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My sister and I apprise one another. She’s got long, medium-brown hair with bronze streaks, rounded eyes that are blue, and her skin tone is as if she’s never missed an opportunity under the sun. Hard when your place of business is in the cool shadows of one of the biggest cities in the world. It’s fall in New York and my mind is thinking parka, but her turquoise dress has no sleeves.
She takes in my appearance. Dress pants that thankfully the hotel had an iron to press and a button-down with the collar open. I have a jacket in the crook of my arm. It has the Cass-Stanton logo on it, but I’d taken it off in the cab on the way here since the heater was on full blast. I guess the driver prefers a warmer climate too. The strap of my laptop bag, which is inconspicuously filled with everything I’d needed for an overnight trip, is slung over my shoulder.
Adelaide smirks as if she likes my presentation, but not in a sexual sense. More that I’m not some bonehead off the street who is laying a line on her that we’re related. It’s more as if we’re on a level playing field, and my response to her introduction confirms that.
“Ms. Powell. Understandable. I’ve been in the same situation a time or two.” I hold out my hand, grasping her palm.
“Call me Addie. Come along. We can talk in my office.” She’s friendlier than she’d been on the phone when we agreed to this meeting.
The whole out of the clear blue,hey, you don’t know me from Adam, but your dad fucked my momsituation probably had her tires screeching to a halt.
“I didn’t see it, did you?” Addie turns her squared shoulders to me, pushing open the door marked with her moniker. She gestures to a chair and, like the lady she is, takes her place behind her desk.
“The resemblance? Nope,” I answer back.
“Must be that cars are in our blood. I look like my mother. The second, Mrs. Powell.”
Addie tangents telling me she only goes by Ms. Powell at work and uses her married name otherwise—in case I was curious. I respond by informing her I legally dropped Stanton, preferring Cass, leaving off it’s not because it’s my Grandaddy’s nameor that Rex was a complete asshole who doesn’t deserve for his family name to have a legacy.
“Did you have me checked out, Addie?” I flash her a cocky smile, rubbing my chin, and getting comfortable in the seat.
I never once mentioned my background when I’d contacted her.
“Of course. You’ve got a nice inventory, Cary. I’m beginning to see what our father saw in your mother. That’s nothing against your mom, by the way, mine fell victim as his prey too,” she scoffs.
“Mrs. Powell number two.” I phrase my question as a statement.
“He didn’t doalonewell. He didn’t do together well either. Eva’s mother wasn’t the third Mrs. Powell. Though, at least my mom had divorced him before you were born. And to her benefit, Eva’s mother never became wife number four.”
She hasn’t once said his name. Interesting.
I’m getting a clearer picture of my family. The father who didn’t raise me was a womanizer. My sister doesn’t seem god-awful, though. She lays it on the line and I like that about her. No hidden surprises. Okay, minus the younger sister. At least from my mental calculation, she is younger.
“Eva?” My brow raises.
Addie leans forward, placing her elbows on the blotter, and talks with her hands. “Long Island. Mother of two. We don’t interact much. But I’ve got nothing against her. It’s the opposite. She seems less fond of me, so I keep my distance unless she reaches out. She’s a former college professor. Married to another intellect. With smart babies. It’s a Christmas card exchange relationship.”
“I know you exist and acknowledging it lessens the internal guilt.”
“Exactly.”
“And you and me? We play in the same sandbox?”
“Possibly. I could always play the role of the horrible older sister who flaunts her success.” Addie flops back in her seat, becoming soft and contrite. “Why are you here, Cary? It’s not for the money. I’m sure of that. You do well enough on your own.”
My chin furrows. Then my cheeks puff out and when I open my mouth, I’m not sure where to start.
Addie opens a desk drawer, pulling out an envelope and a piece of paper.
“Let’s get this part over with. Sign here.” She opens the flap, showing me a wad of bills, and points to a thin black line.
“Thought you didn’t think I was here for money?” I act aghast.
“You aren’t.” She rolls her eyes like I’m ten and she’s twelve. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t any. He knew he couldn’t keep his pants on, so there are conditions that anyone who shows up gets the same inheritance. Now sign the damned paper and take me to lunch.”
“No DNA test.”
“Seriously,” my sister deadpans. “If you were broke, showing up here wanting a reunion, maybe. But I’m willing to bet whatever you have to say is worth the cost of admission… And I know you’re good for it.”
