Feather Bound (6 page)

“Are you shitting me?” I'd yelled it loud enough to spook some poor child as she climbed into a parked car by the side of the road. The mother shot me a withering glare. I lowered my voice a little. “Don't give me that crap, Hyde. Your dad
said
you were dead. It was in the papers. Why would he say you were dead if you were living it up in France?”

“Paris,” he corrected, though the way his face pinched and cheeks flushed made it clear that he knew how stupidly unnecessary that was. “Look, can we sit down somewhere? Hey, Grand Army Plaza's right over there.” He let out a nervous half-chuckle. “Man, Army Plaza. Remember how we used to–”

I crossed the street and stopped, directly in front of Bailey fountain, and turned to face him, folding my arms. “Well?”

Hyde gazed at the water shooting up from the ridges, showering the stone bodies in an endless stream. Wearily, he sat down on a nearby bench. “Ralph Hedley.” He let the name linger for a moment, waited for all the breath to drift out of him and rise into the air as a quiet offering to the dead. “He was a lot of things. ‘Truthful' wasn't one of them.”

“Well I guess one shouldn't expect honesty from a man who could enslave his wife and still show his face at many a social event.”

“I guess not,” Hyde said.

I blinked, shocked at Hyde's honesty for a moment. “Why would he lie? What would make Ralph Hedley tell the world his one and only adopted son was dead?”

Hyde traced his finger along the bench. “I don't know. That's a good question. Maybe he was ashamed of me? I did like to go to girls' birthday parties after all.” Grinning at me, he added, “Or maybe he just got tired of me. It happened after Mom died, and he'd already gotten his deal. Maybe he just didn't need me anymore.” He leaned over, his arms on his knees. “Then again, his company was going through a bit of financial trouble at the time. Maybe he just needed to cut back on his expenses? Really, Deanna, who knows…”

“Stop it.”

He was lying. He had to be. Hyde had that way about him. He'd told me he'd dined with a prince of England once and waited to see if I bought it. He'd offer me lies wrapped in pretty ribbons and laugh when I swallowed them whole. A trickster. A jack ass, now. It was fun, he'd told me once, only because I always fell for it. But that was nine years ago.

“Hyde? Tell me the truth; this doesn't make any sense.”

“What's there to tell? Sometimes life gets dicey and your dad fakes your death.”

True or not true. I couldn't tell. I thought I could scrutinize his every movement, break him down to his micro-expressions and figure it out. Nothing.

“Your dad
faked your death
because… life got ‘dicey'?”

“Yes. Death threats, ransoms and all.”

Death threats? Why would anyone threaten Hyde? To get to Ralph?

“And you, what, lived as a meagre shepherd boy these past nine years until you could reclaim your rightful place on the throne?”

“Or some variation of that. But with fewer musical numbers.”

“Are you telling me the truth or aren't you?” Even to my own ears, I sounded desperate. It was embarrassing. Just a minute ago I was sure I'd figured him out.

Hyde was still looking at me when he answered. “Maybe. There's nothing I can tell you that you'd believe anyway. None of it makes sense because none of it is supposed to. But I'm here. I'm alive. That's the truth. Isn't that enough?”

Anger crashed down on me. “I'll tell you everything,” he'd said. He'd promised me he'd tell me everything, but it was just a ruse to get me here, wasn't it? I could have laughed. He was a coward. No amount of faux-existentialist drivel would change that.

Hyde looked up at me, almost broken; his arms stretched over his knees at odd angles, his body folded, his eyes empty. If there were something he wasn't telling me, there was a reason. At least that much I could see.

He could keep it. I didn't care anymore.

As the fountain rippled behind me, filling the silence, I finally let the last few days settle like dust. Once they did, I could see Hyde clearly. No longer the chubby little boy who'd followed me around Brooklyn. He was older, leaner. A better liar and a worse liar all at the same time. He was arrogant. And he was tired. I could see that too, as clear as day. Worn down as if laden with battle scars. He couldn't hide it, as hard as he tried.

