Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“He probably thinks I had a charmed upbringing.” I sigh. “I suppose I did in a lot of ways. But it was too perfect. And it was all a lie.”
I’ve always given my mom equal blame with Father for portraying the charade of being a happy, loving family. But maybe she was blindsided by the other side of my father just like I was. “I should call my mom.”
“Tread carefully. It may not be something she wants to discuss. Not now after all this time.”
I need to know when she found out. I need to know how long she was pretending. Was this all my father’s doing?
“Thanks, Jack. I could never have put all this together.”
He pulls out the flash drive and hands it to me. “What are you going to do?” he asks. “Will you confront Gerry?”
I pull in a breath and a sense of calm comes over me. My muscles loosen and my surroundings come back into focus. “I’m not sure confront is the right term. But we need to talk.”
“We’re here for you,” Jack says. “Whatever you need.”
I’m so lucky. Biology means nothing. I have the best brothers a man could ever wish for.
THIRTY-SIX
Juniper
There’s an unexpected knock at the door, and even though this is my house, my mom, who’s batch cooking Bolognese sauce for us for the next decade, asks me to get it.
“Okay, Mom,” I say, humoring her. “I’ll get on that.”
“I can do it,” Riley says.
We both arrive at the front door at the same time. We open it to a guy from a courier company, wearing brown shorts and a gummy smile. He thrusts a white square package at me.
“Mrs. French?”
“Miss,” I mutter. Everyone always assumes I’m married. But as I’ve proved to myself by staying single, there’s no one in Star Falls I’d ever want to marry.
I sign for the package and then scan both sides looking for a sender, but it’s blank apart from our address. I wasn’t expecting anything. What could it be?
“What is it?” Riley asks.
“Hang on. Let me click to X-ray vision and I’ll tell you.”
“Ha ha,” Riley says. “Open it. You got a special man to deliver it. It must be something amazing.”
My mind immediately goes to Fisher. But why would he be sending me anything? I haven’t heard from him since he left. And I won’t. That was our agreement. No dragging things out. A clean break.
I peel open the cardboard envelope and peer in. It seems like papers. My heart starts to thud. Surely it’s not from Riley’s dad. He’s not suing me for custody or something, is he? Why are my thoughts even going there. He can’t even make it back to Star Falls for a week at the beginning of summer to see his kid. He’s not going to want her full-time.
I empty the papers onto the dining room table and Riley spreads them out, turning them over. It looks like… what’s… The name Vivian Cross catches my attention, and then I pick up notepaper that has Vivian’s name across the top.
It’s handwritten. Why would we be getting mail from Vivian Cross?
“Dear Juniper and Riley,” it starts.
“Mom, Vivian sent us concert tickets! She said she would and she did!”
I look up, and Riley is bouncing up and down holding the two tickets. She has a grin from here to Aspen.
“Where is it?” I ask, looking at the tickets. “Oh, sweet girl, it’s at Radio City Music Hall. That’s in New York City. We can’t go all the way there for a concert.”
My stomach turns over as I say New York. It’s where Fisher is. If we went, we’d be in the same city, breathing the same air. I could call him.
No. I can’t call him. Clean break. Clean break. Clean break. It’s easier this way. It will get easier. I’m sure of it. I have to be.
“Mommy, we have to go! You know I’ve always wanted to go to New York. Please, Mommy?”
“You’ve always wanted to go to New York for the last five seconds since you met Emma.”
“Oh, Mommy, can Emma come too?” she asks.
I shake my head. “We can’t go, Riley. We’d have to get a flight, pay for a hotel. It’s way too expensive. You know we can’t afford it.”
Tears gather in Riley’s eyes, and she runs off to her bedroom.
She’s had so many disappointments lately. I wish I could make things better for her.
“What about that money you earned from selling your paintings?” my mom says from where she’s stirring the sauce on the stove.
“What?” I ask.
“You know, I thought you made a nice amount of money from the Colorado Club buying all of those paintings of yours.”
“Yes, I’ve put it into Riley’s college fund. I’ve kept a little aside for fun stuff. It’s paying for camp this week. But it’s not enough for a trip to New York.”