CHAPTER 2

gray: seven-year itch

After my impromptu solo diving competition, Marcy, my favorite partner in crime, still hadn’t shown up. I pulled out my laptop and tried to get some work done, but I couldn’t keep my mind off how miserable I was going to be without Wagner. We had said our pre-trip good-byes that morning because Greg and Brooke were taking him to their house straight from tennis. But I needed one more hug and kiss—maybe two.

I smiled when I saw him talking to his friends in front of the tennis hut—and I realized right away that I had made the right choice stopping by. I mean, sure, the tennis pro was just a kid, but it did my battered self-esteem some good that he did a double take when I walked up.

There’s some universal rule that tennis pros must be delicious. I don’t mean good-looking. I mean delicious. And Wagner’s tennis teacher for the summer was no exception.

“Hi,” he said as he conspicuously took in the long expanse of leg peeking out from my pareo.

He winked at me underneath his Straits Club sun visor. “So, you here for my class?”

I smirked; his class was the twelve and under clinic.

Before I had a chance to respond, Brooke said, “Excuse me.” I struggled to keep from rolling my eyes.

I eyed the tennis pro to see if he thought she was as hot as my husband apparently did, but he barely glanced her way as he told her, “Moms can watch if they want, but don’t feel like you have to hang around.”

Wagner ran up to me excitedly and said, “Mom?” and then looked over his shoulder, making sure that nobody had seen. “What are you doing here?”

I ran my hand through his shaggy hair, controlling my impulse to lean over and kiss him. “I missed you already.”

Much to my surprise, Wagner squeezed me tight and kissed me on the cheek. He must have needed one last hug and kiss too.

The tanned, racket-wielding man-child to my left looked from Brooke to me and said, “Wait, you mean you’re his mother?” Then he laughed. “No way. What, did you have him when you were twelve?”

It was the absolute best-case scenario. I mean, he would be getting a tip so large at the end of the summer that he could retire.

“I’m Wagner’s soon-to-be stepmom,” Brooke announced, wiggling the fingers on her left hand. I couldn’t help but notice that my engagement ring had been much bigger, which was ironic since Greg had so much more money now. He probably didn’t want to invest as much in this one in case he decided to trade her in for a newer model too.

Andrew looked at Brooke blankly and said, “Great. I can already tell he’s an awesome kid.”

“Hey, Mom, I’m going to go warm up,” Wagner said.

“I’ll be watching!”

“Me too,” Brooke called behind, before turning her attention back to the pro. “Andrew, when should I come back to pick up Wagner?” She shot me a look. “I was trying to ask you this morning, Gray, but I couldn’t get your attention.”

“What? I didn’t even see you,” I lied.

She raised one eyebrow. “You’re a beautiful swimmer,” she said pertly, as if she didn’t want to compliment me but couldn’t help it.

When your big brother drowns when you’re a baby, your parents’ life mission is to make sure you and your sister are expert swimmers. I almost said that just to see her reaction, but it felt like overkill. I wondered if she already knew about Steven. I wondered what else she knew about me, what secrets I had shared with Greg that this total stranger was now privy to.

This afternoon Brooke and Greg were taking Wagner to Raleigh, where we lived the rest of the year, and then off to France, Italy, and Spain for three weeks on their first “family” trip. As if trying to take my company from me weren’t enough, he had to take my child away for nearly a month too.

“Brooke,” I said, “we need to go over a few last-minute details before the trip.”

Her smile was so self-satisfied that this time I couldn’t control my eye roll. “I sent you all the travel details this morning. Did you not see them? And I got the bags you packed and the lists you sent.” She paused and put a hand on my shoulder. “Gray, I promise you. I will take the best care of him in the world. I won’t let him out of my sight.”

I fought the urge to shrug her hand off my shoulder, but I had to admit her assurances did make me feel better. I mean, I still thought she was the devil. Even so, I knew she would take care of Wagner.

The tennis pro, witnessing the whole awkward exchange, looked from Brooke to me again and said, “So, wait. If she’s the soon-to-be stepmom, does that mean that you aren’t married…?”

He paused, and I said, “Gray. My name is Gray. And I am very, very close to being not married, God willing.”

Andrew laughed, and Brooke pursed her lips. It was obvious that she knew she should walk away but wanted to see what would happen next. “In that case,” he said, “can I take you out sometime?”

