“There’s nothing to talk about. It’s just something I need to handle, and the sooner I handle it, the better.”
I quiet my thoughts.
It doesn’t seem like this is about me …
Only it doesn’t sting any less knowing he doesn’t feel comfortable opening up to me about it after everything.
“I’m parked in the back,” I tell him as he eyes his SUV. “I guess … call me?”
“Of course.” He cups my face with his hand, gives me a slow kiss, this one marginally less rushed than the last two. “I’ll make this up to you, Astaire. I promise.”
With that, he’s gone.
36
Bennett
“Bennett, just wanted to confirm that Ms. Carraro signed off on the guardianship papers,” my attorney, James Paulson, says over the phone.
I hate leaving Astaire like I did, but with those text messages stewing in my inbox and the threat of my brother meddling with Honor’s situation, I need to get ahead of the game here, which means knowing potential setbacks before they happen.
“Question for you,” I say. “What would happen if Honor’s biological father suddenly appeared in the picture and wanted custody?”
James clears his throat. “Did he waive his parental rights before?”
“For the purposes of this scenario, let’s say he didn’t know she existed …”
“If he truly was unaware of her existence and wants to be a custodial parent, he would have an opportunity to push for that, yes. It would involve petitioning the courts, suing for custody, the works. Why? Do you foresee this as becoming an issue?” he asks.
“Hopefully not.”
“I can give you the name of a guy … handles family law, and he’s much more practiced in this area than I am. But I will say, cases like these can get expensive and ugly, and if you’re not the biological father, you could be looking at an uphill losing battle. In most circumstances, blood almost always wins in family court barring abuse, drug addiction, and the like.”
I linger in the doorway of Honor’s soon-to-be bedroom, taking in the abundance of pink and white and fluffiness.
So much is changing, so fast.
“You want me to email you the name of the guy?” James asks.
“Sure.” I end the call and take one last look around Honor’s room before closing the door.
Astaire’s talk of redefining what it means to be a family, having traditions of our own, and being a tight-knit threesome was beginning to sound too good to be true, even if I never let on.
I suppose it’s human nature to want to belong to something … to someone. To know your place in the world. To have that one person or few people who will be there for you unconditionally, no matter what.
We’re so close …
And now there’s a good chance my brother could ruin all of it.
For me. For Astaire. For Honor.
I close her door, head to my study, and print off the text messages—hundreds of warm, ink-scented pages spitting out one after another. When I’m finished, I secure them with a binder clip and place them on the corner of my desk.
I’m not above blackmailing the bastard—not if it means keeping the three of us together.
37
Astaire
I’m at a coffee shop Wednesday after school, my laptop and grading notebook spread across a booth in the back, when I feel the familiar weight of an unfamiliar stare.
“Astaire, right?”
I glance up, only to be met with the overly-friendly grin of Beth Schoenbach.
“I thought that was you.” She waves a manicured hand and steps closer. “So crazy running into you again … Do you come here often?”
She slides in across from me, a tiny paper cup of coffee in hand.
“We’re still getting our bearings around here. So much has changed since the last time we lived here. It’s like a completely different city.” Beth sips her coffee, leaving a barely-there impression of nude lipstick on the rim. She’s in tight black leggings, Adidas, and a pale denim jacket, ready for a quick Instagram photo if the moment called for it, I imagine.
I checked out her profile the other night. I couldn’t sleep. But I was also curious after meeting her at the supermarket. She seemed so friendly, so benign. How could someone like that be so happily married to someone as allegedly evil as Errol? But their social media profile paints them as any other attractive, upper-middle-class, childless, jet-setting couple with the world at their fingertips.
I realize everyone and their dog looks happy as clams on Instagram and Facebook, but the two of them looked beyond happy. Unbelievably happy. Enviably happy …
And Bennett walks around like there’s a raincloud over his head half the time. He’s getting better, but still. It’s how he is. Can’t help but wonder if there’s an undercurrent of jealousy between the brothers? Could it be that Errol has what Bennett has always wanted … contentment?
“Sorry about my husband the other night.” She leans in, half-rolling her eyes, half-chuckling. “He thinks it’s strange how friendly I am with people I don’t even know, so he tries to rein it in sometimes. But he’s at the gym for the next hour, so we can talk.”