Tangled Thoughts (29 page)

Auntie chuckled again. “I suppose I might be. But, you know, it wasn't until I was already pregnant, after he'd agreed to father my baby, that we actually started doing the thing that leads to babies.”

I dropped my glass. The heavy blue base hit the table edge with a thud and started to tip over the side, the last of the wine sloshing onto the tablecloth and my leg, before I caught it. Auntie made this clucking sound with her tongue as she handed me her napkin.

I dabbed at the spill and said, “Sorry.”

“Really, Lainey, it shouldn't be a surprise.”

“It's not,” I admitted. “But still weird.”

“Psh. It's perfectly natural.”

“Should pregnant ladies even be doing that?”

“Elaine, seriously.”

“Sorry,” I repeated. I rubbed aggressively at the wine spot on the tablecloth until she stilled my hand with her own.

“I know it's strange for you. Because of Carter.”

There. She'd said it. She couldn't know it was so much more than Carter that made her affair strange and terrible to me, but I wouldn't deny that he was part of it. “Yeah, a little.”

“Do you ever talk to him?”

“Not really.”

“Do you think you could, for me? And your brother?” A
brother
. It was a boy. When she asked me to be his Godmother, and said that Carter and I together would be the Godparents, I wasn't really surprised.

I swallowed my unease, pushed it so far down I could barely feel it, so that my smile was genuine when I said, “I would do anything for you.”

“So that's a yes?”

“There's no other answer, Auntie.”

She beamed, that glow of well-being and happiness so intense it made my eyes, and my heart, hurt. She pulled me into a hug, the bump that was my baby brother poking into me as she squeezed, saying, “Thank you, sweetie. Thank you so so much. This means…I can't…”

“Please don't cry, Auntie.”

She cried anyway, little sniffles that shook her shoulders while I stroked her soft, dark waves. I loved her hair, everything about her, even the little brother she carried, though it scared me to admit it. It didn't matter who his father was; he was
my
brother. I prayed then, harder than I'd prayed for anything except maybe my life, that the only thing he'd inherit from his father was a healthy trust fund.

“I'll be there for him, for everything,” I promised.

“Thank you,” she sniffled again and finally pulled away. With her napkin, she wiped her eyes and her nose, crumpling it on the table. After a deep breath, her smile returned, true and beautiful. Her eyes twinkled when she grabbed my hand and said, “Do you want to come with me tomorrow? To see him?” Because of a number of things,
including her age, her wealth, and also the baby's father, Aunt Tessa had an absurd number of checkups, arranged even while on holiday.

I eyed the men through the doorway to the other room. “Just the two of us?”

“The three of us—me, you, and your brother.”

“Then there's nothing I'd like more.”

After more hugging and tear wiping, Auntie released me to arm's length. As she spoke, she leaned over the table to retrieve a not yet empty wine bottle to refill my glass. “And what about you, sweetie? Are you happy?”

“I'm so happy for you. I mean it!”

“That's not what I'm asking.” She glanced at my bare neck, where my fingers had reached automatically for the necklace that was no longer there.

I'd known what she was asking. I just didn't know the answer.

I sipped the new wine, a different one than I'd had before. It was peppery and strong, something Dan had chosen and seemed to fit him. I didn't want to admit I liked it. I thought about the necklace, about seeing my baby brother tomorrow, about everything I'd left in Boston.

Let go
, Carter had told me.

Could I do it?

I was holding onto something I wanted, wanted so hard, but couldn't have. Even when I'd been with Jack, I was still grasping at the threads of Carter, clinging to them with a grip that made my heart ache. It was unfair to both of us, strangling me and, maybe, him too.

It was time to break this other noose. I understood now that finding freedom wasn't a one-time deal. Freedom was a journey, a series of choices, and sometimes what holds you back turns out to be yourself.

I thought once more about Carter, about how I loved him.
That
was something I didn't have to let go—loving him. It would always be
a part of me, locked into a private place in my heart just like his necklace was locked away in my room. But loving Carter wasn't all I was ever going to do or be.