I nearly doubled over with laughter, and Brooke, clearly unable to help herself, said, “You can’t be serious.”

He looked to her again and said, “You can pick Wagner up at noon.”

She flushed and finally turned to walk away.

When Brooke was out of earshot, I smoothed my wet hair down my back and said, “Okay, okay. I see what’s happening here, and I appreciate it more than you know. I’ll see you around.” I turned to walk away, but Andrew grabbed my hand.

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” For a second the twinkle in his dark-brown eyes mesmerized me, but then I snapped back to reality.

“Asking me out so my replacement could get a taste of her own medicine? That was chivalrous of you.”

He looked down shyly and let go of my hand. “Um. No. I mean, I am chivalrous. But I really just want to take you out to dinner.”

I eyed him skeptically.

He grinned. “If you don’t want to commit to dinner, what about a drink?”

“What are you, twenty? Twenty-two?”

I could see the blush rising up his cheeks. “Twenty-six,” he said, clearing his throat. “But, I mean, a couple years’ age difference is no big deal.”

I burst out laughing again. I guess I was hyperaware of age gaps because of Brooke and the whole divorce thing, but it was a fact that in a matter of months I would hit a large birthday milestone. There was a vast difference between twenty-six and thirty-four.

He shrugged.

Brooke called, “Andrew, the kids are getting antsy. Are we planning to start anytime soon?”

I shook my head and said, “Listen. Thanks. Take care of my kid.”

I wanted to yell bye to Wagner, but I knew better. I would embarrass him in front of his cool summer friends, and I had spent too much money on tall socks (the short ones were out), New Balances (the only good shoe brand this summer), and Under Armour everything else (extra points for a smaller, understated logo) to risk mortifying him now.

As I started across the street toward the clubhouse and pool, Andrew called, “I’m serious. I’m going to track you down later today.” I glanced back to see him say, more quietly, “I’m impossible to resist.”

I laughed and shook my head—but I had a feeling he was right.

Marcy was standing on the sidewalk waiting for me in a linen cover-up with a deep V, the sleeves casually rolled. I could just make out the outline of a teeny bikini underneath.

I threw my hands up as if to say, So now you decide to show up?

“What?” She looked truly mystified.

“I felt like I was very specific about meeting here at nine a.m.,” I teased.

“You said ten,” Marcy said. Then she paused. “Or maybe you said nine, but I knew I would never be up that early so I decided to hear ten.…”

I laughed and wondered what it would be like to be that carefree. Marcy was thirty-one, only three years younger than I was, but our lives were so different. She had never been married, had no children, and lived footloose and fancy-free year-round in the waterfront home beside mine that her parents, who lived in Maine, had bought for investment purposes and visited only once a year.

I had been married for nine years, had an eight-year-old son, and had bought my second home in Cape Carolina when I landed the largest client of my career at ClickMarket. My company. I was mad all over again.

Marcy pointed toward the tennis courts. “What the hell was that all about?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes, and we made our way toward the beach for one of the long walks that comprised our summer exercise routine. There was nothing I looked forward to more than the sand under my feet, the surf splashing around my ankles. “Wagner’s tennis pro asked me out for a drink, but I think he must have been kidding. You know, doing it for effect because Brooke was standing there being Brooke.”

Marcy stopped, her hand frozen to the top of the pool gate. “Wait. Brooke was standing there?”

I smiled. “Yeah. It was kind of awesome.”

“Gray, the hot tennis pro wants to date you. When God gives, you take. You take and you run and you don’t look back.”

I smiled. I knew logically that my thirty-fifth birthday wouldn’t magically make me old. But I think everyone has a scary age, an age by which they think they are supposed to have it all figured out. For me, it was always thirty-five. And it wasn’t scary for a long, long time because I had it all together. And now, only months before my scary age, my perfectly choreographed life had fallen apart. I was back at square one. Barring a miracle, it didn’t seem like I was going to have it all back together by October.

We walked through the pool deck exchanging waves with the women already lounging there, watching their kids train for swim team. As our feet hit the warm sand, she said, “But don’t you remember it?”

“Remember what?”

“Dating a twenty-five-year-old,” Marcy said wistfully.

I raised my eyebrows at her.

“Oh, right,” she said. “You haven’t been on a date in a hundred years. How do I always forget that?”

I smirked.

