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“I think you can do whatever you want, but you’ve been making decisions based on the opinions of other people for a while now. You should get to decide for yourself.”
How politely everyone said it. It was like we were all speaking code.
“It’s nice to have something to do,” I said. “To be useful.”
“You could be useful in a million ways,” Zilla said. “Not just in the ways she allows you to be.”
“She being Caroline?”
Zilla shrugged.
What would it be like, I wondered, to live like Zilla. To not see or not care about all the strings that attached us to other people. All the ways our actions had consequences and those consequences had consequences. To do whatever I wanted was not an option I’d ever had.
“You’ve never liked her,” I said.
“I never liked how much you liked her. She isn’t our mom.”
“I know that. But she helped us when—”
Zilla turned to face me, the fire flickering in her eyes. “Did she though? She’s richer than god, but instead of, I don’t know, loaning you money for school. Loaning me money for Belhaven. Instead of—”
I tried. I really did try not to scoff, but a sound came out of my throat anyway.
“She married you off.” She spat the words at me.
“That’s not true,” I said. “And you can’t be angry because she didn’t just give us money. We had no right to expect that.”
“She married you off,” Zilla said again. Each word a bullet, and I tried not to flinch. “To a guy who hurt you. And she knew he was doing it, didn’t she?”
I felt myself go still. The lie too slow to my lips.
“I knew it,” she said and stood up. “She knew and let me guess . . . She sent you back to him? Tell me, Poppy. How exactly did she help you?”
“She helped you!” I cried, getting to my feet.
Yes. Of course, I’d wondered when Caroline suggested it, why I had to marry the senator. Why she couldn’t help me get a job. Or yes, even loan us the money. But those weren’t solutions to the problem of Belhaven and the banks.
“Don’t,” Zilla said. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide behind me. She manipulated you.”
“Manipulated?” I cried. “You’re safe. I’m safe. We’re . . . fucking rich, Zilla.”
“Don’t pretend like you care about the money.”
“Don’t pretend like the money doesn’t help us!”
Maybe it was the reflection of the fire, but my sister’s eyes were wild. “The money. This—” she looked over my head at the house behind me, “—it’s a fucking jail. And you know it. She put you in jail.”
“Why? Why would she do that? Do you hear yourself, Zilla?”
She sighed heavily through her nose. “I’m clear. I’m on my meds. I’m fine. I’m just finally telling you what I’ve thought for a long time. Which is . . . Caroline is using you for something. I don’t know what.”
Paranoid delusions. Zilla’s specialty.
I stood up. “I’m exhausted, and I’m going to bed. You’re welcome to stay. But put the fire out before you come to bed.”
14
I was dreaming of my 8th grade graduation trip. We went skiing. I hated skiing, but I loved sitting by fireplaces reading books, so while my classmates were all mastering the bunny hill and making out on the ski lift, I was curled up in the corner of the lodge reading a stolen and very forbidden copy of Flowers in the Attic. It was just getting good, and by good, I mean awful, when someone sat down in the comfy chair next to mine. Black shoes were kicked up on the ottoman next to my Otto the Snowman Socks.
“Hello, Poppy.”
“Ronan!” I smiled at him. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re here.” He shrugged beneath the fine white fabric of his shirt. He had that ‘I’ve been working hard’ look about him that was one of my favorite looks. His hair fell down over his eyes, and he swept it up off his face.
“You’re handsome,” I told him.
“I know. I fuck so many women.”
“You don’t fuck me.”
“Because you’re a little girl.”
“I liked it when you kissed me.”
“That won’t happen again,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t make a habit of kissing girls like you.”
Girls like me.
“The fire is big,” he said.
“I know. I like it.” I turned to look at the fireplace, but it was cold. Empty. But the smell of smoke was still sharp in the air. “What’s happening?” I asked Ronan.
“Wake up, little girl!” He leaned forward, his nose almost brushing mine. “Wake up!”
The smoke was real. And I went from waking and baffled to up and out of my bed in a heart beat. The air was hazy with smoke coming in my cracked open French doors.
I hung my head, limp with relief. Zilla must still be out there with the fire. I crossed the room and snapped back the curtain. I pushed open the French door the rest of the way and realized it wasn’t just a fire in the fire pit. My whole back yard was on fire. Literally on fire. Yellow flames engulfed the fence around my shower, the bushes at the deep end of the pool were incinerated.
