Tangled Thoughts (11 page)

“Thanks. And me too, but it's been a long time.”

He stopped rolling his chair and cocked his head to the side. “Fell in love?”

I sighed. “It's the ‘broke a heart' that's really more important.”

“So you
are
dangerous.” His tiny half-smile taunted me and made my stomach twist. It felt strange to talk about Carter while thinking about that smile.

“Amy doesn't call me ‘heartbreaker' for nothing.”

“Is your friend…?”

I shook my head. “No, but…she knows. She's cool though. Promise.” When he didn't say anything for another second, I took the opportunity. “Okay, your turn.” I assumed the same waiting pose he'd taken before my story.

Jack laughed and crossed his arm over his chest. “You'll have to listen carefully, just so you don't fall asleep. My story is pretty boring, actually.”

I doubted that. “I'd still like to hear it.”

“Once,” he said, “there was a boy whose father, no, whose
grandfather
was a wealthy patriarch in a long line of them and when
his
son turned out to be a disappointment, all the family expectations landed on the boy and so far he's living up to them.”

Interesting. “Does he want to, the boy?”

Jack rubbed his hands across his thighs. “Do you know, in twenty-three years, no one's ever asked me that so directly?”

“Do you know the answer?”

“Yes.”

I laughed. “Yes you know, or yes you…?”

“Yes. I want to. So far. No one's forcing me, not really. My father went his own way and I could too.”

“So you chose Webber?”

“Well, we have a Legacy longer than the state of California, so really, it chose me. My dad went too. I
did
choose to live with my grandparents while I was there. Get some quality time drinking the family Kool-Aid, I guess.”

“Was it…bitter?” The way he said that made it sound like it was.

He smiled and looked at me,
really
looked at me, as if this whole conversation was an unexpected surprise. “You're too perceptive for your own good, you know?” With a few pushes of his foot, he rolled his chair over until he was next to me, in the small space between my chair and the door. When he put his arm down, it touched mine and neither of us moved them for a few seconds. “Honestly,” Jack continued, “it wasn't except maybe in retrospect, or maybe aftertaste? Yeah. That. Don't feel bad for me. I don't.”

“Really?” I didn't believe him.

“Really.” He leaned closer to me, his arm pressing against mine once more and our heads nearly touching. “I'm just telling a sob story to a pretty girl.”

I breathed out. “It's working.”

Jack stayed like that, next to me, for another second before sitting straight and rolling himself away. From the safety of his desk, he said, “Then I think my job is probably done for today.” A glance at my watch told me this was true. We'd been talking for a long time and I
stood and stretched. “To make this official,” he added, “good job on your assignment. Keep that up. Come see me again if you need more help.”

“No, thank
you
Mr. Kensington. I feel much better…about class now.” Which reminded me of something I'd wanted to ask since the first day. “Is the J. really for John?”

He laughed. “Not at all. It's Jarvis. Jarvis Ablemoor Kensington the Third, actually,” he pronounced and I couldn't keep my eyebrows from shooting up. That was a heavy name for a guy who seemed so carefree. “I know. It's terribly pretentious, right? Dad's homage to Grandfather. Mom gave in on the full name but refused the nicknames—Father is Javvy.” It sounded almost Spanish when he pronounced it, Haa-vy, the J like an H. “If I was from around here and went by that, people would think my name was ‘Harvey'. Anyway, J.A.K. makes Jack. That's what stuck.”

“It fits you. Much better than Jarvis. Or Ablemoor.” I snickered and was rewarded by the sexy upturn at the corner of his mouth that had fascinated me since the first time I'd seen it.

Yeah, I was in so much trouble. Except he was Sententia and that was trouble I'd promised myself I
wouldn't
get into.

I resolved all over again to keep my distance.

Carter

F
ridays I had only one morning class, so I spent the afternoon with money. Hypothetical money.
Other people's
hypothetical money. I may have owned a bookstore, but numbers were a second language I spoke fluently. No one remembered how, before the Sententia genes had sparked, I'd been best at
math
.