And, I realized, though I would always love him, maybe I wouldn't
only
love him.

Finally, I said, “I think I could be.”

Carter

C
ollege had so much vacation time it was a wonder anyone learned anything. After my New York sojourn, I went back home again, still days before my return to DC. It was busy in the store as the Academy students filtered back to campus after being away for all of break. Chelsea Agro was one of the first to arrive.

She sat behind our counter, watching me with a little frown on her face. Seeing her there, with that look on her face, reminded me intensely of Jillian. I forced myself not to look away before I ducked under the counter and sat next to her.

“Hey, Chels. Welcome back. Aunt Mel says you're doing a great job here.” In a rare show of generosity, Dr. Stewart had helped solve our staffing issues with an allotment of student work hours. Applications had been legion. For the first time ever, Aunt Mel had an overrun of help.

“Thanks,” Chelsea said. Her voice was small, like she was, and sweet. Her dark hair was longer than last year, but except for her big brown eyes, she didn't seem any bigger. Or maybe it was just that I'd
grown some, too. Going under the counter was harder than it used to be. “I like working here. A lot. Sometimes I help even when it's not my turn. Mom says it's okay, as long as my grades are good. Melinda lets me take some of the galleys.”

I smiled. “I'm glad they're going to a good place. And that Aunt Mel has such good company.”

“She misses you.”

“I miss her too.”

Chelsea paused, like she was going to say something else and changed her mind. “I saw you on TV.”

“Yeah? How'd I do?”

“Good. Super good. You were, like, so funny.”

“Honest?”

She nodded emphatically. “Yeah, honest. We all cheered when they started talking to you.”

“Thanks.”

Watching the press conference, or any of the times the camera had caught me since, was like torture. So of course I'd done it repeatedly. What surprised me most was how decent even I thought I performed. I was a better actor than I gave myself credit for. It made me wonder how many others were.

Chelsea darted a glance at me and away, the little frown returning to her face. I had a feeling she wouldn't tell me whatever she really wanted to say unless I encouraged her. “Is something the matter?” I asked.

Chelsea's eyes widened and she looked down at her hands, shaking her head. “No. It's just”—she glanced out at the lounge and raised her chin a fraction—“not the same.”

The
not the same
she indicated was Lex, who was laughing on one of the good couches, just like old times. Alexis had needed zero convincing to ditch her parents and come with me to see her Northbrook
friends before we went back to school. Plus, I felt better about the flying when she was with me, though I didn't tell her that.

I didn't say anything for a moment. I hadn't forgotten that little Chelsea was a Cupid. Lainey called them love detectors. Finally, I said, “Not the same how?”

Chelsea shook her head again. “Just, you know—I'm sorry. I should keep my mouth shut. Mom tells me that, too.”

“No, it's okay.” Damn curiosity to hell.

She took a deep breath and went on. “It's just, I liked her, you know? Lainey. She was always so nice to me.”

“I liked her too.”

“I know.” Chelsea nodded. “And I—I'm sorry. It's not the same. With Alexis. You're mostly an orangey shade, and she's, well, she's really hard to read. She doesn't know what she feels about anyone. She feels more about
you
than anyone else though,” she added quickly. “So there's that. She always has.”

“And orange is bad?”

“No! It's not,” she said slowly, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “It's just—God I can't believe I'm saying this to you, but it's more…physical,” she practically whispered, darting her eyes at me and away again. “But it's more than that. Pure lust,” she whispered the last word again, “is yellow. Plenty of married people are shades of orange.”

I twirled a pencil from the counter across my fingers and thought about that while Chelsea rang out a customer. What she said seemed accurate, maybe better than I'd hoped. I tried not to think too hard about my feelings for Lex out of fear they were less than they should be.

“And Lex?” I asked when we were alone again, part out of curiosity and partly to delay talking about Lainey.

