A Billion Times No, page 26
part #1 of Fake It Till You Make It Series
Callie’s already turned her back on me, heading over to the front desk.
I need time. I need space. I need to get away from here.
I go back to the farmhouse and write another note. This one is longer, and I pour my feelings into it like an eighth grader writing in her diary. All my hurt and anger at how everyone treated me when Jefferson threatened our town. How they acted like I was an outsider as if I had no say in what happens to Bitter End and to my own family’s hotel. How they don’t take me seriously, and I know they never will.
Screw staying here and fighting for their respect. Chase didn’t even stick around; why should I?
I call the cab company, and half an hour later I’m on my way to the airport. Leaving a day early. Going back to New York where I have no job and nothing waiting for me.
And in a passive-aggressive fit of pique, I leave my phone lying on the bed next to the note. It’s just as well. If anyone called me right now, I’d say things that I might regret later.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Daisy
“Liar!” I yell, throwing a wadded-up napkin at the TV screen.
A throng of reporters are gathered around Jefferson Lancaster’s attorney as he stands on the front steps of the Swampy Bottom county courthouse. He looks deeply wounded on behalf of his client. He’s claiming this is all just a terrible misunderstanding and Jefferson is looking forward to having his day in court, where the truth will finally be revealed.
Jefferson is still in jail because his company’s assets have been frozen by the feds and he can’t make bail. News reports say that he begged his wife to raise the cash, and she responded by serving him with divorce papers.
He’s facing federal charges because of the toxic waste, and also state charges for assault, kidnapping, extortion, and a host of other things. Because he has offices all over the world, he’s considered a flight risk. His bail is high and his passport has been confiscated.
I’ve been a petty cow the past couple of weeks, sulking in my apartment. I haven’t given my new phone number to anyone in Bitter End, and I’ve ignored a dozen letters sent by my family, the mayor, Boone, and even Isaac. They’re sitting in a pile, unopened on the kitchen counter.
I know I’ll have to call home soon. I just need more time. Every time I pick up the phone to call my mother, my mouth floods with bitter words and I set it back down again.
I’ve been waitressing at the only place I could find a job, Bone-breakers, a biker bar around the corner. I’m working double shifts to keep my mind off everything. Tonight is my first night off since I started there. When I pay the rent tomorrow, I will have zero dollars and fifty-two cents in my bank account. I’ve been reduced to eating pity food from the cook at Bone-breakers, but all they serve are burgers and fries. My arteries must be a hundred percent grease by now.
I haven’t heard a word from Chase. Not even a letter. I was wrong about everything. I thought he loved me. I thought he wanted a lifetime with me. Instead, he apparently never wants to see me again. It’s a dull hurt that aches in my chest all day long, and I have a terrible temptation to try to track him down just to yell at him. I don’t, though, because it would hurt too much.
A thunderous crack of lightning outside the window makes me jump. New York is drowning in a July rainstorm, which suits my dark mood perfectly.
I grab the TV remote and switch the channel. Yet another newscast, this time featuring a pack of reporters following Chase’s mother Donna as she walks from her front door to her limo. She’s wearing the “walk of shame” outfit—big dark glasses and a floppy hat to hide her face, collar turned up. I turn the TV off with a furious stab of my finger. One Lancaster-related newscast was more than enough for me. I’ve mostly been trying to avoid even hearing the “L” name. That’s one good thing about working at Bone-breakers. They’ve never even heard of the Lancasters, and they couldn’t care less about them.
The ding of the doorbell surprises me. Who the heck would be visiting me? Someone from law enforcement? I’ve already told the feds and the sheriff’s deputies and everyone else my story, again and again.
When I peer through the door’s peephole, I’m shocked to see Savannah.
I yank the door open. She’s folding up a dripping umbrella. She has a quarter inch of dark roots showing, and a little less makeup than usual. Still wearing a designer frock and those stupid heels, though. And there are four bulging Hermes suitcases in the hallway outside my apartment. Four.
“What are you doing here?”
She blinks hard and sucks in a deep breath. There’s something different about her now. Something’s pierced that hard shell of bitch armor and she almost looks, well, human. And vulnerable. “Well. I knew you were unemployed. I figured you’d need a roommate to help you pay the rent, so I thought I would assist you.”
“I’m not unemployed. I’m a waitress.”
Her face falls. “Oh. You don’t need a roommate?”
Oh, for God’s sake. It’s pouring out, and for reasons I don’t understand, she doesn’t seem to have any place else to go. Even if she is my second or third or maybe even fourth cousin, she’s also an awful human being.
“Come in,” I say irritably, standing aside.
“What’s that smell?” She wrinkles up her nose.
“The garbage hasn’t been emptied lately.”
“Oh,” she says with sincere sympathy. “I hate when that happens. You really need to fire your maid.”
She puts her first suitcase down in the middle of the living room, then goes out to fetch the rest of them. I open my mouth and then shut it. Instead of speaking, I help her get the rest of the suitcases.
“So, uh … how are things back home?” I ask as I lug in what feels like a bag full of bricks.
