The Winter Lodge (8 page)

And for Daisy, the most disgusted, pitying looks had come from her own parents.

Zach and Sonnet didn’t look pitying at all. Maybe at this school you weren’t considered a loser and a freak just because you didn’t plan on being a rocket scientist or Supreme Court justice.

So far, thought Daisy, the day didn’t totally suck. That was a surprise. Of course, they hadn’t even left homeroom yet.

The bell rang and everyone flurried into action, shuffling papers, stuffing backpacks and heading for the door. In the corridor, kids floated along like leaves in a stream.

Zach veered toward a classroom with French travel posters plastering the door. “Here’s my stop,” he said. “Find me at lunch.” He disappeared into a classroom.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” asked Sonnet.

Boyfriend? Now, if Sonnet had asked her if there were guys Daisy hooked up with, she would have a different answer. “No boyfriend,” she said firmly. “Why do you ask?”

“Because Zach is totally crushing on you. He has been since the second you walked into homeroom.”

“I don’t even know him.”

“I don’t even know Orlando Bloom, but I totally know I would be his love slave until the end of time.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to be anyone’s love slave.”
Been there, done that,
she thought. “And anyway, you’ve got him pegged all wrong. He’s into you, not me.”

Sonnet shook her head, corkscrew curls bobbing. “He hates me.”

“Right. He hates you so much he brings you a pastry every morning.”

“If you’re so smart, how come you’re not going to college?”

“I’m not sure of anything.” She experienced a tiny glimmer of warmth and found herself hoping this was the start of an actual friendship. “I like the name Sonnet,” she said, wanting to turn the topic away from herself.

“Thanks. My mom says she picked it because she didn’t want anything that sounded too ethnic.

All my cousins on my mom’s side of the family are Lucias and Marias and so forth. Sonnet is just…weird.”

“Weird in a good way,” Daisy assured her.

“She once told me she was reading a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets when she went to the hospital in labor.” Sonnet’s velvety brown eyes softened with an expression Daisy couldn’t read.

“So your last name is Romano, like the teacher,” she remarked, looking at the name scrawled on Sonnet’s notebook. “Coincidence?”

“He’s my uncle Tony,” Sonnet explained. “My mom’s brother.”

They didn’t look related, Daisy thought, but she didn’t say anything. “What’s it like, being in your uncle’s class?”

“I’m used to it. There are a ton of Romanos in Avalon and half of them are teachers, so it’s kind of hard to avoid.”

“So you have your mom’s name, not your dad’s,” Daisy observed, hoping it wasn’t a touchy subject.

Apparently, it wasn’t. Sonnet answered easily, “My mom’s single. She never married my dad.”

“Oh.” Daisy didn’t know what to say to that. She was fairly certain “I’m sorry” wasn’t appropriate. She scanned the crowded hallway. “Is it my imagination, or are there three teachers on this floor named Romano?”

Sonnet gave a rueful smile. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are Romanos everywhere.

Some people say that’s how my mom got elected mayor. She has eight brothers and sisters.

“So how about you?” Sonnet asked. “What are your parents like?”

Divorced
was the first thing that popped into Daisy’s mind. “My mom’s originally from Seattle, but she got a summer job at Camp Kioga, where she met my dad. They married young and put each other through school—law and architecture. So it all seemed like it should work out, right? She got a job at a big international law firm and Dad started a commercial landscape design company. Then my mom’s best friend in Seattle got cancer last year and my mom had this epiphany. She said she was just pretending to be happy or some crap like that, and in order to be really happy she needed a divorce.” Daisy sighed.

The whole situation just made her tired. Everything made her feel tired these days. “Which is really all right with me, since I’m practically out the door. My little brother Max—he’s eleven—is taking it hard.”

“So how did your dad wind up with you and your brother?”

“My mom’s working on a case at the International Court of Justice in The Hague. In Holland.”

Sonnet turned out to be the perfect first friend to have at this school. They had two classes together, and Sonnet introduced Daisy to a bunch of other kids. Some regarded her with suspicion, but most were friendly enough. She felt a little overwhelmed, though, trying to keep everything straight. In history class, they were studying ancient ways of burial and they talked about a cairn, which was a pile of stones used to mark a burial site, and to keep scavengers from picking at the bones of the dead.

