Page 133 of Gilt

How am I supposed to trust her when her idea of nurture has been telling me lies? Even now, she prefers the trussed-up lie to the ugly truth. Could she even admit it to me if Nathaniel was my father? “I think you should go.”

“Emma, I need to know that you aren’t going to tell anyone.”

“I’m not,” I interrupt her. I’m fighting too many battles right now to take on one more, especially one that should be hers.

“Thank you,” she begins, but I stop her.

“You should be the one talking to the authorities. To the media. To everyone.” I cross the room and dig a business card out of my purse, then I wait by the door until she gets the memo. She pauses at the threshold, and I hand her the card.

“Agent Mackey, “she reads, shaking her head. “Oh, Emma.”

“You’ll just love her,” I promise. “Isn’t it convenient I know an FBI agent?”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

“I think you should talk to him,” Josie announces the next day.

“Who?” I ask in confusion. “Maddox?”

Even Marion had begun to question having a safety detail parked outside her house at all hours. Personally, I’d taken to grabbing him Starbucks when I went out on errands. Considering Maddox doesn’t get involved unless he’s needed—and he hasn’t been—he’s a bit more like having a faithful guard dog. Plus, I’ve discovered his bark is worse than his bite. He might look like a pit bull, but secretly he has the heart of an English bulldog. A little dumb and very lovable.

“Not Maddox. Jameson.”

“Oh, him.” Josie is probably right. I should talk to him. It’s the rational thing to do, which is why I’m not doing it. Not a single aspect of my life falls into rational or logical at the moment. Why should he?

“Your mom told you that Nathaniel isn’t your father.”

“And you believe her?” I ask. “Because everything she says is so credible.

“I don’t really have a reason not to believe her. She admitted that Becca was Nathaniel’s.”

“Here’s a better question: does she even know who my dad is?” It seems my mom had spent the late 90’s bed hopping. “My dad could be anyone.”

“Your dad is your dad,” Josie corrects me. “My dad could be anyone.”

“Sorry, Jos. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” According to Marion, Josie’s dad was a visiting businessman who gave her a bogus name and a bogus occupation. When she tried to track him down, she discovered that the company he worked for didn’t exist. “You know, I’ve been thinking your mom probably could’ve paid someone at the hotel to give her the registration information on the sly.”

Josie shakes her head quickly. “Don’t ever suggest that to her,” she advises me. “Mom’s feelings on it are pretty strong. She says that if he wanted her he wouldn’t have lied to her in the first place, and…”

Neither of us have to finish that thought out loud. If he hadn’t wanted Marion, he definitely didn’t want Josie. Given the generally disappointing men I’d encountered in my life I’d say the Deckard women were both better off.

“Don’t let your mom ruin what you have with Jameson,” Josie interrupts my thoughts, bringing me back to the topic--one that I’d been trying to avoid.

“The fact that he might be my brother is what might ruin things with Jameson.” I practically spell it out for her.

“Well, then he deserves to know too.”

“Josie, we didn’t do it, but we did other stuff,” I say, striving to maintain some delicacy, “and you know, I just ... I don’t want him to be thinking about ...”

“You don’t want to wreck it?” she guesses.

“What if he starts thinking about the fact that I might be his sister and then if I’m not, he can’t look at me.”

“Psychologists don’t analyze things this much, Em.”

“You’re probably right.” I’d grant her that but it doesn’t mean I’m going to call him.

“Um, are we expecting company?” Josie asks, pausing the TV so that we can both hear the car pulling into her driveway. We wait for a minute, half expecting it to turn around but it doesn’t.