Damaged In-Law (4 page)

Checking out your sister
’
s
fiancé at her memorial service
, I scold myself,
that’s
real
classy, Calie.
 

“Cal,” Jackson finally says to me, his voice ragged with
emotion. “I...I didn
’
t know if you
’
d
be here.”

“Of course I
’
m here,” I whisper,
crossing my arms tightly across my chest.

“I
’m just...It’
s good to see you,” he goes
on, taking a step toward me. His broad shoulders are locked with tension, his
rich brown hair is tousled, and his signature stubble is thicker than usual.
All told, he looks like he
’
s in hell. I feel my heart
splinter down the middle as my own grief is redoubled by his. It
’
s
too much to bear.

“Yeah. It
’
s good to see you too, Jack,”
I mumble, countering his step forward with my own step back.

“I can
’
t believe that fucker Hellman
had the nerve to show up here,” Jack growls, shaking his head. “After everything
he did to Avery...Good for you, kicking his ass out. She would have wanted
that.”

“That
’
s the only thing about this
fiasco she would have wanted,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “My mom packed the
place full of
lilies
.”

Jackson lets out a bark that
’
s half
laugh and half sob. “Avery fucking hated lilies,” he says quietly.

The pain in his voice brings a fresh round of tears stinging
into my eyes. “Yeah, well,” I mumble, “I—we—need to get back in there. So.
Um...See you later, Jack.”

I turn on my heel and dart away from him, slipping back into
the drafty church. Sinking back into my front row pew, I keep my eyes glued to
the ancient priest. But despite my act of attention, I don
’
t
hear a word the man says. It
’
s probably better that
way—this man has never met my sister, doesn’t know a thing about her. But his
droning sermon is lost on me. My thoughts are consumed—by the confusing rush of
feeling that shot through me the second I set eyes on Jackson again, by the
mounting realization that this is all actually happening, that my sister
’
s death is real and irrevocable.

I avert my gaze from the altar, blinking away my tears. But
as I glance back over my shoulder, I find Jack
’
s eyes
lingering intently on my face. I let my eyes lock with his as the service
concludes, and a hundred strangers rise to their feet, glad to have made it
through the motions of mourning once again. When I stand, peering around the
milling bodies in search of Jack, he
’
s nowhere to be
found.

Is he gone already? Why did I dash away from him, the one
person who might actually understand what I
’
m going
through right now? But by demolished heart can
’
t break any
further in the wake of his disappearance. With cold, unfeeling numbness, I
shuffle after my parents and head off for the reception at my former home.

Chapter Four

“Thank you...Thank you for coming...Thank you so much...” I
mutter on repeat, stuck at the end of the Benson Family receiving line. My
mother
’
s all but glued my feet to the floor here, greeting
guests as they arrive at our cavernous house to nibble on appetizers and talk
around my sister
’
s cause of death. I
’
ve
lost count of how many wrinkled, liver-spotted hands I
’
ve
clutched so far.

“Would you at least
try
to sound sincere?” my mother
hisses in my ear.

I glance at her, all decked out in her spotless black Chanel
suit. My father, Howard, stands beside her, his rich man
’
s
paunch growing as my mother shrinks down to nothing. It occurs to me, and not
for the first time, that Avery and I were never going to be the daughters our
parents wanted. Howard and Sylvia wanted chaste, modest, submissive girls.
Girls who would attend good colleges, if only to meet their husbands. Girls who
would marry, bear grandchildren, and ultimately become just like them. If
nothing else, Avery got to break free of their expectations at the end of her
life. She got to pursue the life she wanted...even if it was cut far shorter
than was fair or right.

“There he is,” I hear my father
’
s gruff
voice announce. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Jackson.”

My eyes snap upward as Jack appears at the head of the
receiving line. I was afraid he
’
d left for good after that
dreadful service. My bruised heart leaps into my throat at the sight of him
here once again.

“Of course, Howard,” Jack says politely, giving my mother a
kiss on the cheek. “If there
’
s anything I can do...”

“
Not at all, Jackson,
” my mother says
warmly, squeezing Jack
’
s hands. “Just try and keep your
chin up.”

I let out a wry snort of laughter at my mother
’
s
glib suggestion. The corner of Jack
’
s mouth twists upward
ever-so-slightly. He
’
s good at playing “the boy you bring
home to your parents,” but he
’
s always found this stuffy
scene as absurd as I do.

“Sounds like you could use a glass of water,” Jack observes,
keeping a straight face as he steps toward me.

“Yeah. Sure,” I reply, “Only, Mom wants me to stay here—”

“Please, take her,” Sylvia snaps, turning her attention to
the other guests as they arrive, “She
’
s of absolutely no
use as a hostess.”

“Right,” Jack nods sagely, swallowing a grin as he lays a
hand on the small of my back and steers me away from my insufferable parents.
My body thrills at this touch, no matter how tiny it is.

“Now, when you say ‘glass of water
’
,” I
mutter, stealing a glance at Jack
’
s sculpted profile, “You
really mean ‘vodka tonic
’
, right?”

“Obviously,” he replies, leading me straight to the
impressive bar my parents have set up across the great room. That signature
lopsided grin of his is starting to come back to his face, little by little.