Lunchtime rolled around and Zach joined them. The cafeteria was vast, with tall windows that were fogged by steam from the big iron radiators. There were long Formica tables crammed with kids sitting in distinctive groups.

“Okay,” said Zach, “so here’s the deal. Over there are the jocks, and they’re fine, so long as you don’t mind talking sports until you want to puke. The big sports in this school are hockey and baseball.

The table on the end—theater crowd. Dancers, actors, singers. The skater table kind of speaks for itself.

Around here, skaters and snowboarders are the same. Do you ride?”

“I ski,” Daisy said.

“You don’t rate with them, then.” He moved on, giving her a quick tour—Goths, nerds, Eurotrash, headbangers, gangbangers.

The oniony smell of cafeteria food made her feel queasy. She followed Sonnet through the line, picking only a fruit bowl and a bottle of seltzer water.

“Oh, man.” Sonnet looked at Daisy’s tray in dismay. “You don’t have an eating disorder, do you?”

Daisy laughed. “Believe me, that’s not a factor. I’m just not feeling too hungry at the moment.”

They sat at a table with an interesting, eclectic mix of people. Zach went to get a refill and Sonnet propped her chin in her hand, studying Daisy intently. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Daisy nibbled idly at a bit of pineapple.
No shit.

“I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. I mean, why would a girl, taking all college prep classes at the best school in the country, suddenly drop out her senior year and decide she doesn’t want to go to college?”

Still Daisy didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. Sonnet was like a buzzard, circling overhead, spiraling lower and tighter as she approached the truth.

Daisy told herself she’d better get used to being scrutinized and questioned. She was hoping she’d have at least a little more time to settle in at school, to let people get to know her and, she hoped, form a decent opinion of her before the truth came out, before everyone found out the secret she’d been holding under her heart.

Five

I
t was a Monday like no other, Jenny realized as she headed once again to the ruin at 472 Maple Street. She was back again, along with the fire investigator. Later in the week, the salvage operation would begin. She couldn’t imagine that there was anything to salvage, but Rourke swore she might be surprised.

As they got out of his car at the curb, she glanced up at him and caught her breath. She wasn’t used to being around a guy this good-looking. Staring at him had a strange effect on her. It was destroying her brain cells.

He noticed her look. “Something the matter?”

“I really don’t think I should be staying with you. At your house, I mean.”

“You’re staying. It’s the best idea for the time being, at least.”

“It’s embarrassing. People will talk.”

“That’s always been your problem, Jenny. Worrying about what people will say.”

An interesting observation, coming from him. “You mean you don’t care?”

“Do I act like I care?”

She thought about the women he dated. “I guess not. But I do.”

“Look, nobody’s going to think anything about this. You’re a disaster victim, I’m the chief of police. It’s a match made in heaven.”

“Cute.” She brushed past him and headed up the walkway to the ruins of the house. She used her booted toe to nudge at what had once been a wooden file cabinet. This was where she had stored her notebooks. As soon as she learned how to write, she had written all her secrets, all her girlish dreams, all her thoughts in spiral-bound notebooks, and she had stored them in the file. There was almost nothing left, just blackened pages that disintegrated at the slightest touch or sodden papers destroyed by water.

How will I remember? she wondered. How will I remember the girl I used to be?

Surrounded by the devastation of the only home she had ever known, she told herself it was silly, fretting over each little loss. If she let herself do that, she would be grieving from now until Judgment Day.

She plunged her hand in her pocket and felt the cylindrical shape of the pill bottle; she’d refilled the prescription this morning. Hold on, she told herself. And then she looked up at Rourke McKnight and the strangest, most irrational feeling came over her. Safety. Security. Even a small glimmer of hope. And she hadn’t even taken a pill.

She wasn’t sure why. He was just standing there, watching her as though he’d throw himself in front of a train if that was what it took to keep her safe. And she believed him. Trusted him. Felt safe with him. Which made her either the dumbest woman in town, or the most insightful.

