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My phone buzzes in my pocket.Will.
No. I pull it out, and the number for the shitty new temp agency is on the screen. Weekend calls are almost never good.
I answer it anyway. “This is Bristol.”
“Hello, Ms. Anderson. I’m calling because—”
“Listen, I know you said this is the only job you have.” I don’t know what’s gotten into me. The racing-heart, out-of-control feeling or my brother showing up or the idea of my dad being gone forever. “But Mr. Malcom is such a creep. I honestly think he’ll try something if I keep working there. Is there anywhere else you can send me?”
A beat of silence. “Well. I would think that anyone in your position would be grateful to have any job, especially one that pays such a fair wage. You’re probably misinterpreting his interest in you.”
“He stared at my boobs for a full forty-five seconds the last time I was in the office.”
“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.”
“Then he told me there wasonly one good thing about me.He ripped up the reports I’d gathered for him and threw them on the floor. He said, and I quote,you’re supposed to relieve my stress.”
“Ms. Anderson.” Her tone is mildly scolding, like I should be embarrassed to repeat his words. “I can’t be sure of exactly what happened, because I wasn’t there. It’s impossible to say what your role in the situation was. Some employers respond poorly if you’re dressed inappropriately, for example.” My face burns with rage I can’t let out. I can’tbelievethis woman. And I can totally believe her. “But actually, I was calling because of an unusual circumstance. It’s highly irregular, and it’s against our policies to move people mid-contract, but we do have another position for you.”
My anger vanishes, replaced by sheer relief and a wild gratefulness that this woman doesn’t deserve. “Really?”
“Yes. I’m sending the information to your email address. You’ll report in on Monday morning.”
“Thank God.” I sag against the wall. “Thankyou. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Anderson. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”
The twins’ bedroom door flies open, and Mia and Ben fly out, both of them wearing their backpacks. Sean emerges from the bathroom at the same time, rubbing his hair with a towel. “A tactical approach to the zoo. Nice.”
Mia purses her lips. “Doesn’t a tactical approach mean that we should be on time? Let’s go.”
Sean bursts out laughing. “I didn’t realize our timetable was that tight. Is there time to tie my shoes?”
“Not much.” Ben’s only half-kidding, I think. The timetable with Sean is always tight. You never know when the clock will run out. “You have to hurry.”
“Yeah.” Mia tugs at Sean’s shirt, rushing him to the door. “While you’re doing that, we can tell you about the time we got held hostage.”
Sean shoots me awhat the fucklook. I give him a weak smile. Mia’s not lying, and neither was I. The man who saved us is gone.
4
WILL
I’ve always been destinedfor the kind of life that, if I told the story, would result in people raising their eyebrows and sayingwhat the fuckeither silently or out loud. When it came to normalcy, my brothers and I never had a prayer. I should be used to bizarre shit happening.
I didn’t see Emerson’s birthday party coming.
He’s never liked parties, and not in the faux-modest way that some people brush off birthdays. Holidays aren’t his favorite for additional reasons beyond the usual ones. I’d have put a birthday party outside his house in theimpossiblecolumn.
And yet we’re here, in Leo fucking Morelli’s house, on Emerson’s birthday.
Now that the dinner portion of the event is over, Daphne’s watching a movie in the den with Leo’s sister, Eva, and his wife, Haley, who’s incredibly pregnant. I thought they were joking about Leo carrying her everywhere, but they weren’t. Emerson told us she’s on bed rest because she fainted at her baby shower. He delivered this news without any sign of panic, which was surprising given his reaction to Daphne’s announcement, which is still a secret.
“Play cards,” Daphne ordered from the library door once we’d settled in at the table. “Get a little drunk, maybe.” She tried to look serious and scary, but she can’t. “I mean it.”
Which is how I came to be sitting at a fancy-ass card table in Leo Morelli’s huge library, slightly drunk. Sin and Leo sit across from one another, buzzed at minimum. And Emerson sits across from me,definitelydrunk. I can tell because his face is relaxed. He doesn’t look at all like he’s waiting for someone to stab him.
“—realism, because technique alone doesn’t explain the resonance of the piece. It’s also the play between imagination and reality. The world that is, and the world that could be.” He flips a card down onto the table. “That’s how art changes everything.”
