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“Hold your breath,” Daisy says quickly, right as the golf cart rolls past a familiar mansion across the street, the caution tape and police cars absent. I immediately suck air back into my lungs, a habit that Daisy started once Scott was escorted from the neighborhood and movers packed his shit.
It’s still on the market, but none of us will ever buy it, a dark aura practically circling the mansion.
We’ll never have to see Scott Van Wright again. He pled guilty to avoid a harsher sentence. He knew the jury would’ve had all the evidence to find him guilty anyway. Major news outlets ran the story about how the executive producer (finally this was publicly announced) of Princesses of Philly faced federal charges for filming and viewing child pornography of Daisy Calloway.
The world views my little sister as an adventurous, free-spirited sweetheart, and for him to take advantage of her, in any way, illuminated his true form as the disgusting rat snake that he is. A vile creature who deserves to be in prison.
The judge agreed.
Scott took the deal of nine years in jail, following five more years on probation. Since it was a highly publicized case, the judge wanted to set an example out of him, and he went more harshly than expected.
We drive past the property and exhale together.
“Is Willow still working?” I ask Lily. Loren’s sister wants to save up for college, and everyone keeps offering to pay for it, but she’s avoiding a handout. I think she wants to prove that she’s here, not for money or notoriety, but to truly be a part of her brother’s life. And the only way to do that is to be as self-sufficient as possible.
“Yeah,” Lily says. “I tried to sneak extra in her paycheck, but she noticed and wouldn’t accept anything more than the other employees.”
Willow is noble, and she has a big support system here, in whatever she chooses to do. All I ask is that her “friend” treats her well. Garrison still works with her, but she said prom ended without a kiss or any promises of something more.
Lily holds onto my arm that holds her. “So…what happens if I need to ask you about a book or a star constellation or…a funny character on television who looks like a president but I’m not sure which president it is—do I just…do I call you? Or do I go to your house or do I Google it—”
“You’re not replacing me with Google.” I glare.
Lily nods a couple times. “So I call you then?”
“Or you can come over. I’ll always stop by your house too.”
Lily nods again, more assuredly. “Okay.”
“We’re here,” Daisy announces, bumping up the curb and onto the driveway. Pink tulip trees frame either side of the cement, the beauty not lost on me, no matter how many trips we take towards the house. We go quiet, listening to the gush of a regal fountain. When the last tulip tree passes, the fountain comes into view, sitting before the mansion as though to announce its queenly presence.
White siding, gorgeous molding, a stately double door entrance—it’s a home that I never thought would be for sale. The media uproar sent a widower packing, and we bought this ten-bedroom estate from her. It’s only a little larger than the house we’d been living in before, and depending on fate, it may be too big, too small, or just right for the size of the Cobalt family.
Daisy drives around the fountain and parks in front. “Unmount.”
I gather my fur coat and my purse, and we enter my new house. We’re greeted first by the vaulted ceiling and crystal chandelier.
“I always feel like Cinderella when I walk in here,” Lily whispers behind me.
“Why are you whispering?” I ask.
“It feels like one of those places you whisper in,” she whispers and then turns red. “Right?”
“It’s not a museum or a cemetery,” I say, hoping she won’t feel this way about my home for long.
“I guess it’s just different,” she says softly. “I never really visited you in college. You visited me, and when I did go to your house, I was living with you…so it was mine too.”
This is the first time she’s stepping foot into something we don’t share.
She says, “You’re right. I shouldn’t whisper.” She exhales a tight breath and then we both follow Daisy towards the large living room, suede furniture already moved in but plenty of cardboard boxes still left to unpack. Glass French doors lead to a pool and outdoor fireplace—
“…I don’t care if we never fucking do it.” I catch Ryke’s voice in mid-conversation.
“You forget how tight it is,” Loren says casually. How tight—Loren. Ugh. They’re talking about my sisters and sex, I suspect.
My heels clap against the hardwood and they both shut up the minute I breach the archway with Daisy and Lily.