“Seedy bars and karaoke, beer pong tournaments and sleeping on the beach just because you can. Meeting new people, kissing without the expectation of anything more, your stomach flip-flopping over whether he’ll text you the next day.…”

“So, not nice dinners followed by 20/20? No neatly hanging your clothes up in the closet and lining your shoes up by the bed before slipping between the pressed sheets trying not to get them wrinkled?”

We both laughed.

To be honest, I had kind of enjoyed the nice dinners and the 20/20. I thought my seventh year of marriage was amazing, blissful even. Wagner was old enough that having a child wasn’t super stressful anymore. Greg was making money, which made him feel like I wasn’t the sole breadwinner. ClickMarket was up 20 percent in the first quarter, and I felt like my meticulously edited staff was the dream team. Our friends were fun. The living was easy.

And then the storm broke. Seven years and eight months into the marriage, and he didn’t love me anymore. They call it the seven-year itch for a reason.

I looked down at my pedicured but unpolished toes, nauseated at the mere thought of dipping them back into the dating pool. I sighed. The cellulite-blasting exercises in my Self.com e-mail that morning ran through my mind. “It has only been sixteen months. That’s not that long.”

“Sixteen months?” Marcy put her finger in her ear and wiggled it around as though she couldn’t possibly be hearing this properly. “Sixteen months? I’ve heard after a year you go into spontaneous menopause. Your reproductive organs give up and you get chin hair and it’s over.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, which was something Marcy had been good for since the day we met. The day my now almost ex-husband, Greg, and I closed on our beach house five years ago, Marcy came by with a measuring cup in her hand.

“You need sugar?” I’d asked.

“No,” she replied. “Vodka.”

I knew right then and there that this girl and I were going to get along just fine.

“Weird that I’ve decided to get married the year you’ve decided to get unmarried,” Marcy said. “You’d probably have way more time for me now.”

I nearly choked. “What? You didn’t tell me you met someone!”

She waved her hand as if that was a small detail. “Oh, I haven’t. But I’ve decided I need to get married this year so I can have two kids before I’m thirty-six.”

“Why thirty-six?”

She shrugged. “Just what has always been in my head.”

I was getting ready to say how impractical that seemed. But Marcy, with legs up to her neck, her perky strawberry-blond ponytail, and not even a sign that a wrinkle was planning to visit her face, would probably find a husband in record time. Plus she was smart and fun and cool. Perfect wife material. If she weren’t my best friend, I might have been jealous of her.

“One problem,” I said. “Haven’t you kind of dated everyone around here who’s even an option?”

There were only so many men in Cape Carolina.

“Yeah,” she said. “But I figure every eligible bachelor from Raleigh east will be here at some point this summer. So my plan is basically to work even less than normal and spend every spare moment man hunting.” She ran her hand through her ponytail. “I’ll need a sidekick.”

I laughed, even though my brain had moved on to my to-do list for the day: Check with marketing to see if the banners are ready for the Design Influencers Conference. Schedule a lunch with the CFO of Glitter. Whittle my unread e-mails to below 250. Sign Wagner up for basketball camp. Send last month’s profit-and-loss statements to my attorney. I lifted my stainless water bottle and clinked it with Marcy’s. “To husband hunting,” I said. “But just so you know,” I added, “husband hunting for me is the last thing I ever want to do again.”

We turned as we reached the row of brightly colored houses that was our halfway point.

I had heard—especially from my sister, Quinn—that I should stick my marriage out so Wagner could have as normal a life as possible. The problem is, when your husband walks out that door, there’s not one thing you can do about it. Greg was fully immersed in the pleasure zone that was Brooke. I probably should have paid more attention earlier, but when you’re growing a media empire and trying to be supermom, it’s easy to become caught up in your path to success.

“It’s a good thing you’ve stayed hot,” Marcy said, getting me out of my thoughts.

I looked at her doubtfully.

As we reached the pool deck again, Marcy refilled our water bottles from one of the large coolers all around the pool while I spread towels on a pair of matching teak loungers for us, folding my cover-up neatly at the bottom of mine. Returning from the cooler, Marcy raised her eyebrows and pointed toward my bathing suit bottoms. “What is that?”

I shrugged. “What do you mean?”

“What’s with the high-waisted bikini bottom? You hate those.”

“Yeah… but they’re in, right?” She looked at me skeptically, and I laughed. “Okay. You caught me.” I looked around and then whispered, “It covers my ringworm.”

Marcy’s mouth hung open. “Ew. Ew. And again, ew.”