She shrugs, shutting the door behind her and turning the deadbolt. “I wouldn’t know. Haven’t spoken to anyone. The day after you left, I went to stay with one of my sorority sisters, but her boyfriend made a pass at me so she threw me out.”
“What, you didn’t marry him?” I say nastily.
She shoots me an insulted look, then sighs. “I guess I deserved that. And other things.”
“You think?”
She stares down at the floor. “I’m sorry. Do you want to punch me in the face?”
“Yes, but I won’t.”
She gulps and nods. “I was a total bitch to you.” She blinks hard, several times, suck in a long breath, and lets it out again. “My mother encouraged me to go after Percy. She said I shouldn’t feel bad about it because if he’d loved you, he never would have asked me out, and I was doing you a favor, really. You know, that’s how she snagged Daddy. He was engaged when she met him. She told me the best way to be sure a man really loves you is if he leaves another woman for you.”
“And you believed that?” I say, horrified.
“No,” she says quietly. “I knew better all along. But I wanted him, so I did it anyway. And I got what I deserved. I was the queen of Swampy Bottom County, and now I’m the court jester. The whole town’s laughing at me. For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry.”
I actually believe her. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard sincerity in Savannah’s voice.
Of course, I also thought Chase and I were a love match, so who knows if my instincts are worth anything after all. But I can’t make myself kick her out in the rain, even if I should.
“I won’t say I’m going to forgive you right away, but I accept your apology,” I say. “We’re now both members of the small but exclusive ‘screwed over by Percy’ club.”
She smiles. “Thank you forever, Daisy. You’re a much better person than I am.”
“True,” I agree.
“So! Let me explore your humble abode.” She walks around the apartment, which takes her about thirty seconds, then turns to me, looking confused. “I don’t understand. Where’s the rest of it?”
“Savannah.” I shake my head. “New York really isn’t for you. This is a studio apartment. This is it. The living room, kitchen, and bedroom are all rolled into one. Yes, I live in an apartment that is literally smaller than your closet. My closet is smaller than your pantry. And there is no maid.”
“No maid?” she echoes, her eyes growing round with horror.
“No maid,” I repeat firmly. “You should go back to Bitter End. Not to Percy, but definitely back to Bitter End.”
“I can’t,” she says with deeply wounded dignity. “I’m homeless.”
She looks at the couch, grimaces, and then opens one of her suitcases. She takes out a monogrammed towel, spreads it out on the couch, and then sits down on it the towel very carefully. I sit down on my only chair, facing her.
“Why are you homeless?”
“I told Percy I wanted a divorce, and I tried to go home. My mother told me Harkwell women don’t divorce. My daddy just stood there, didn’t say a word. She said I needed to apologize to Percy for causing a public scene, and we should go on a second honeymoon somewhere and not come home for at least a month until all the gossip had died down. Also, I should be expecting by the time I come back.” Savannah’s face puckers, and she sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly.
“Wow,” I marvel. “Your mother is an absolute twatbucket.”
“So, I can stay here?” she says eagerly.
“I have one bed,” I point out. “And you’re sitting on it.”
“But …” she looks down, wrinkles of confusion creasing her smooth forehead. “It’s a couch.”
“It unfolds,” I explain patiently.
“I … see. How interesting.” She examines it as if it’s a portal to another dimension and pokes it with her finger.
I should really through her snobby, narrow ass out onto the street. But I just don’t have it in me. “If you want to stay here until you figure something out, you can,” I sigh heavily. “Just tell me something. Why did you think that Percy and I were having an affair? I mean, you were really committed to the idea, with all that stalking, and the tracking device.”
Her beautiful face goes all pouty. “The minute we got married, he started telling me how boring I am, and why couldn’t I be more like you? He was always going on about how you were so much fun, and you had such a great sense of humor, and I didn’t, and I never even laughed at his jokes.”
I roll my eyes. “I do have a great sense of humor. And I never laughed at his jokes either.”
And then Savannah and I both start to laugh. And we don’t stop until she’s ruined her makeup with tears of laughter, and my sides actually ache.
“Listen,” I say, leaning forward on the chair. “It’s not you, and it wasn’t me. Percy’s one of those guys who lives for the pursuit. Once something’s a sure thing, he loses interest. That’s why he was fine with a long engagement with me, and why he took forever to marry you. He’s got a lot of divorces in his future, believe me.”
“Well, I’m proud to be the first.” Savannah manages a wry smile.
“Don’t worry. You probably won’t be stuck here for long. Your mother will get over it,” I assure her.
Her perfectly plucked brows draw together in a glower. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t. And I can tell you one thing, if I ever do get married again, and have a daughter, I’d never treat her the way my mother treated me. And I’m not just talking about Percy. It’s everything. Did you know she took me to a therapist when I was fifteen, to talk about eating disorders?”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” I say.
She looks me dead in the face. “She was upset because I didn’t have one.”
“Savannah!” I cry, horrified.
“Don’t worry, after that, I did. I’ve run five miles every morning since and counted every. Single. Calorie. That I put in my mouth. I made myself barf up my wedding cake.”