“Fuck,” Ryke curses while Loren Hale doesn’t even look marginally guilty. They lounge on the white rug, taking a break from moving heavy objects. Their cans of Fizz Life rest on cardboard boxes, and Moffy and Jane unsteadily chase each other around the new furniture.
Connor drinks wine and remains standing, supervising the children more than these two.
“Can you walk a little louder next time?” Lo asks with a half-smile, his right hand still in a black cast. “Thanks.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t talk about anal sex behind our backs,” I retort, able to deduce the subject of their conversation.
“Fine, I’ll talk about it to your face,” Lo challenges. “I hear you like it in the ass.” He raises his can of Fizz Life to me. “Cheers.”
I narrow my eyes at my husband. “Richard.”
He looks as guiltless as Loren. “Rose,” he says and then sips his wine with a smile.
Lily leans into me. “We just discussed anal thirty minutes ago.” This is true. Daisy brought it up in casual conversation, and I admitted to trying it, and yes, to liking it.
So it’s not any different for the guys to do the same. It’s just Loren knowing this…I shudder, but he looks hardly excited by the knowledge. Good.
I splay my coat on the couch, noticing a sleeping husky on the cushions with an orange tabby cat curled on top of the dog’s stomach. It’s the most bizarre friendship of us all, we’ve concluded. Sadie and Coconut should be mortal enemies, but they were friends at first sight.
However, Sadie hasn’t warmed to the kids, not entirely, but only Jane really tries to cuddle with her, even when the cat is being ornery. I’ve always kept an eye on both of them to avoid any kind of scratching.
“Is that it?” Ryke asks, standing up with Loren. They both look at the coat, the last thing I needed.
I nod, knowing they’re ready to go back home. Lo picks up Moffy and tosses him over his shoulder, the boy laughs full-bellied laughs. “Enjoy this flight, little man.”
“What if I miss a period?” Lily suddenly asks me. The room quiets, and all the men exchange worry. “Hypothetically,” she adds, turning bright red. “Do I call you or do I drive down here or do I—”
“You come see me.” I hold her hand, and then I hold Daisy’s, who has been suspiciously quiet ever since we entered the house. She’s not smiling like she was on the golf cart.
“And what if…what if I’m having a bad day and I need you to walk into my room…and you do that thing where you open the curtains really fast and all the light floods in…” She bursts into tears.
It triggers Daisy, who begins to cry too.
And now I’m fucking crying. “Anyone can open your blinds.”
“Not like you do.” Lily’s waterworks won’t cease. Why did I ask for this? My eyes burn terribly, and no matter how many large inhales I take, a weight sinks on my chest. This isn’t goodbye, Rose.
Daisy adds tearfully, “I’m going to miss the sound of your heels in the morning.”
“And when you always put pop tarts in the toaster for us, even when you hate pop tarts,” Lily cries.
We’re all a mess. I squeeze their hands, but it only intensifies what remains between us, an underlying goodbye even if it’s not a permanent, f
ixed one. This is goodbye of our lives in one house together.
“I love you both,” I tell them strongly, “and I’ll always be here if you need me.”
“When,” Daisy corrects. “When we need you.”
Tears spill down my cheeks, and they hug me at the same time. I’m the oldest of them, but I consider Daisy and Lily wholly equal to myself, the sweeter and more lovable sides of a Calloway sister, while I’m the fierce quarter.
When we break apart, we all turn towards the men, all of them looking a little choked up. Loren has his son on his side now, no longer over his shoulder.
“She’s not dying,” Loren reminds Lily. “And I can put in a pop tart for you.”
“It’s not the same thing.” Lily sniffs, hesitantly leaving my side. “You like pop tarts, and you’d eat mine.”
He sighs, wishing he could fix her sadness, knowing he can’t. The best he does is tuck Moffy to his chest and then Lily springs onto his back, wrapping her legs around his waist. They head through the archway and towards the door like that.
Ryke looks about the same as Loren did, raking a hand through his thick hair. He patiently waits for Daisy to leave my side.