Chelsea thought for a moment. “It's not bad either, not really. Before she used to feel what we call covetous of you. And now that
you're together… she feels so many different things nothing has settled. She's, um, plenty orange too though.” Chelsea rushed through the last words and I looked down at the counter to try to hide my grin. “I think,” she went on, “that Alexis is really strong willed and everything is a competition, even her feelings. Like Brooke? She loves her—in the friend way—but it's a fight between the kind of love that makes you happy for someone or jealous of someone.”

I regarded Chelsea, with all her self-possession and maturity yet only in the eighth grade, and couldn't help thinking of Jillian again. “That sounds about right,” I finally said and Chelsea's face went pale.

“God, I must sound—I don't mean it in a bad way—I was just—”

“Chelsea.” She stopped fidgeting and looked back at me. “You sound incredibly perceptive. And mature, I might add. I'll never look at oranges the same again.”

“Oh, God.” Blood rushed back into her face. I tried not to laugh but couldn't keep from smiling.

“Sorry,” I said and bumped her lightly with my shoulder. “And I'm glad you're here to keep Aunt Mel company. She loves to talk about love.”

Chelsea grinned back. “I know.”

After another customer and a few moments to prepare myself, I finally asked, “So how is it different?”

“What?”

I cleared my throat. When I realized I was playing with the pencil again, I put it down. “It's not the same, you said. And I wondered…how.”

“Oh! Oh.” She toyed with one of the levers on the ancient register. “Are…are you sure you want to hear it?”

The longer I talked to her, the more I liked Chelsea. “You
are
perceptive. But yeah, I'm sure.”

She took a breath. “It used to be perfect,” she said and I think I flinched. If Chelsea noticed, she didn't show it. Her game face was better than mine. “It really was. Just pure, perfect red. Those are the highest forms: red, gold, and white. And you guys glowed. I liked to watch you—sorry, that sounds creepy—but it's just because it's so rare. Your aunt and uncle are like that too and I thought, how lucky to have
two
couples who
really
loved each other.”

“I guess Lainey didn't really feel the same way.” I slipped off the stool and leaned my elbows on the counter.

“That's the thing,” Chelsea said, “she did.” My eyes snapped back to her and then away again.

“Something must have changed.”

Chelsea nodded. “Something, I guess, but it wasn't how she felt about you. I was at graduation. So I saw you, that day. The two of you, on the field. Nothing had changed. If anything, it was
stronger
. And, well, I heard later that she—what happened—and it made no sense to me. So—I don't know. I probably shouldn't have said all this. Sorry. Sometimes I wish I was a real Empath. I'd know so much more.” She shrugged her little shoulders and returned to toying with the register.

“Hey.” I bumped her again. “Don't apologize. Never apologize for your gift, or for being brave enough to talk about it. Most people are afraid to talk about emotions. I…appreciate it.”

“Did it help?”

“No.” I laughed, a real one, and she smiled big enough to show me all her braces. “But I'm glad you told me. Your gift must be very strong if you're so good with it this early.”

Chelsea blushed again. “I practice a lot.”

“Good. Remind me to introduce you to my uncle. He'd love you.”

“You mean Senator Astor?” Chelsea looked at her hands. “I think I'd be too scared to meet him.”

“What? Why? He really would love you.” After a second, she met my eye, and in her brown ones I saw all the thoughtfulness of a girl who pays attention all the time.

“That's what I'm afraid of,” she said. “He's silver. Always silver. About everything, even you.”

“What's silver?”

“Covetous,” she said. It came out breathy and soft, but I felt like I'd been slapped. I must have looked like it too, because Chelsea's eyes went enormous. “I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Mom will be so mad! I'm sorry,” she repeated, before she slipped past me to busy herself in the store.

When she glanced back over her shoulder, I hadn't moved.

I still hadn't moved when my always-quiet Uncle Jeff came up behind me. “Ready to go?” he said, and I startled. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, I'm ready.”

F
OR
ALL
IT
seemed contrary, I found a peacefulness to holding a gun. At the range, I guaranteed myself total concentration and a respite from whatever noise was crowding my head. Coupled with the private thrill of being able to use
all
my gifts in a public place made shooting one of my top three favorite things to do.