“Gross! Seriously. If I had any ice cream, I’d insist we both eat a pint right now. Unfortunately, I have neither ice cream nor money to buy any.”
Her face lights up. “Ice cream? I have money from pawning the necklace I got for my sweet sixteen,” she says.
She stands up and wobbles in her heels. I look down at her shoes.
“Tell me the truth. Do you really enjoy staggering around in six-inch heels all the time?”
“I hate it so much!” she cries out fervently. “My feet are in constant pain.”
“What size shoes do you wear?”
“Eight.”
“So do I. You can borrow a pair of flats.”
“Really?” she brightens. She steps out of her shoes, glares at them, and then snaps the heel off each shoe. She holds one of them up and shakes it. “Up yours, mother. And you know what? I’m letting my natural color grow back in. Newsflash, it’s not blonde. And I’m gaining … three pounds. No, five. Ten!”
“You’d still look malnourished.”
She smiles gratefully. “Why, thank you!”
I fetch her a pair of flats, and she happily steps into them and then lets out a moan of pleasure.
“Oh, my God. This is amazing. I feel like I’m walking in a cloud. Can I borrow these until I get a chance to buy something fashionable?” she says happily.
I grimace and then force a smile. “Sure.” Having Savannah as a roommate is going to be so much fun!
I grab an umbrella. As we head out, she says “How is Chase, by the way?”
“Could be dead in a ditch, for all I know.”
“Men are bastards,” she says fervently. “I’ll spring for a bottle of tequila too.”
“We’ll probably live to regret this,” I muse. “I hope. Hey, I work at a bar around the corner. Want to go there instead? At least it’s kind of social.”
Then I remember where I work. “Never mind. It’s a biker bar.”
“A what? Like, a spinning class at a bar?” She makes a face. “I’m trying to get away from my exercise addiction, and also, I don’t think I could bicycle and drink at the same time. I’d be afraid of spilling my margarita.”
“A bar where motorcycle enthusiasts hang out.”
“Oh!” her face lights up. “Mother would be horrified. Let’s go. And you’re going to take a picture of me sitting on the lap of one of those motorcycle enthusiasts, and I’ll post it on Instagram. I hope he’s wearing leather, like that handsome blond man from Sons of Something or Other!”
“Anarchy,” I sigh. This cannot end well.
She surprises me, though. She manages to be reasonably tolerable and only mildly insulting for the rest of the evening. I’m a little worried that she’ll get us murdered by insulting the wrong leather-clad badass, but fortunately, they find her amusing rather than infuriating. Even the biker babes seem to like her. Good for them. Wish I could say the same.
The bikers buy us way too many shots, and I vaguely remember us stumbling home and unfolding the couch. The next thing I know, I’m woken by a furious pounding on my door, which echoes the pounding in my head.
“Shut the hell up!” I shout, pulling my pillow over my face.
“Daisy Abernathy! I raised you better than that!”
I sit bolt upright. That did not just happen. I did not just hear my mother’s voice on the other side of my door.
The pounding resumes, and Savannah groans.
“Betty-Lee, make it stop!” she mumbles. Betty-Lee was her maid.
I leap up and hurry to the door, where I look through the peephole. I see my mother’s furious face glowering at me, with Callie standing next to her.
I open the door and stand there. “What are you doing here?” I demand in astonishment. My mother holds her hand out.
“Swear jar. You said the h-word loud enough for the entire building to hear you.”
“I am flat broke!” I protest. “Besides, it’s New York. Everybody swears.”
“Abernathys don’t. Let us in. Why are you blocking us?”
“No reason,” I say, but I don’t move. My mother walks forward, pushing past me, and Callie follows me. “What is that smell?”
Then she looks at the couch. “That isn’t your cousin, is it?”
“Long story,” I sigh. “Yes. And the smell is garbage. What are you guys doing here? You hate New York.”
“Of course we do, it’s filthy and full of Yankees. Everyone’s rude and they walk too quickly.” My mother looks around my filthy, cluttered apartment with an expression of dismay. “Your grandmother’s eighty-first birthday is tomorrow, and you’re coming home. Now.”
“I sent her a card,” I say, wincing. “And I don’t have the money to buy a ticket home.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I already bought the ticket.”
Callie’s staring at the ceiling, and she hasn’t said anything snarky about the state—or smell—of my apartment. That’s not like her.
“What’s going on?” I ask her. “You’ve done something bad, haven’t you?”
“Nothing,” she says guiltily.
“Tell her,” my mother says, elbowing her.
“Do I have to?”
“Well, unless you want to cut a switch off the willow tree when we get back home. And I’ll tell her myself.”
“Fine!” Callie scowls like a toddler caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
My mother heads for the door. “I will step out for a minute so you can talk in private. And Daisy?” she pauses. “I’m sorry about the way I acted when Jefferson came to the hotel. I was panicking, and you know how I get with my anxiety, but I shouldn’t have shut you out like that. We all shouldn’t have. You’re part of the family, and whatever happens to us, we need to face it together.”