“Wagner found a stray puppy that ended up belonging to one of our neighbors. We gave him back, but not before he gave Wagner ringworm. And Wagner gave it to me.”

“Oh my word. I’m rethinking having kids.”

I nodded. “Yup. They’re vile little beings. He’s lucky he’s cute.” I felt a lump forming in my throat. I cleared it to keep myself from crying. How was I possibly going to make it three weeks without him?

“Are you sure that’s what it is?”

I smiled. “I was certain I had some late-onset STD from Greg, so I ran directly to the doctor. He was pretty amused by the whole thing.”

“I guess that would have been worse,” Marcy said. “But just barely,” she added under her breath.

I couldn’t help but smile as I caught a glimpse of Andrew, who was opening the gate, out of the corner of my eye. He was even cuter than he’d been earlier, if that was possible, with a line of sweat around his slightly wavy brown hair. I tried to ignore my racing heart as he approached.

“It’s just a drink,” he said, shrugging. “That’s all I’m asking.”

I adjusted my ponytail. “You’re sweet, Andrew, but I’m really trying not to be that stereotypical divorcée.”

He grinned. “So you won’t go out with me because of your reputation, but you still think I’m a fox?” He flashed that dimple at me. “Okay, how about this? I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah, Gray,” Marcy chimed in, clearly amused. “Just give him a chance.”

I shot her a warning look.

“Fine. One drink. Next week. But you may not take me anywhere even decently nice where I would know a single person.”

He laughed. “Oh, believe me, I know just the place.”

When he was out of earshot, Marcy clapped approvingly. “Why would you throw all that hotness at some eighteen-year-old who’s too drunk to even appreciate those sexy diagonal ab lines peeking over his shorts?”

“He had his shirt on, Marcy.”

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Yeah, but you know they’re there.” She sighed. “Just think, Gray. You two can date for a couple of years, get married, have another baby with those dimples and your eyes. It’s all so dreamy.”

“I’m having one drink with him and that’s it,” I said unconvincingly. Weren’t you practically required to have a few inappropriate flings in the midst of a divorce? “But get serious. It’s not like I’m going to marry the guy, Marce.”

She pulled her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and peered at me from underneath her hat. “Famous. Last. Words.”

diana: some kind of home

I’ve had the same nightmare since I was eleven years old. It doesn’t matter that I’m forty now. Every time I’m too stressed or worried, that nightmare sneaks up on me. And the worst part is that, yeah, it’s a dream. But it also happened. I had to live that mess.

The nightmare always starts with Charles talking. Charles, he’s the oldest, bless his sweet soul. Charles, then Elizabeth, then me, then Phillip. He was only fourteen when it happened. Elizabeth was thirteen. I was eleven. Phillip was ten. Irish twins. That’s what they called Phillip and me.

We were used to being alone. Damn used to it.

Momma had had Charles when she was sixteen. Her parents had thrown her out on the street when they found out she was pregnant, and, as you could probably guess, she didn’t make real good choices after that either. Not a one of us knew who our daddy was. Poor Charles, when she was out gallivanting around town doing God only knows what with God only knows who, he’d be trying to figure out something to feed us for dinner, usually cereal. He was just a kid, so young, so handsome, living in the projects and trying to take care of his brother and sisters.

Now, Elizabeth, tiny little thing, she didn’t look a day over ten even though she was thirteen, but, thank the good Lord, she couldn’t stand a mess. She was always trying to get the house straight when Momma was gone or laid up on the couch. Even once Momma left, she washed up all our clothes every day and made me take a bath so we’d look clean for school.

“That’s the most important thing,” Charles would say. “None of our teachers can know that Momma’s gone.”

Pretending didn’t seem real hard to me since it’d taken us a good week to figure that Momma was gone gone. She was in the habit of disappearing now and then, leaving us alone for a couple days.

“Should we call the police or something?” Elizabeth had asked.

Now, Phillip, he was just sitting over in the corner, real quiet and scrunched up, while me and Elizabeth and Charles got this stuff straight. We knew Phillip wasn’t quite like the rest of us, but we didn’t have a name for it yet.