“You've changed, Hyde,” was all I said.

“Oh?” He crossed his legs and gazed up at me. “But isn't that my line?”

“What do you mean by that?”

He examined me, not seductively, but clinically, like he was taking stock of the inventory and comparing it against past data. “I've been thinking about it since the funeral. But you do look a little… worn.”

“
Excuse
me?”

He stood up and approached me with calm, even steps. I stepped back. “I don't know. The last time I saw you, when we were kids I mean, you were much brighter. It was like you were bursting with life. What happened?”

He looked a little sad. A
little
, but a little was enough to nearly send me into a rage. How dare he? How dare this asshole, who lied and lied about everything, make me feel like a child being scolded by her parents because she didn't run fast enough to win the sprint?

“I don't know what you're talking about, and clearly, neither do you.”

I thought of the sheen on my mother's coffin when the light from the stained glass windows hit it at just the right angle. I thought of my dad, that same night, passed out on the couch. I thought of myself, picking up the bottles and staring at the peeling paint on walls I could have sworn were closing in.

“You used to tell me that you were going to write the next
Sound of Music
. You wrote little stories about us all the time.” Hyde gave me a sidelong glance. “Did that change too?”

“Everything changes.”

He looked as if he wanted to reach out to me so I turned, quickly, and checked my watch. “It's almost half-past ten. I need to get home.”

“I'll call a car,” Hyde said, reaching into his pocket, probably for his phone.

“Don't bother. I'll take the bus.”

Before I could snatch it away, he took my hand in his. It didn't feel awful, but then, it didn't feel good either. “I'm sorry, Dee,” he said, and looked like he meant it. I hated him for it. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't want to hurt you, believe me. I wish I could be more open, but I… This is all just really…” He searched for the perfect word and found the worst imaginable. “Complicated.”

“Oh. Well, problem solved.” I ripped my hand from his grip. “You hurt me. You're still lying to me. Why should I ever trust you again?”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “You know what? It's OK,” he said finally. “It's not like I was expecting a tearful reunion or anything.” The twinge of disappointment in his voice told me otherwise. “But I'm back now. I really hope we can see each other more often.” He must have noticed my doubtful look because his next words rushed out in a nervous stream. “Can't we? I mean I've still got this whole thing with taking over the company and stuff, but aside from that we can hang right?”

Oh, so he was back to humor.

“Dee?”

“Have a nice life, Hyde.”

I left him alone by the prattling fountain. And I didn't look back.

6

SWAN

 

My back was still aching. It got worse in the middle of the night. I fluffed my pillows, slept in awkward positions, took as much aspirin as I could without killing myself. Nothing.

“Probably that time of the month,” Ade said, with a mouth full of pop tart Saturday morning. Dad was still sleeping, otherwise he'd be chugging coffee and telling us dumb jokes in an effort to alleviate his guilt over staying out late last night, yet again. “Oh hey, I was thinking of wearing leather to the party tonight. Do you think Anton would mind?”

I spread jam on my toast as steadily as I could. “Somehow, I think he'd be into it.” I joked because I didn't want Ade to notice the way the knife quivered slightly in my hands.

I still couldn't believe I'd let Ade talk me into going to Anton's party. Anton was the wealthy son of a wealthy businessman whose wealthy wife terrorized people on television once a week. His party would undoubtedly be attended by yet more wealthy people, and me? I was Deanna Davis, daughter of that guy who worked in that warehouse with the boxes. Hedley's funeral had been uncomfortable enough, even before Hyde crashed it. I didn't think I'd be dropped down the rabbit hole again so soon.

“So? What are you gonna wear, Dee?”

“I dunno.” I plopped into the rickety chair, terrified for a second, because sometimes it wobbled just enough to make us think it'd collapse on impact. “I haven't even thought about it.”

“Of course you haven't.” Ade sighed. “OK, OK, I'll check out what I've got and see what I can do.”

