“Out of the goodness of my heart, I’ve been taking care of herfor you,” she says with a shrug.
“What are you saying?”
“Only that if you want to keep her in comfort, you keep working for me. You do as I ask, you pick up the shifts no one wants, you arrive on time, you leave after your tasks are done. Youstopwith whatever this is. A portion of your check will go toward her care.”
“But you can’t do that!” I argue, trying to mentally add up what I know about Grams’ savings and financial situation. A lot went into medical bills when she was hospitalized, and if I can’t afford to cover it then… “Aunt Andrea, if those funds are supposed to be for Grams, paperwork or not, it isn’t right to do this.”
“Your mother used to act the same way, you know.” She flicks the fringe on my vest. I’m too stunned to move away. “She’d bat her doe eyes up at Orson and Jett, and they’d be shopping for new equipment, going back on tour—whatever Willow Wiles wanted, she got. You’d think by now you would have realized it doesn’t work on me.” Her voice is low now, stripped of any of the fake sweetness that coated her words during breakfast—a meal that now threatens to make a second appearance.
“That doesn’t have anything to do with this!” I yell, but Aunt Andrea isn’t in this conversation, not anymore. Her gaze is far away.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that she wasinvolvedwith both of them. I tried to keep you from that sort of thing, but people talk. ‘Jett baby, Orson darling, the moon is beautiful, let’s songwrite under the stars tonight.’She’d fawn in interviews, keep everyone guessing.”
I blink, unable to keep up with the way she tosses the conversation back and forth from the distant past where she felt powerless, to my future where she’s in full control.
“So, what are you trying to say? Was Uncle Orson my father?” I ask, because why else would she be saying all of this? Besides, it would explain why he wanted both me and Grams taken care of.
“No,” she says, her laugh bitter, but she takes a step away from me as if the question alone has caused a physical blow.
“So, why is it you hate me so much—if they never—if she didn’t love him?”
“But he loved her!” she snaps before taking a breath and composing herself. “The band demanded so much of his time, they might as well have been married—they lived, worked, breathed their music. Then you came along, and even before your parents passed, Orson doted on you more than his own daughter.”
She stares at me, and instead of the usual anger, I see something else in her eyes: a deep loneliness, one I understand all too well.
We both ache for a future that couldn’t exist.
“Aunt Andrea,” I reach out, unable to suppress the urge to comfort her, but she flinches before I can touch her.
“Sometimes I think he liked to pretend he was your father.”
“Or he cared about me! It doesn’t always have to be some big conspiracy,” I say, because back before I knew better, I googled my family. I’ve seen the fringe articles and theories “I don’t think–”
“Yeah,” she smirks, giving me a small once over. “I’ve noticed.”
“Oooh, very funny,” I say, grabbing my purse from the counter, but then I freeze. If I leave, what happens with Grams? I can’t let Aunt Andrea trap me here, and more than that, with all the feelings swirling around between us, shouldn’t she want me to disappear?
“If you hate me so much, why is it so important to you that I keep working at your shop?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, so explain it to me!” I shout, watching her cross the room and flip the open sign. There’s already someone waiting at the door.
“Later, dear, we have customers.” Sugar laces her tone, and I tear into the back of my neck with my nails, stepping into the back room to draw in a deep breath.
I can’t do this.
But if I leave, what happens?
God, I need to talk to Grams, but if I do, she might feel pressured to downgrade, to downsize, and no, no,no.I’m not going to do that, not to her. Gil seemed good with numbers, I have to figure out how much the rent is and then—
“Excuse me?” A voice calls, and despite being desperate for a moment to process all of this, customer service Marina overrides my needs. I peek my head out to see a woman. She’s older, short, and wearing a The Ole Reliables tour shirt, signed on the sleeves by all three members.
“—you’re Willow and Jet’s little girl, aren’t you?” she asks, and I nod; all the while, Aunt Andrea chuckles from the back of the store.
Suddenly, I have my answer.
It’s not just the memorabilia and the name she wants people to come in for—it’s me.