“Yeah,” I’d said. I missed my momma so bad. Oh, I’ll never forget that emptiness way down deep in my soul. She was kind of crazy and she had a habit of running off, but she loved us kids. When she was around she took the best care of us in the whole world. She’d pile us all up in her bed and read library books. She’d try to pull together some sort of dinner for us to all sit around the table together and eat. She always told us how much she loved us. She really was a good momma—except the leaving us, that is. I was trying hard not to cry, but I couldn’t help it. I needed my momma. I needed her to brush my hair and hug me and tell me it would be okay.

So I nuzzled up to Elizabeth instead. Some days she would’ve been real annoyed by that, but not that day. That day she hugged me tight to her side like she would take care of me now.

“No,” Charles said, “because if we call the police and they know Momma is gone, they’ll take us away and put us in some kind of home or something.”

I looked over in the corner. Phillip was rocking back and forth now. It was hard to tell how much he understood, but he knew something was wrong. It made you want to hug him, but you couldn’t hug him on account of he’d get real mad and start hitting you.

“Yeah,” Elizabeth chimed in, changing her tune on a dime. “And don’t say nothing at school. If anybody asks about Momma, you say, ‘Oh, she fixed us the best supper last night,’ or something like that.”

Charles nodded. “Yeah.”

Looking back, this was obviously a plan made by a bunch of kids. We had some cans and some cereal in the house, but that was about it. We scrounged up all our money, and Charles walked down to the 7-Eleven to buy some food. Even though it seemed like all the money in the world at the time, it couldn’t have been more than ten bucks.

It seemed like we lived that way forever without Momma. We’d get up and Elizabeth made sure we looked tidy and our clothes were clean, and Charles would put Momma’s signature on our papers and everything since he had pretty good cursive. Then we’d get on the bus, and we’d come home and we’d lock the door and, when somebody knocked, we wouldn’t answer it.

Phillip cried a lot, and Elizabeth and I would try to calm him down. Sometimes we’d put him in front of the TV, but then the TV quit working. And then one day, it must have been a week or two later, we got home and a couple of grown-up ladies were sitting on our couch.

At first I was real excited when I saw people because I figured one of them was Momma. Maybe she’d come back and it’d all be all right.

But it wasn’t Momma. Charles tried to run when he realized what was going on, but the police got him right down the street.

“We only want to help you,” one lady had said. She’d seemed nice to me, but Charles had screamed at her, “No, you don’t! You want to take us away from each other!”

I remember crying and saying, “Where’s my momma?”

Phillip, he’d got real quiet and done that rocking-in-the-corner thing again. Elizabeth, she’d put her arm around me and stroked my hair. She said, “Diana, you just remember that no matter what happens, I love you.”

She was so young. Charles too. All of us. So young. She just left us there like a bunch of stray kittens that nobody wanted. If your own momma doesn’t want you, who could? To this day, I don’t know what happened to my momma. Part of me hopes she’s been dead all this time; that’s the only explanation that lets me sleep at night. I’m sure I could look into it and find out. I could probably find out who my daddy is too.

But why should I? If Momma got killed in some awful way, it’s only going to make me feel bad. And if my daddy didn’t want me back then when I was cute and little, he sure as hell doesn’t want me now that I’m all grown-up.

After those ladies showed up, I didn’t get to see Charles and Elizabeth and Phillip anymore. Foster families, they were all right with taking on one kid, sometimes maybe even two. But nobody was going to take on four, especially with one like Phillip. They’d put him in a facility instead. It took me more than twenty years to find him, just up the road. It was my thirty-second birthday. Finding Phillip was the best gift I’ve ever gotten, even better than the sparkly shoes the Salvation Army brought over one year at Christmas.

I remember how excited I was, going to see him that first time. I knew he’d be grown-up, but I also expected him to be that same Phillip. I imagined that he’d smile and say he was glad to see me even if he wouldn’t look me straight in the eye or anything.

But then I got there, and, oh my Lord, it almost brought me to my knees to see my sweet brother just sitting in that chair and staring into space. I’d tried to talk to him, but he’d just looked at me kind of blank and turned back to the window. You didn’t have to be real smart to figure out what was going on.

“What in the hell do you have him on?” I asked the first woman in scrubs I saw.

“He has to be sedated, ma’am. He gets violent.”

“Gets violent?” I felt like I was about to get violent. “He’s the sweetest thing in the world as long as you don’t come at him too quick or try to hug him.”

“Ma’am,” she said like I was an idiot, “I’m not equipped to fend off an unpredictable grown man.”

