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“Look, I know you think because you own the agency, you’re responsible for us, for where we’ve ended up. But you’re wrong.”
“Who is then?” Toni dares me to argue. “Huh?”
“Well, if Lizzie were alive, I think she’d blame her Uncle Lester—but she always blamed him for everything bad she did. Jules will tell you that a drunk driver named Martin Snow ruined her life and Dylan Duke finished her off. Lyla…We both know Lyla has some issues. And me…”
Toni must sense where I’m going, because she says, “Don’t.” Just one word. ‘Don’t’.
“You sound like my dad just then. ‘Catherine, don’t do drugs’.” I lower my voice, trying to add the inflection I remember hearing in my father’s tone. “’Don’t wear that short skirt. Don’t dye your hair. Don’t’.” I laugh quietly. “Don’t. Don’t. Don’t”
“You were a kid. Kids make mistakes.”
“I was an addict.Aman addict,” I correct when Toni shakes her head. “But I’m alive, for now. And I’m here because you refused to leave me that night. I’m cleanbecause you paid Doc. Hinde to sedate me through withdrawals. And, quite honestly, Toni, when you blame yourself for me ending up here, you negate all the workI’veput in to get here.Here,” I say again, holding my palms up. “Clementine Lane looks damn good when you’ve sold the use of your near-dead body for a hit and a lice-ridden mattress.”
“The two are mutually exclusive.”
“No, they’re not. And you know it.” But because I know that she’s looking to hurt, I add, “But the way you talk makes me think you don’t realize how far we’ve all come.”
“That’s not-”
“Fair? Good Lord. Anyone would think you were raised in Beverly Hills.”
The joke’s on me. Toni looks deep into my eyes for a moment. “I can be proud of what you’ve done and still be sad that you’re here.”
It’s her last card, and we both know it. “I have a trust fund, you know.”
“I do,” she sighs.
“And one day, when the sex stops replacing my high, I’m going to march up that cobbled driveway and I’m going to knock on the door of my childhood home. Winston—my family’s concierge. Did you know we had a concierge?” I laugh, remembering poor Winston’s face when he’d try to lie to my father for me. “Richard Cameron Beauchamp III didn’t like the word,‘Butler’. He said we’d come too far from the British for that.”
“No. You never told me that.”
“Well, Winston will answer. He’ll stutter and stumble over his words. And, from down avery long, white marble hallway, my dad’s voice will echo, ‘Who is it, Winston?’ And I’ll call back. And I’ll say, ‘Dad. I’m home’.”
When Antoinette sniffles, I smile. “But until IknowI’m okay, I won’t go back. I can’t. I can’t go home until I’m sure I’ll never put that look of disgust in my father’s eyes again.”
“Oh, baby.”
I point at her and laugh. “And when I tell him the story, when I tell him where I’ve been and try to explain what I’ve done, the sins I’ve committed, you’ll have to be there to charm him.” I look at her. “You’ll have to be there, Toni.” The scar on my chest burns, and I raise my hand to rub at it.
She dips her head, just the faintest reassurance. “I look forward to it.”
Because I can feel the grief rising, I flick a single finger under my eyes. “But until then…”
“Until then,” Toni agrees.
We are both quiet for a small minute, but I’m the one who speaks first, uncomfortable with the emotion crowding us. “How are you doing?”
Toni looks away, but she does reply. Her voice is quiet. “With her bedroom right there, she still feels alive. It’s almost as if…I don’t know…It’s notreal…”
“She was your closest friend. Your sister.” Going to her, I wrap her in a hug, like I did Jules before her. “It’s going to be a rough few months. But you can’t barricade and face it alone. It won’t help.”
She nods, but, unlike Jules, Toni steps out of the hug before too long. Turning her back on me, she shakes her hands and lets out a long breath as if she can physically expel the sadness. “I just need a few days,” she says, her back still to me. “Three days to sort myself out, and then I’ll pick up and start managing the bookings again.”
“Do you want me to take the bookings for a few weeks?” I regret the offer the minute it’s out of my mouth.I don’t have the business acumen to do what Toni does—vetting and filtering clients, negotiating fees, and talking in circles about what our contracts do and do not entail.
“That’s sweet of you, Cat.” Taking the wine bottle off the counter, Toni rummages in the drawer until she finds a corkscrew. “But no. I think trying to maintain some semblance of normal will help.”
“Okay.”
