Better Homes and Hauntings (21 page)

Cindy was missing the part in this monologue of her virtues that was an actual compliment. Because so far, he was making her out to be some sort of freewheeling, bubble-headed hippie type.

“Ambition. That’s what it is,” he said, grinning at her. “You don’t let ambition run your life.”

Cindy’s eyebrows shot up so fast and so high she was surprised she didn’t strain a muscle in her forehead. “So you’re saying I don’t having any ambition?”

“You’re happy the way you are,” he said, shrugging.

Cindy’s eyes narrowed, flame-blue with fury. Gritting her teeth, she snatched up her cleaning tote and did her best to avoid flouncing as she stormed across the dance floor. She
lacked ambition
? Was that really what he thought of her? Did he even realize how insulting that was, to claim that she was somehow virtuous because he thought she wanted less from life? She didn’t know what was worse, the smug elitist classism of it all or the fact that he’d misjudged her so badly. Of all the stupid, shallow, jackass things to say, that was what came out of his mouth?

She knew what her father would do in this situation. He would shove his foot up Jake’s butt until the smarmy jerk tasted shoe leather. But this was—for all intents and purposes—her office, and she couldn’t go around turning her coworkers into human penny loafers. And it singed her working-class,
nonambitious
sensibilities to the quick that he was going to get away with thinking that of her.

So really, it shouldn’t have surprised her when her fingers wrapped around an empty can of floor polish and threw it across the room, beaning Jake’s head with a solid
thunk
.

“Ow!” he yelped, clutching at his head. “What was that for?”

She almost let it go. She almost walked out of the room, letting the thrown household cleaners do the talking for her. But she’d held back for too long. She’d let him toddle along in blissful ignorance while she carried the burden of their past connection. And she was tired of doing all the heavy lifting. So she raced back across the dance floor on nimble feet, burying her finger in his chest and poking for all she was worth.

“For one thing, if you don’t think I have any ambition, you’ve completely misunderstood every single conversation we’ve had,
ever
,” she growled. “And that includes the ones you can’t remember!”

Still rubbing at the side of his head, he spluttered, “OK, clearly, we got off on the wrong foot at some point along the way. Because I don’t know about you, but most of my conversations don’t end with someone getting a can of floor polish lobbed at his head. Why don’t you like me?” Jake exclaimed. “I shouldn’t have made that comment about your ambitions. That hurt your feelings, and I apologize. But this started way before that conversation. You’ve had your hate on for me ever since we stepped onto that boat. You like Anthony. You like Deacon. I expect you and Dotty and Nina to make one another friendship bracelets at any minute. I don’t get it. Most people like me. But you treat me like I’m trying to sell you a time-share.”

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Cindy scoffed. “I mean, at first, I was willing to cut you some slack. But after a while, I thought maybe you remembered me but were too embarrassed to admit it after we’d been here
for weeks. But you honestly do not remember me at all, do you?”

“If I say no, are you going to bean me with another can of floor polish?”

“Eight years ago. You took me to see a symphony concert at the park. There was a windstorm a few days before. I was wearing these really cute wedge sandals, and I was having trouble stepping around these big fallen limbs—”

Jake’s mouth fell open, and he blurted out. “I picked you up and carried you over to the amphitheater. A little old lady told you to hold on to me because there weren’t a lot of gentlemen left in the world.”

Somehow, hearing the words come out of his mouth made a wave of pain rush through her chest. “Yeah.”

“And then she pinched my butt,” Jake said. “Really hard.”

“I didn’t know that part,” she admitted, swiping at the tears gathering in her eyes. Why was she crying now? She hadn’t cried over him in years. Maybe it was embarrassment, knowing that he was aware of their connection now and she would have to deal with his reaction. Or maybe living through the “abandonment” all over again was just playing with her already frayed nerves. Either way, it was a balm over whatever wounds were left on her heart when Jake offered her a handkerchief from his pocket. Manners, she thought; no matter what, the man had pretty manners.

The man was also shaking his head vehemently. “I thought your name was Cassie.”

“Oh, you—What is wrong with you?” she exclaimed, turning on her heel and walking out of the room.

“Wait,” he said, nimbly catching up to her in a few steps. He caught her arm and gently tugged at the elastic in her hair, pulling it out of its carefully woven French braid. He fluffed it out, arranging the golden waves around her shoulders. His eyes went wide. “Oh, my God, it
is
you.”

She buried her face in her hands. “You didn’t remember me because my hair was up? I’m going to murder you.”

“Why didn’t you
say
anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to be the one who reminded you. I wanted you to remember me on your own.”

“But I never went out with that girl again.”

“Would you please stop calling me ‘that girl’? I am a person. A person who is standing right here and can hear you!” she exclaimed.

“I never went out with
you
again. What happened?” he asked. “Why didn’t you return my calls?”

“You tell me. You never called me again.”

“There’s no way I wouldn’t call you again!” He gasped, his eyes bugging out. “Wait, wait, that was, what, June 2005, right? Oh, no. Oh, no no no no.”

“That had better be Jake-speak for ‘That’s the month I was abducted by aliens and unspeakably probed.’ ”

He ran his hands through his hair, leaving it in Einstein-level disarray. “I’m an
idiot
. June of 2005. I was here for the summer with my parents. I’d just broken off with Madeline Taylor—again. It was the fourth or fifth time we’d broken things off, and that girl was just pure relationship evil. She kept pulling me back in, and no matter how many times I said no or told her I wasn’t interested, she managed to convince me that even if I
wasn’t sure about
her
intentions, I should at least date her while I figured it out.”