I was mad as hell—but I did have to put myself in her shoes. I really didn’t know what Phillip was like, much as it pained me to admit it. But I was determined to prove her wrong. From then on, I’d drive there every week on my day off. I’d hold that docile hand, and I’d talk to Phillip. I mostly told him stories about when we were kids.

Sometimes I’d tell him about Harry’s latest stunt or some funny photos at work. He didn’t smile or respond, and maybe I’m crazy, but I swear something about him changed when I got there. He seemed almost happy.

Now that I was showing up regularly, things had gotten a lot better. When we were kids in the ’80s, no one knew a whole lot about autism, so they kind of wrote him off as never being able to do anything. But once I found him, I worked so hard to get him moved. It took three years and a lot of paperwork, but I did. And a really nice doctor at the new home started working with me. We got him on some good medicines to help him control himself, so maybe he wouldn’t get so angry, so maybe he didn’t have to rock so much or flap his hands. We even worked on words, and he was back to talking some. Sometimes it was scary, and sometimes it was hard, but Phillip was my family, and I had to step up. I had to be his voice.

And that morning, with my tooth waking up and my job lost and Harry gone and everything in the world feeling like it was falling apart, I needed to see my baby brother. I drove to Cape Nursing just like I did every week and parked my car in the parking lot. The first time, the nursing home smell and fluorescent lights and cracks in the floor had bothered me. But now I was used to it.

Karen was at the reception window just like every day, her brown hair in a knot on the top of her head that I never could quite replicate on my own, dressed in navy-blue scrubs like always.

“Well, hi there, Miss Diana.” Karen handed me a clipboard so I could sign in and said, “Mr. Phillip’s in the solarium.” She smiled at me conspiratorially. “He’s doing so good now, isn’t he?”

I nodded. My head was too full of everything that was going wrong to even pretend that it could be right again. Even so, that made me smile. I’d been seeing Phillip every week for eight years now, and let me tell you, those first three, when I couldn’t do anything for him, I was about to pull my hair out. But when I finally got him transferred here five years ago, it had made all the difference in the world. I saw progress at least every few months.

“He really is doing good, Karen.” It brought tears to my eyes. She came around from behind the counter and hugged me tight. “I love y’all so much for helping him,” I said, wiping my eyes. I shook my head. “You can’t imagine how bad it used to be.”

Karen said, “That’s what we’re here for.” She squeezed my arms, the fabric of my Sam’s Pub and Grub T-shirt wrapping tight around them. I actually kind of liked Sam. He was a decent guy. Smart. Hardworking. But there hadn’t been much of a spark there. Although maybe things would be different now. Maybe I’d look him up, at least to see if I could get my old waitressing job back.

As I walked down the hall to see my brother, I felt lighter somehow. Things were bad, but they weren’t the worst they had ever been.

Solarium was a pretty grand word for a place that was nothing more than a small room with some fake ficus trees in the corner, a row of windows looking at the parking lot, and a skylight. But whatever. I saw Phillip right off in his wheelchair at one of the windows. He was wearing gray drawstring pants and a sweatshirt, and they weren’t much to look at but they were clean. Even though I wasn’t able to take care of my brother, I was grateful somebody was.

I knelt in front of Phillip’s wheelchair with my hands on his knees. “Hey, buddy,” I said. “It’s me. It’s your sister, Diana.” And with no warning whatsoever, hot tears started rolling down my cheeks. Not just because I was alone again. Not just because I was broke again. But because I had always dreamed that I would save up and get Phillip out of here. I checked out books on autism at the library, read articles on the computers there about his medicines, techniques to help him control his anger, exercises to help with his dexterity and his emotional responses. I knew he was in there. I had always known it. I would get him out one day. I would give him the life he deserved.

But, damn, how was I going to take care of him now?

Me and Charles, we’d talked about getting him out a couple of years ago. But Elizabeth, she’d come down from Indiana and said, “How are y’all possibly going to take care of him? We can barely take care of ourselves.”

Except, well, Elizabeth could. She was real lucky. Her very first foster family was a nice, rich one. They had one kid they’d adopted when he was a baby, and they hadn’t planned on having any more, but Elizabeth, sweet and smart and pretty and helpful as she was, she’d won them over right off.

They put her through private school and college. She’d married a guy who’s a lawyer, thank God, because, good as Charles grew up and nice as his wife and kids are, the boys—well, you can’t escape genetics. They’re always getting a drinking ticket or smoking a little pot in the park. Nothing dangerous, but they seem to need a lawyer more often than not, so it’s a good thing we’ve got one in the family.