My uncle did though. Of course he did. With Alexis's help, I modeled donation projections. Together we were not only accurate, we were killer at maximizing. I wondered what the world would think if they knew the reason Senator Astor's fund raising efforts were so successful was two kids who couldn't legally drink.

I was in my cube when I heard Uncle Dan coming down the hall. This happened often because my cube was so close to his office. Which was another reason the interns all secretly hated me. It was strange, going from an environment where everyone liked me to one
where inherently they
didn't
while being essentially the same person. I supposed that was politics.

I began to suspect I'd made a mistake, majoring in Political Science. I
wanted
to be good at it. I
was
good at the
science
part. But actual politics, I wasn't cut out for. I added that to my list of self-disappointments. Then, because I was alone and already wallowing, I pulled out the note and stared at it while listening to my uncle approach.

“Where's your protégé, Dan?” His companion was from somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line, I could tell that much.

“My nephew Carter, you mean?” he replied. “He's just across the hall.”

“No. I thought—”

“Let me introduce you.”

I was standing in front of my desk by the time they appeared in my doorway. Uncle's companion looked close to his age, in a suit even more expensive than his, with the build and tanned face of someone who didn't sit behind a desk all day.

“Ah good, you are here.” Uncle Dan stepped forward to embrace me. “How was your trip, son?”

“Fine, sir, but I'm glad to be back. Headmaster Stewart sends her regards.”

“Yes, I'm sure she does,” he said, nodding, before he gestured to expensive suit. “Cartwright, this is Harlan Waites.”

Ah ha. It's funny how, after my years of genealogy work for the Perceptum, I could close my eyes and picture a man's entire family tree yet not know what he looked like until that moment. He shook my hand. It was firm, well-practiced. He was born shaking hands.

“It's nice to finally meet you, sir,” I said. “My condolences on the loss of your father.” Winston Waites had passed away just a few
months ago, after I'd moved. Harlan had taken his seat on the Perceptum Council. That explained why he was here.

“Likewise, and I appreciate that,” Harlan replied with a solemn nod of his head. He eyed me with keener interest than I liked before turning to my uncle with his grin as wide as the Texas sky. “Daniel, I was hoping to get that tour you're always promising.”

Uncle nodded. “Of course, Harlan. Let me ask Marita who's available.”

“How about your nephew here? He looks available. Care to show me the sights, young man?”

I looked toward my uncle, unsure if I should agree immediately or not. Harlan Waites wasn't exactly a friend. Uncle Dan inclined his head, briefly considering, before nodding to me, “If you can step away?”

“Of course, sir,” was the only answer I ever gave. “It would be my pleasure.”

T
OURS
WERE
NOT
my usual duty, but I was good at them. I was charming enough for the constituents and flattering enough to the donors and, unlike most everyone else, I knew all the facts. Harlan listened to my spiel all the way through the tunnels, through the Capitol, and up until we stepped outside. It was a beautiful day. Warm, to me. I couldn't get used to fall in the near-South.

“So,” Harlan said. “You're the boy he's been hiding away in New Hampshire.”

“Massachusetts, sir.”

“Yes, right. New England. You're not who I was expecting.”

I didn't know what that meant. “I'll try to make up for that.”

He laughed. “No, no. I thought—well, Daniel always has his surprises, doesn't he?”

“I suppose he does.” His voice was silky smooth with a Southern lilt that made it easy to underestimate him. Except for the accent, he and my uncle had much in common. No wonder they didn't really like each other.

“How are you finding life in the South?”

“Hot, sir.”

He laughed, genuinely. “And you've never even been to Texas.”

“Not yet. Where do you recommend I start?”

“You look like a boy who'd love ranching. Ever ridden a horse?” I was embarrassed to say no. “We'll have to change that. You walk like you'd be a natural at it. Tell your uncle you need to come visit me. You'll be a guest of me and my wife.”

