cheese? Tuna? Ham?”

“Whatever you’d care to make would be wonderful.”

The bathroom wasn’t a bathroom at all—it had no bath, only a shower—but there was enough space for me to get out of the damn dress, which was the most important thing. I had to twist myself into a pretzel to get the fasteners undone, but finally I was free. I’d never been so grateful to see sportswear in my life. The yoga pants strained at the seams, and my breasts bulged out of the top of the bra, but the oversized T-shirt covered a multitude of sins and at least I could breathe again.

My hair stayed in place even when I removed the pins. It needed a wash, but I combed out as much hairspray as I could with my fingers and scraped the stiff strands back into a makeshift ponytail. Then I set about fixing my face. The black streaks around my eyes meant I looked more like a raccoon or a death-metal singer than a wannabe bride, but I managed to make myself presentable with the help of soap and tissue.

Then I took stock of the situation.

The logical choice, the sensible choice, would be to call for help, deal with the Emmett mess, and go back home. Hide away for a year or two and lick my wounds. But just the thought left me nauseated, physically nauseated, and I choked. Heaved into the toilet. Only bile came up because I hadn’t eaten anything since last night, but my mouth tasted disgusting, and then the tears fell. I sank to the floor and sobbed, kneeling on a pile of wedding dress. I had so much I should be grateful for, I realised that, and yet…and yet…

“Are you okay in there?” Brooke called.

“F-f-f-fine.”

Siri would have accepted my claim and left me alone. Phil would have told me there was no point in moping my life away, then dragged me outside to face my demons because that was how she handled everything. Head on, with no fear.

But Brooke just asked, “You sure?” and somehow that made everything worse.

“No, I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything. Whatever I do, however I act, it’s wrong in someone’s eyes. I’ve spent my whole life trying to do what I think other people want, and at the end of it all, my fiancé still slept with my bridesmaid.”

“Uh…wow. So, you want me to swap the coffee for wine?”

A laugh burst out of me, which was ridiculous because nothing about this situation was funny.

“I’d better stick with the coffee.”

The last thing I needed was a DUI, and I really, really needed to get out of here. If I had a little bit of cash left after whatever repairs Siri’s car needed, I could find a cheap motel and hole up with chocolate for a few days.

“Do you take milk? Sugar?”

“Milk and two sugars. Thank you.”

Once I’d got my sobs under control, I wiped my eyes—again—and held my head high as I walked out into the living room. Every day, the mask got harder to wear.

“I’m so sorry about this,” I started, but Brooke waved my apology away.

“Everyone has man issues at some time or another. At least yours didn’t end in a criminal trial.”

“I hope. My best friend was threatening to chop off parts of my ex-fiancé’s anatomy when I left.”

“Relax—there’s not a female juror in the world who’d convict her.”

Kiki sidled up to me with the dog in tow. “Can I try on your dress?”

“Kiki!” Brooke scolded. “Leave Brie alone.”

“But it’s pretty, and she’s not wearing it now.”

I crouched down so I was at the little girl’s eye level. “Sure you can wear the dress, min skat. You can keep it.”

But Brooke shook her head. “You can’t give her your wedding dress.”

“Technically, it wasn’t my wedding dress.”

“It looks really expensive.”

“I have no further use for it. If it makes her happy, then she can use it to play dress-up. I’ll get your clothes laundered and send them back as soon as I’m able to.”

“Oh, you can keep those. I never wear them anyway.”

“I helped to make the sandwiches,” Kiki called as she ran into the bathroom. “Vega licked a cheese one, but don’t worry, ’cause I ate it.”

Brooke put her head in her hands. “Sometimes, I don’t know how Colt manages.”

“She’s very cute.”

“Cute, but a handful. Colt messaged, by the way. Ernie’s arrived with the tow truck, so once you’ve had something to eat, we can head on over to the garage.”

And just like that, my bubble burst again.

“It’s the alternator,” Ernie said. “You need a new one.”

Which wasn’t a surprise, but what shocked me was how much it cost. Five hundred dollars just for the part.

“That’s all the money I have. You can’t repair the old one?”

“Those things aren’t designed to be fixed. Back in the old days, everything was repairable, but these modern cars, you’re just meant to take the old one out and bolt a new one in, and they don’t even make that easy.” His expression softened into what might have been a smile. “Colt told me you’d had some trouble today?”

“If by ‘trouble’ you mean running out of my own wedding, then yes.”

“So I thought that if you were amenable, we could make a trade. To help you get back on your feet, like.”

“But I don’t have anything to trade.”

“You have yourself.”

Was he serious? That pig. My palm itched to slap him, but that would only have made a bad situation worse.

“I am not a prostitute.”

Ernie’s jaw dropped, and he looked as horrified as I felt. “No, oh no. Not that. I didn’t mean that. I’m a happily married man. But my Judith is taking care of her sister this week—she’s just had her hip replaced—and I could do with somebody to answer the phone. Every time it rings, I have to stop what I’m doing and wash my hands, and it’s a pain in the patootie.”

“You want me to…answer the phone? Just answer the phone?”

“Exactly. You do that until your car’s ready to go, and I’ll let you have the parts at cost and my labour for free.”

“For how long are we talking? Hours? A day?”

“A week, most likely. Tomorrow through Saturday lunchtime. That alternator’s a special order, and they’ll have to ship it. Next time, you should buy American, young lady.”

A week without the car? I couldn’t… I’d have to go home and face the music instead. Siri could borrow my credit card to get her car fixed, and… A groan slipped out as I thought of an even bigger problem. The car had been a gift from Siri’s boyfriend. Her American boyfriend. She’d be devastated about returning home to Scandinavia as well.

“But…but…I don’t have anywhere to stay, and I can’t afford a hotel.”

Can’t afford. Those two words had never factored into my vocabulary until today. Funny how quickly things could change, wasn’t it?

“You can borrow our couch if you want,” Brooke offered. “As long as you don’t mind Vega snoring.”

Kiki bounced up and down on her toes, fizzing with excitement. “Or you could stay at our house. We have a whole spare room.”

Bless that child. “Min skat, that’s kind of you, but you can’t just offer your house to strangers.” I caught sight of Colt’s face, and it seemed that horror was contagious. “It’s not fair on your father.”

“He always says that if someone needs help, then we should help them. Isn’t that right, Daddy?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“So Brie can stay, and she can show me how to do my hair with the curls.”

I couldn’t, not without the stylist Siri had hired, and he’d driven all the way from LA. Sven. He hadn’t stopped chattering for a second while he pulled and twisted and pinned, and he’d given me a lecture on split ends too. These are so dryyyyy. You should use the sea kelp protein pack. Would Kiki’s hair even hold that style? She looked like a baby Beyoncé with the confident attitude to match. And did I really want to work in a garage? I’d never had a job before, not a proper one with set hours and a lunch break. But a part of me wanted to experience that rite of passage, to understand how people lived in small-town America.

“When I said—” Colt began.

“She gave me her dress, Daddy. Her beautiful dress. And I still have five whole weeks off school. You said that since we couldn’t afford a vacation this year, I could do fun stuff at home, and I want to have princess hair.”

He sighed, defeated, then cleared his throat. “So we have a spare room…”