I’ll always love Charles because, as soon as he turned eighteen, he got himself a job, and he went to court and tried to get me back, out of my latest foster home, bless his heart. He didn’t win, but I’ll tell you what, I’ll never forget that.

Phillip turned his head to look down at me, as he said slowly, “Hi, Diana.” Then the best thing in the world happened: he moved his hand on top of mine. Some days he wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t talk to me, would back away if I tried to lay a finger on him. But not today. Today he put his hand, pale from years without the sun, on my tanned one, and I squeezed it quickly as he put it back in his lap. I looked up into his green eyes, just the same as mine. Irish twins. Irish eyes too. When I looked in his, I was looking into my own. I think that’s what got me most. But while my face was starting to line around the eyes and mouth from smoking and stress and too little sunscreen, his was as smooth and unlined as a child’s.

I cleared my throat and stood up and said, “Buddy, that hair looks like a squirrel tail on a windy day.” I got a comb out of my purse and fixed his thick chestnut hair for a few minutes longer than it took to get it straight because I thought it must feel good to have somebody take care of you. I knew it’d feel good if somebody’d take care of me. He didn’t try to stop me. Just like me, he had a few grays at the roots, but nothing to speak of, nothing noticeable enough to give away his real age.

I sat down in the chair beside my brother. “I’m never going to leave you, Phillip,” I said. “Not ever.” And then I said the thing I said every time I visited, the one I wondered if he knew, the one I wondered if he believed: “I’m going to get you out of here one day. And me and you, we’re going to be a family again. The way we were supposed to be.”

The promise made me happy, but it made me sad too. Because I’d had dreams, big ones. I’d known real love and had high hopes for a family of my own. But now, broke and alone and past my fortieth birthday, I had to face the fact that my brothers and sister were all the family I was ever going to have.

---

I can’t tell you why I drove from Cape Nursing to Gray Howard’s house. It’s not like me. I’m the kind of girl who stands real still in the background and doesn’t make too much noise so nobody’ll notice she’s there. But when I saw Gray’s address on the outside of that envelope at Meds and More, I’d realized that I used to clean that house way back before she lived there—way back when I cleaned houses. It made fire burn in me. I’d done nothing but work my tail off my entire life. I would bet my last dollar that she’d never had to work for anything.

I didn’t have a plan, really. I didn’t have any money, anyplace to stay, and now I didn’t have anything to do. So I guess I thought I’d just drive by, maybe get a nice look at her big house on the water, its cedar shakes and perfect painted shutters and pretty flower boxes filled with yellow and white blooms. And I could think how ironic it was that she had everything, I had nothing, and she’d managed to take away the one thing I had.

I lit a cigarette. My last one. I guessed it’d be easier to quit now that I didn’t have cigarette money anyway. On the bright side, my tooth felt better.

I sat on her front steps, feeling beads of sweat forming on my back. I hoped they wouldn’t show through my T-shirt. There was a nice breeze over here on the water, but, sitting in the full sun like I was, it was still hotter than the hinges of hell. But I needed vitamin D and fresh air. They were good for me and the right price: free. Still smoking away, I started thinking about what I would say when Gray got home. You walk around here in your big, rich house with the million-dollar view, and you don’t even think about the people you’re hurting. You don’t give a damn about anybody but yourself and what you want and how you feel. You just sit over here on your high horse and don’t even think about the little people like me.

She’d probably call the police. Then at least I’ll have a cell to spend the night in, I thought. Oh Lord. I really was spiraling now.

This is why people have kids. Then they have somewhere to stay the night when they leave their boyfriend. Although my kids probably would’ve been no good and wouldn’t have jobs or anyplace to stay because they’d be half Harry’s DNA. Then I’d be struggling to look after them too. Sometimes, on your own isn’t the worst way to be. I got a familiar pain way down in my belly, knowing that I couldn’t have had a baby even if I wanted to.