The sound of a car engine caught her attention. She turned to see Olivia Bellamy exiting a silver Lexus SUV and hurrying across the street toward her. Blond and adorable, in designer boots and an embroidered Scandinavian jacket, she resembled the kind of woman Rourke usually dated, but with one key difference—Olivia Bellamy had a brain.

“Jenny,” she said, pulling her into a hug and then stepping back. “I just heard. Thank God you’re safe.” She gaped at the smoldering ruin of the house. “I’m so sorry,” she added.

“Thanks,” Jenny said, feeling awkward. She and Olivia were sisters—half sisters—though they didn’t know each other very well. They’d met for the first time last summer, almost by accident, when Olivia had moved up from the city to renovate the Bellamy family summer camp, high in the mountains on the shores of Willow Lake.

Discovering that they were both the daughters of Philip Bellamy had been…at first startling, and then bittersweet. Jenny was the result of a youthful affair; Olivia was born to the woman Philip had married and later divorced. Now Jenny and Olivia were still getting used to the idea that they were sisters. Far from the happy-go-lucky twins in
The Parent Trap,
they were just finding their way toward each other.

“You should’ve called me right away,” Olivia said. She sent Rourke a swift glance. “Hi, Rourke.”

Then she turned back to Jenny. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I, uh, I was at the bakery when it started and then…” Jenny didn’t know why she felt apologetic.

She just wasn’t sure how to act around her newfound sister. “Things went crazy, as you can imagine.”

“Excuse me,” Rourke said as the fire captain motioned him over.

“I can’t imagine.” Olivia touched her arm. “Oh, Jenny. I want to help. What can I do?” Olivia seemed almost desperate and utterly sincere. “I want to help, in any way I can.”

Jenny summoned a smile, grateful beyond words that even after losing Gram, she still had her sister. If not for Olivia, Jenny would be alone right now, the last of her family gone. Yet at the same time, she felt a pinch of melancholy, regretting the years they’d lost. She had grown up with Bellamys all around her, never knowing of the connection they shared. She and Olivia were so different. Olivia had spent her life surrounded by the wealth and privilege of the Bellamy family. The adored—and, according to Olivia, overindulged—only daughter, she had attended the best schools, graduated with honors from Columbia, and by the age of twenty-four had launched her own business. She was gorgeous, successful…and she was in love with the perfect guy—a local contractor named Connor Davis. It would be easy to envy her to the point of dislike.

Except Jenny truly liked Olivia. She honestly did. Her half sister was kind and funny, and she genuinely wanted to have a relationship. Jenny had read somewhere that the true test of the strength of a relationship is whether or not it held up in a crisis.

I guess I’m about to find out, she thought.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “At the moment, I’m kind of disoriented. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Forgive? My lord, Jenny, you must be devastated.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“God, listen to me. I’m awful.”

“It’s all right. There’s really no etiquette in this situation.” An awkward silence stretched between them. Jenny studied her sister’s face, as she sometimes did, seeking something—anything—they shared in common. A certain tilt of the eyes? The shape of jaw, chin, cheekbone? Their father swore they looked like sisters, but Jenny believed it was wishful thinking. “Listen, there is something you can help with. I’m going to need some clothes.”

“You’re going to need everything,” Olivia added. “I’ll drive.”

Finally, Jenny felt it—the relief and gratitude of knowing someone wanted to look after her. She went over to Rourke. “Are we done here?”

“For now. The fire investigator is going to be working most of the day.”

“All right. I’m going with Oliv—my sister—to pick up a few things.” She felt a curious satisfaction at saying it aloud.
My sister.

“Call me,” he said.

There was no excuse not to. Her cell phone had been in her purse, safe from the fire, and Rourke had already replaced the charger. She got in the car with Olivia, the heated leather seat sighing luxuriously beneath her. Further proof that the rich were different. Even their cars felt special.

“Where are you staying?” Olivia asked.

Jenny didn’t say anything, but her glance in Rourke’s direction gave her away.

“You’re staying at his place?”

“It’s just temporary.”

“I’m not saying anything is wrong with it,” Olivia clarified. “But…Rourke McKnight? I mean, if you put that together with the picture of the two of you on the front page of the paper, then, I don’t know