Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
My eyes widen as she opens a sideboard to pull out two large pictures—the same photo in two different frames.
“Which one do you think?” She struggles to hold them both up at the same time. That’s how large they are. “The white frame is pretty, but the light wood is warmer.”
“Um…” I don’t remember this photograph of Danny from the dining room wall. He’s wearing a light blue suit. The kind you’d wear on Easter, maybe.
Or to your own wedding.
“And this is for…?” I ask, confused.
“The wedding,” she repeats. “Danny should be there, too. It’s only right.”
“Um,” I say again.
Eric enters the room, then takes one look at the photos his mother is holding and goes rigid. There’s no other word for it. “Mom, did Maribel ask for this?”
“She’s a very busy girl,” his mother says. “Weddings are a lot.”
Eric’s face goes instantly stormy. Like he’s about to explode. He wasn’t this distressed even during game four, when Merritt got crosschecked and the ref didn’t call it. “Mom, you’d need Maribel’s permission for this. Explicit permission.”
“Watch your tone, Eric,” his mother says slowly.
Oh, hell. A door opens somewhere and Mr. Tremaine approaches. He’s probably wondering what all the fuss is about.
Miraculously, my phone starts to ring loudly with my mother’s ringtone. “Excuse me,” I say brightly. “I’d better get this.”
I slip out the kitchen door, and I don’t think anyone notices. “Hi, Mom.” I walk quickly down the driveway toward Eric’s car, so she won’t hear the argument in the background. “What’s up?”
“Just wondered if you’d come to your senses,” she says.
Apparently, it’s Mothers Behaving Badly Day, and nobody showed me the memo. “I’m in Massachusetts for the wedding, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh, honey.” She sighs. “Would your father make the same effort for you?”
“That’s a question I try not to ask myself, and I’m a little miffed that you’re pointing it out.”
“God, I’m sorry to make you feel bad. That’s never my intention. It just burns me—the way he wants to put on a show, with his family gathered at his feet.”
“Maybe,” I say dully. “But it turns out that the bride is a friend of a friend. She seems lovely, and I’m trying to keep an open mind.”
“Just don’t buy them a wedding gift,” she says sourly. “They have more money than God.”
“I’m pretty sure that misses the point of gifting.”
“Just don’t expect anything from your father, okay? We’ve seen this play already. We already know how it ends.”
That is depressingly true. But I’m tired of talking about it, so I change the subject. And when I hang up a minute later, I’m hoping that things have calmed down inside Casa Tremaine.
But no. The first thing I hear is Eric hollering. “Mom, this is not okay! It’s not healthy for you to be so upset.”
“You have no right to tell me how to feel! You’re living the life Danny never got. What did you ever lose?”
“Plenty!” he shouts. “And so did Maribel! But she moved on. You have to let her.”
When his mother replies, her voice is full of anguish. “I just can’t bear it! Danny was the love of her life, and it’s disrespectful of her to pretend otherwise.”
“Patty!” his father gasps.
“Whoa, Mom,” Eric says. “You need help.”
“You will not speak to me like that in my own house!”
There’s a deep silence, and I forget to breathe.
“You’re right,” Eric says ominously. “I won’t.”
“Eric, your girlfriend is waiting for you,” his father says, obviously hoping to turn down the temperature.
“She’d happily wait another minute,” Eric snaps. “If she knew I needed to get all my things from upstairs and get the hell out of here for good.”
Oh shit.
I try the door to the Porsche and find it open. I sit down in the passenger seat. Five minutes later, Eric emerges from the house with his suitcase and mine, too. His face is bright red, and he stomps to the back of the car and puts the luggage inside without a word.
Then he climbs behind the wheel and starts the car. “Sorry,” he mutters.
“It’s okay.” Although nothing is okay—not for the Tremaine family. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His body is tense as he backs out of the drive. “I knew it might be like this. I just hoped…” He shakes his head. “I’ll get you to the hotel in time for your class.”
Oh, heck. I’d forgotten all about the lecture I need to Zoom into. A glance at my watch says it won’t be a problem, though. There’s still plenty of time. “We’re good. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Maybe that’s impossible, though, because Eric’s hands are white-knuckled on the wheel as he steers the car up the winding north shore roads.
I’m trying to think of a soothing topic of conversation when he pulls into a gas station in Salem. Which doesn’t seem weird until I remember that we’re driving an electric car, which he charged in his dad’s garage last night. “Darcy, I’m sorry. But you need to drive.”