I watch, impressed, as Jack sets to work on our drinks,
moving like a real pro. He catches me watching him and asks, “Admiring my
form?”

“Just wouldn
’
t have figured you for the
mixologist type,” I say lightly, accepting my drink and taking a long sip. It
’
s perfect.

“I did my fair share of bar tending when I first moved to
New York,” he tells me, “Back when I was a super-serious and
very
broke
theater actor.”

“
You
had a day job?” I laugh, strolling toward the
deserted grand staircase, away from the rest of the guests.

“Of course,” Jack replies, sipping his cocktail, “Those
Manhattan rents are no joke.” He spots my surprised look, seeing right through
me. “Ah. You assumed I was being bankrolled by my parents the whole time, is
that right Cal? Just another trust fund kid mooching off Daddy
’
s
money in the city?”

“I said nothing,” I reply, a sly smile lifting the corners
of my mouth.

“Yeah, well. You didn
’
t have to,” he
says, returning the small grin. “Good to know that you think so highly of me, after
all these years. I must have made a great impression on you back when we were
kids.”

“You were a teenage boy,” I remind him, as he sits beside me
on the marble stairs, “There was only so good of an impression you were going
to make.”

“That
’s fair,
” he shrugs, clinking his
glass against mine. “To steering clear of these goddamn Westchester parties
whenever possible, and at least finding good company when attendance is
inevitable.”

“I will certainly drink to that,” I tell him.

We sit in silence for a moment, looking out across the
crowded room. I can
’
t get a read on Jackson
’
s
emotional state. He seemed pretty wrecked back at the church, but now he
’
s giving me the bulletproof alpha male act. I don
’
t
know what to make of him.

“So...How
’
re you holding up?” I ask, “I
know that
’
s a stupid question, but
—”

“What
’
s that thing people are always
saying at funerals?” he shoots back, “Oh, yeah. ‘I
’
m doing
as well as can be expected
’
.”

“I
’
m not asking what people always
say,” I urge him, “I want to hear what
you
have to say, Jackson. Really.
I mean, you were the only person here who was actually close to Avery when...at
the end.”

“Was I?” he says shortly, his voice hardening.

“I mean...You guys were engaged,” I stammer. Clearly I
’
ve said something wrong. And I feel like I
’
m
only making it worse, bringing up their sudden engagement.

“Look Cal,” Jack goes on, “We
’
ve always
been pals, right?”

“Right,” I allow, my heart sinking at the platonic term.

“And we
’
ve always been pretty straight with
each other,” he goes on, “So when I tell you that you don
’
t
actually know shit about what was going on in Avery
’
s
life, let alone mine, you
’
re gonna have to take my word
for it.”

My mouth falls open as Jack sips his drink, not even
deigning to look at me. I swear, this guy can go from upstanding gent to
asshole in about three seconds flat. I
’
m about to tell him
so, too, until a couple of octogenarian women stop in front of us on the steps,
giggling all over Jack like schoolgirls.

“My,
my
,” says the first woman, beaming beneath her
blue-tinted curls, “Jackson Cole, you certainly have grown up nicely.”

“Behave yourself, now,” the second woman chides. “Or you
might break a hip.”

“We just wanted to come over here and tell you how proud we
are of all your success,” the first woman gushes, taking Jackson
’
s
finely formed hand in her own frail claw. “All of us old broads around here
just go wild every time we see you on the television.”

“That
’
s very sweet of you to say,” Jack
smiles charitably, “That
’
s why I got into showbiz, you
know. To impress beautiful women such as yourselves.”

My eyes roll all the way back in my head as the two old
ladies shriek with scandalized laughter. Jack shoots me a million dollar smile.
He always has known exactly how to push my buttons, this one.

“We
’
ve been following that new movie of
yours,” the second women goes on at last.

“Oh, right,” I say, remembering the film that Avery and Jack
were cast in together—Jack in a much larger role, obviously. “What
’
s the deal with that movie, again?”

The women look up as if they
’
ve just
noticed me sitting here.

“My dear, how have you not heard the details of this new
endeavor our Jackson is setting out on?” the blue-haired lady asks. “It
’
s one of those gritty, New York police dramas. It
’
s
going to make him a real star.”

“Though he
’
s already a star to us,” the
second woman says, giving Jack a wink.

“I guess I forgot to read the press releases for that one,”
I offer, “I mean, I knew that there
was
a movie. But I
’
m usually interested in more indie film stuff, you know?”

The women blink at me as though I
’
ve
started speaking French and turn their attention right back to Jack.

“I do so hope that the production doesn
’
t
suffer because of...you know...circumstances,” the first lady whispers
confidentially.

“Was Avery able to finish her part before...? Oh, the poor
dear,” says the second woman, shaking her head.

Now
that
piques my interest.
“Aren
’
t you guys done with shooting yet?” I ask Jack.

“You know what, ladies? It
’
s been a
pretty rough day,” Jack tells the older women, ignoring my question completely.
“I might head upstairs to take a little breather, if you wouldn
’
t
be offended.”

“Oh, of course!” the first woman gushes, “Go, go!”

“You poor thing. Losing your fiancee so tragically,” says
the second, laying her hand over her heart.

“And your sister too, of course,” the first woman says to
me, remembering just in the knick of time.