I had to hand it to her: she was doing a very good impression of someone who did this sort of thing all the time. The girl had her fake ID ready like a gun in a holster. But I knew she was nervous. She had to be. Otherwise, why hound me into going with her?

She knew as well as I did: this wasn't our world.

True to her word, by 8 o'clock that night, as soon as she'd dressed herself, she took it upon herself to dress me. She made me squeeze myself into four of her own dresses because apparently none of my clothes looked chic enough. I finally convinced her to let me wear my loose Catalina tank, if only for the sake of my spinal cord. She still managed to force me into the chiffon skirt she'd bought cheap because it had a hole in it.

Makeup. Hair. This was far too much effort to go through for someone who wasn't dead. We did the requisite “assuring Dad that we'd be home before midnight” thing (as if he'd be home himself) and left around nine.

I rubbed my back against the seat throughout the entire cab ride over the Brooklyn Bridge because it was now not only burning, but itchy. It was probably the tank.

“Well, it always feels fine whenever I wear it,” Ade said. She wouldn't switch with me.

Soon we were at Anton's Penthouse on Fifth. A stream of beautifully dressed twenty-somethings were already getting out of limos and walking through the door – a door held open by a bloated man stuffed in a suit and wearing white gloves and a ridiculous hat. He looked both underpaid and wholly dissatisfied with his life.

“This is certainly new,” I said, but quietly because I'd suddenly become extraordinarily aware of myself; my unprofessionally teased hair and the black leather bag I'd bought online last summer, the one that had
PLADA
written on it in very plain gold letters. Ade held hers with pride. Normally I wouldn't care, but the blonde haired girl who'd just stepped out of a limo behind us grimaced at me as if she just knew.

I shook my head. “I thought this was a casual event?”

“Can't you tell?” Ade winked. She looked way better than me, as usual, in a plum beaded halter dress she'd spent her last pay check on – instead of something we needed, like say, food.

Into the lobby and up the elevator. The second the doors parted, we were hit by a wave of electro dance punk. The lights were just a little dimmed. Socialites mingled by the open kitchen turned bar, vodka cranberries in hand. Photographers – actual
photographers
– were making their rounds through the loft, gathering groups of gorgeous girls for pictures that would no doubt find their way onto Page Six. Someone gave Ade an approving once-over before floating past us for more mingling – was he an actual designer? I shook my head. How Ade had managed to worm her way into social Asgard was just beyond me.

“This is… kind of amazing,” I said, but quietly, because I was surrounded by socialites, and I was sure they'd take my awe as proof that I was some kind of flop from one of the “lesser” boroughs, which I was. I tried to grin instead, but my back still felt like someone was squeezing it from the inside.

Ade disappeared almost immediately. I figured she was headed to where Anton was, except moments later I spotted the birthday boy sitting on a sofa swallowed by girls. Huh. I doubted Ade would have cared even if she could see him. He'd already given her the invite, which meant he was now about as relevant as a used phone card. She was already chatting it up with a group of other gorgeous people by the open bar.

I could see Anton through the crowd, except while most of his girls were clearly vying for his attention, Anton didn't so much as look at them. He was glaring at something straight ahead of him. He was saying something too, but I couldn't hear him over the techno.

That is until he stood up and bellowed, “What did you just say to me?”

The laughter died. The mingling stopped. I saw Ade by the bar, a drink frozen between her lips. All eyes were on Anton. Anton noticed.

“What the hell are you staring at?” He barked, rubbing his neck as if it'd suddenly become too hot. Hesitantly the crowd continued their hobnobbing, most definitely with a new topic of discussion.

I was almost to the bar myself before I heard someone call my name.

“Dee?”

I turned. Oh God. “Hyde?”

“Oh good, you showed!” Hyde's eyes lit up. He sat on the sofa opposite Anton's, which itself was on the other side of a long, expensive-looking crystal coffee table. When he waved me over, I briefly glanced in the direction of the elevator only to find my escape route blocked. Ade wouldn't mind if I made a run for it, would she? But people were looking. At me, at him.