Gray’s white convertible, top down, pulled into the concrete driveway, and I rolled my eyes. She was yammering away on her phone. “I know, Dad, and I’m so sorry, but I have so much work to do today. I promise we’ll do it next week.” She sighed loudly. “Dad, I know. I get it. But he’s my kid, not a chess piece.…” Pause. “He’s taking the kid to Europe, not enrolling him in Al Qaeda training.” Sigh. “I know I’m his mother, but Greg’s his father, and while I think he is the scum of the earth as a human, he’s a decent dad. I think it’s only fair to Wagner.…” She got out of the car, paused, and leaned over the door, looking like she was stretching out her hamstrings. “Yes, Dad, I know. My attorney has informed me of that.” She laughed ironically. “And you think I don’t want to save my company? I put myself through grad school with that company. I bought our houses and our cars with that company. That company was my first baby. Trust me, if anyone wants to save it, it’s me.” She paused one more time, then said, “Hello, hello, I can’t hear you. I think I’m losing—” Then she ended the call with an exaggerated click.

Still standing in the driveway, Gray let out a tight-lipped, low, frustrated groan.

It was kind of funny because I’d pictured her having this perfect life. Knowing that she really didn’t, I sort of felt less mad. “That yell there for your husband or your daddy?”

She let out an actual scream that time.

I looked at her, glued to my spot, and crossed my arms. So she had some problems, but I had problems. As in, I was getting hungry for a dinner that might never come.

She looked confused at first and then, putting two and two together, said, “Oh my gosh. Are you here for the release? I can go get it right now—”

“That ship has sailed, sweetie pie,” I said as I crushed the butt of my cigarette with my flip-flop.

“What do you mean?”

Gray walked toward me, her bare feet leaving prints in the grass. Her toenails were perfectly shaped and shiny with no polish. I curled my own toes to hide them. My red polish was chipped and fading, and you couldn’t see it much, but underneath it my nails were yellow in places with some white spots. I could never have let them be bare like that. It was one more way she was better.

“Mr. Marcus fired me for not getting that release.” So, no. That wasn’t technically true. He’d fired me because all the photos I developed sucked, and we both knew that wasn’t changing anytime soon. But making him look bad in front of a woman who anyone with eyes could see he had the hots for had been the final straw. No matter how you sliced it, Gray Howard was the reason I no longer had a job.

She caught her breath and put her hand up to her mouth. “No. You’re kidding me. Oh my gosh.” She sat down beside me on the brick step—not too close—putting her elbows on her knees like a kid. “Well, listen, I know Bill really well, so I’ll go down and talk to him and get him to give you your job back.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“I’ll just take him the release and explain that I didn’t give you a choice.”

I nodded, but I knew that the chances of him giving me my job back were slim to none. But now that I had Gray on the hook, now that she felt responsible for all this, I knew I could squeeze something out of her guilt. I looked back at her big house again. If she couldn’t get me my job back, well, she could at least get me another one.

I’m not proud of it. But I’m a girl who grew up with nothing. I know how to manipulate people. I know how to work the system. It’s the only way to survive sometimes. I said, making my voice shake the slightest bit, “I had to move out of my boyfriend’s house this morning because he—”

She gasped. “Oh my God. Is that what’s wrong with your face? Did he hit you?”

I put my hand up to my swollen jaw. I put on my best sad face and looked nervously down at the ground. “I don’t want to talk about it.” There. I hadn’t lied, per se.

She gasped again, and I could see her eyes softening. I knew I had to make a connection with her now to seal the deal. “Having a hard time with your daddy?”

She shook her head. “I love him to death, but ever since my mom died, it’s like he doesn’t know how to talk to me. Sometimes he’s way too distant, and other times the man needs to butt out.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, I’m not five years old. It’s my divorce. My kid.” She laughed. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I have no idea why I’m telling you all this. Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll go talk to Bill and see what we can do about making this right.”

I had her right where I wanted her.

We exchanged information, and she said, “Again, I really am so terribly sorry. I never would have gotten you in trouble on purpose.”

“Oh, I know you’ll make it right,” I said, starting to feel a little guilty myself. It wasn’t really Gray’s fault. But, again, survival of the fittest—or the sneakiest. When you grew up like me, you had to be both. “That job was all I had,” I added. “It was my pride and my independence and my self-worth all rolled into one. It was my never having to depend on anybody else to take care of me.”

Her face changed as I said that. She looked at me. I mean, really looked at me. Something flashed in her blue eyes as they met mine, and a powerful understanding zapped between us. I knew then that maybe I had been all wrong about how easy this girl had it. I knew she was going to help. And I realized that I wasn’t just saying that job was all I had. I might have been manipulating her, sure. But it startled me to learn that I meant it.