CHAPTER 71
Oren retrieved the key from his toolbox, but he didn’t give it to me. He gave it to Zara, then told me to get ready for school.
“Have you lost your mind?” I asked him. “I’m not going to school.”
“It’s the safest place for you right now,” Oren said. “Alisa will agree with me.”
“Alisa’s doing damage control from the interview,” I retorted. “I’m sure the last thing she wants is me out in public. No one would question why I might want to stay home.”
“Country Day isn’t public,” Oren told me, and a few seconds later, he had Alisa on speakerphone, and she was echoing what he had said: I was to put on my private school uniform, put on my best face, and pretend that nothing had happened.
If we treated this like a crisis, it would be seen as a crisis.
Since I’d promised to keep Alisa in the loop, I told her everything, and she still didn’t change her mind. “Act normal,” she told me.
I hadn’t been normal in weeks. But less than an hour later, I was dressed in a pleated skirt, a white dress shirt, and a burgundy blazer, with my hair tousled just so and my makeup minimal, except for the eyes. Preppy with an edge, for all the world to see—or at least all the denizens of Heights Country Day School.
I felt like I had on my very first day. No one looked directly at me, but the way they were not-looking at me felt far more conspicuous. Jameson and Xander slipped out of the car after me, and each of them took one of my sides. At least this time, it was me and the Hawthornes against the world.
I made it through the day bit by bit, and by lunch, I was done. Done with the stares. Done pretending everything was normal. Done trying to put on a happy face. I was hiding—or making an attempt at it—in the archive when Jameson found me. “You look like someone who needs a distraction,” he told me.
A few feet away, Oren crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”
Jameson shot my bodyguard his most innocent look.
“I know you,” Oren replied. “I know your distractions. You’re not taking her skydiving. Or parasailing off the coast. No racetracks. No motorcycles. No ax throwing—”
“Ax throwing?” I looked at Jameson, intrigued.
He turned back to Oren. “What are your feelings on roofs?”
Ten minutes later, Jameson and I were back on top of the Art Center. He rolled out the turf and teed up a ball.
“Keep away from the edge,” Oren told me, and then he turned deliberately away from us both.
I waited for Jameson to ask me about the postcards. I waited for him to flirt with me, to touch me, to Jameson Hawthorne the answer out of me. But all he did was hand me a club.
I lined up the shot. Part of me wanted him to come stand behind me, wanted his arms to wrap around mine. Jameson on the roof. Grayson in the maze. My mind was a mess. I was a mess.
“My mother was Kaylie Rooney’s sister,” I said. And so it began. It was hard to put into words everything I’d learned, but I managed. The more I said, the easier it was to see Jameson thinking.
The more he thought, the closer to me he came.
“What do you think Toby left in Jackson that’s worth so much?” he asked. “And where in Jackson?” Jameson studied me like my face held the answers. “How long did Toby’s amnesia last? Why stay ‘dead’ once his memory returned?”
“Guilt.” I almost choked on the word, though I couldn’t have explained why. “Toby loathed himself almost as much as he loved my mom.”
That was the first time I’d said that last bit out loud. Toby Hawthorne loved my mother. She loved him. It had been an epic, seaside kind of love. Literally. Just knowing that made me feel like I’d been lying to myself every time I’d pretended that I didn’t have feelings, that things didn’t have to be messy.
That I could have what I wanted without ever really longing for anything, body and soul.
“Heiress?” There was a question in Jameson’s deep green eyes. I wasn’t sure what he was asking, what he wanted from me.
What I wanted from him.
“Knock, knock!” Xander stuck his head out the door to the roof. “I just happened to have my ear pressed to this door. I might have overheard some things, and I have a suggestion!”
Jameson looked like he might actually throttle his brother. I glanced at Oren, who was still pointedly ignoring all three of us. I could practically hear him thinking, Not my job.
“Call her!” Xander tossed something at me. It wasn’t until I’d caught it that I realized it was his phone—and a number had already been plugged in.
“Call who?” Jameson asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Your grandmother,” Xander told me. “Like I said, I inadvertently overheard some things while my ear was casually pressed to this steel door. Kaylie Rooney’s mother is your grandmother, Avery. That’s a piece of the puzzle we’ve never had before, and that”—he nodded to the phone—“is her phone number.”
“You don’t have to call,” Jameson told me, which made about as much sense as the fact that he’d willingly stepped back from the postcards.
“Yes.” I swallowed. “I do.” My heart jumped into my throat just thinking about it, but I hit the Call button. The line rang and rang and rang, with no one picking up and no voicemail. I couldn’t bring myself to hang up, so I just let it ring, and then finally someone answered. All I got out was a hello and my name before the person who’d answered cut me off.
“I know who you are.” At first I thought the gravelly voice belonged to a man, but as the words kept coming, I realized that the speaker was a woman. “If my worthless daughter had taught you the first damn thing about this family, you wouldn’t dare have dialed my number.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting. My mom had always told me that she didn’t have a family. But still, each word her mother—my grandmother—spoke cut into me.
“If that little bitch hadn’t run, I would have put a bullet in her myself. You think I want a dime of your blood money, girl? You think you’re family? You hang up that phone. You forget my name. And if you’re lucky, I’ll make sure this family—this whole town—forgets yours.”
The sound on the other end of the line cut out. I stood there, the phone still pressed to my ear, frozen.
“You okay there, buddy?” Xander asked.
I couldn’t reply. I couldn’t say anything. You think I want a dime of your blood money, girl? You think you’re family?
I wasn’t even sure if I was breathing.
If that little bitch hadn’t run—
Jameson came up beside me. He put his hands on my shoulders. For a second, I thought he might force my eyes to his, but he didn’t. He walked me over to the edge of the roof. The very edge, close enough that Oren called out, but in response, all Jameson did was spread my arms to each side, until his and mine were both held out in a T. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. “Breathe.”
If that little bitch hadn’t run—
I closed my eyes. I breathed. I felt him breathing. The wind picked up. And I told them everything.