I nodded, knowing this would never happen. I was surprised my uncle had sent me on this errand, alone with Harlan Waites. Either he wanted my opinion on something, or he hadn't wanted Harlan to question why he'd keep us apart.

“Speaking of horses,” I said, “in the original plan, the Mall was intended to be half the length and end not with that”—I gestured toward the tall, white spire in the distance—“but a statue of Washington on horseback.”

Harlan nodded along while I spoke, appearing interested until I finished. “That's fascinating. But you know I've been on this tour before. Maybe we could just talk about some other things, get to know each other and all. I feel we're a little bit like family, but Daniel's been keeping you quiet up in the cold weather for so long. Jillian used to talk novels about you.”

In actuality, Harlan
was
almost family. We had as much relation as my Uncle Dan and I—by blood, none at all—but it wasn't always about that. In this case, it was about Jillian. She called him Uncle Harlan, but he was technically her cousin. Her mother Angela's first
cousin, the only male in his generation of the Waites and also the oldest. His and Uncle Dan's complex rivalry ran deep.

“I didn't think Jill talked novels about anything.” It still hurt to think about Jill, and still felt bitter when I said her name. I missed her and hated her in the same breath.

Harlan's smile melted butter. “About you, she came close. I suppose you know what I can do?”

“Of course.” And everyone in your bloodline. Harlan Waites was a Sensor with a talent for reading a person's skills. It's the point from which I always assumed Jill's gift branched.

“You have quite a few skills, son.”

“I know.”

“Politicking isn't one of them.”

I cleared my throat. “I think I know that too.”

“You're charming enough—had a good teacher—but if it isn't in you, well, it isn't. I know.”

“Thank you for the confirmation. Sir.”

“That's not why Daniel's been hiding you though.”

“Oh?” I was sure he didn't know why. Unlike Jill, he couldn't sense Sententia gifts specifically, but skills in a broad sense, like
memory
or
dexterity
. If he could read my most secret ability, Uncle Dan would never have introduced us.

“Nah. You're dangerous in plenty of other ways, and your uncle doesn't like to show his cards until he's ready to play them.”

For how many times in one conversation, now? I didn't know how to take what he'd said. I glanced at Harlan from the corner of my eye, but he wasn't even looking at me. His expression was placid and comfortable. “My uncle thinks more of his family than a deck of cards.”

“‘Course he does,” Harlan agreed, nodding like it was the most obvious statement. “But see, Carter, you don't realize you're in the game. Our granddaddies, and on up, they started it. Daniel and I, we've been
playing since we were in our cradles. You don't realize that
family
are the
best
cards. You treat them right and protect them, because you can't just toss them away.”

I felt myself frowning and worked my face back into a neutral expression. Were we all part of a game? Maybe everything
was
a game to men like Harlan, born into the laps of luxury and the pressure of keeping it. But that described my uncle too, and he'd never once pressured me to do
anything
for him.

“I'll keep that in mind, sir.”

“Don't suppose you play poker, do you?”

“Not really.” Nobody wanted to play cards with the guy with a photographic memory.

“When you come to Texas, we'll play. I can teach you all about cards.”

“I look forward to it.” Not that it would ever happen.

After a few steps in silence, Harlan said, “It was you who found the Marwood girl, isn't that right?” as casually as he'd ask about the weather.

My mouth went dry. I swallowed before saying, “Yes, sir.” It wasn't accurate, but close enough. And now I knew why he'd asked for this tour, from
me
.

“I'm curious about her. What's she doing now?”

“She's in Boston, sir.”

“You keep in touch?”

“No.”

“Shame. I'm a little disappointed the senator has been unable to convince her to join. Seems like a job he could have used your help with.”

“Apparently,” I told him, “I wasn't convincing enough either.”

“I'm taking it she broke your heart?”

Broke? No. She stole it, trampled it, then tossed it back at me in a fiery heap of ruin. “Something like that.”