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A Baxter Enterprises logo in the top right corner and then, across the middle, a scribble in Terry's writing.Clarissa.That's all. Just her name.
I pick it up, giving it a little shake, weighing. There is still something in it. Pointing at the flap of the envelope, I lift an eyebrow, silently asking if I can look inside. She just shrugs. I take that as permission, and peer inside.
There's one single hundred-dollar bill left.
Flat, smooth, like it's been ironed.
"What's this?" I don't pull it out. It feels sacrilegious to for some reason.
"That's the last of the money I have left of my father's money," she says, matter-of-factly.
My mouth dries. "It's a hundred dollars. What do you mean, that's the last of the money?"
"You heard me. Of the money my dad gave me, that's it. That's all that's left."
"Use it."
A shake of her head.
I don't understand. "Why not?"
She slams her hands on the desk, the anger that's been simmering during this whole exchange boiling over. "Because I want a reminder that I didn't spend everything he gave me. I didn't. I almost did. But not everything. I figured it out. I figured out a way to make it on my own. And I don't need him anymore." Each word drips with sulfuric acid.
Did he really cast her out? His darling daughter? All because she'd made a few bad decisions? Who the fuck hasn't?
"Clarissa. Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tellme? You know I live in New York."
She exhales derisively and just the sound of it tells me how much she hates me, my whole family.
Oh my god, she thinks of us as the same as she thinks of him. Worse. She thinks it's our fault.
"We didn't know about any of this, Clarissa. I swear. Do you think we had anything to do with it? That Damien did?"
Her snicker prickles at my skin. "You're telling me you didn't?"
"I swear to you, none of us did!" I yell, her misunderstanding about something so important making me desperate.
"Maybe Damien did, and he just didn't tell you."
"Hewouldn't."
"Because he's such a man of his word? You remember what he did to me, don't you?"
It's my turn to be angry. I'm sorry for her predicament, but she can't hide from all of the responsibility. "You can't blame him for leaving you."
She looks at me blankly. "Twice."
"You blackmailed him the second time!"
"Girl's gotta do what she's got to do."
I know she's trying to get a rise out of me, and it works. I lose control of my tongue and say, "And what's that? Marrying Patrick?" It's a low blow, especially now, but I'm too angry to apologize.
I expect a retaliation. But the tables turned at some point in the conversation, and while I'm seething with fury, she's calm, cold.
"What do you want me to do? I can't go back to England; I can't go to Australia. And I like it here and I want to stay. This is the only way."
"Marry me."