“None of this explains why you failed to call me.”

“Right after our second date—I remember now, it was the second date, and I was just about to call you to set up the third—Madeline heard that I’d gone out on a few dates. She called me, trying to ‘fix things’ between us. And when that didn’t work, she showed up at my parents’ house, and the next thing I knew, we were dating again.”

“So she destroyed your phone and your basic sense of courtesy?” Cindy asked.

“Actually, she did destroy my phone that year,” Jake said. “But only a few months later, after we’d gone back to school.”

“She sounds like a charmer.”

“Well, what happened to you?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I had some personal problems,” she said. “I got distracted.”

She could practically see the panic spread across his face as he scanned his memory banks to determine whether her personal business could have included bearing his love child.

“My father got sick,” she said indignantly. “I had to defer college and take care of him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear about that. Is he better?”

She shook her head. “He’s been gone for about four years.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you again. I’m sorry I didn’t get to take you out again. And I’m sorry I didn’t remember you. I was young and stupid, not that it’s any excuse. Forgive me?”

“I think there will be more groveling involved,” she told him.

“You want more groveling?” he asked.

“I think a little extra groveling is called for.”

He dropped to his knees, clasping her hands between his. “Please! Lady Cynthia! Forgive me for my grievous error!”

“Get up.” She sighed, her cheeks turning red. “I did bean you in the head with floor polish. I’d say that probably makes us even.”

“I really am sorry that I didn’t call you again,” he said. “And for forgetting you. That was a stupid, thoughtless thing to do. You’ll be glad to know that I have matured into a wiser, less douchey person.”

She tilted his head toward her, inspecting the respectable lump forming on his crown. “I’m sorry for hitting you in the head with a blunt object.”

He grimaced. “I had it coming. And I’m sorry that I hurt your feelings with that ‘ambition’ comment. I really meant it to be a compliment. I like that you care about more than just your job. I just put it badly.”

“You’re forgiven. Mostly,” she said. “And I overreacted. Can we start over?”

“Does starting over involve getting some ice for my head?”

“I’ll wrap it in a towel and everything,” she said, offering him her arm and leading him out of the ballroom. “So when was the last time you heard from Madeline?”

“Uh, she sent me an EyeContact request a few months ago,” Jake said. “I declined it, but she sent it a few more times. And then she hired a private investigator to find my address and parked outside of my apartment
building for a few nights running. I had to move in with Deacon for a while and change all the contact information on my accounts to a PO box. Other than that, nothing.”

“Have you noticed that you tend to bring the crazy out in a girl?”

The island is a beautiful, though lonely, place. Josephine is so happy here, running as fast as her chubby little legs will carry her across what will become our lawn.

My feelings about living in a place so remote are in a constant flux, much more so with every visit we make to the island for “progress reports.” While it will be so alien to live without the clip-clop of horse hooves just outside the window or the murmur of conversation from the street, I must admit that Whitney Island is a peaceful place. None of the tedium of city life will find us here. No unexpected visits from neighbors. No calling cards. No worrying about being seen in the right shops, the right clubs.

And the house will further these advantages. The gardens will be second to none. There will be room for the children to play without worrying for their safety from
carriages, strangers. I feel that I will be able to breathe properly, for the first time in years. It will be a compromise, diary, one that I hope I am able to make.

On that note, Gerald insists on the Crane’s Nest having enough room to throw the elaborate parties that are becoming so fashionable. I don’t know if I will ever have the desire to become a fixture on this circuit. I certainly don’t want to compete with a Mrs. Astor or a Mrs. Vanderbilt. But if it will bring my husband some pleasure and help his business, I will do it gladly. I simply don’t know if we need a ballroom that seats four hundred to accomplish it.

“Boooring!” Cindy called, yanking a box from under a tarp in the main attic. The finished, expansive space spread out over most of the main wing’s square footage and was larger than the first floor of Nina’s apartment building. “Get to something good!”

Nina thought about noting Cindy’s good mood, a general upswing in her morale since she and Jake started going on “dates” around the island—long walks along the shore, dinner on the back porch at the main house, long talks on the dock. But Cindy refused to talk about it, because she didn’t want to jinx it. And it didn’t seem nice to provoke her. Especially since she hadn’t told Dotty or Cindy about the kiss with Deacon in the greenhouse, and Nina knew that somehow, teasing Cindy would result in her own personal beans being spilled.

So instead, Nina flipped through the diary until she found a passage of Catherine’s thoughts that seemed to hold more dramatic promise.

For the first time in my marriage, I have been dishonest with Gerald. He asked me how I knew Jack, and I lied. I told him he was simply a friend of the family. I don’t know why I lied. Maybe I didn’t want to admit that I had any romantic entanglements before him. Maybe I didn’t want him to have any reason to doubt me. Or maybe I had some misguided need to protect Jack, to make sure he had this job and the opportunity to make a name for himself. Now I can’t go back. If I admitted that I lied, Gerald would be furious, and worse, he would be hurt. He would wonder why I felt it necessary to lie, and I would not be able to answer.

It is strange seeing Jack so often. It seems that he visits our New York home at least once a day to discuss plans for the house, ideas for simplifying or expanding. As Gerald is often away on business—more and more lately, it seems—it has fallen to me to meet with Jack and approve the changes to the various stages of the house plans. I will be honest. At first, those plans seemed like a nonsensical web of blue-smudged paper. And at night, I have wept with the frustration of being expected to understand it all.