Bossy (23 page)

“W
hy, Declan? Why do you do this to yourself?” Dad’s facing the window, not even looking at me. “You’re smart, charismatic, skilled. You could be an amazing attorney if you applied yourself. It’s like you want an excuse to fail. Is that it? If you turn everything into a joke, nothing will matter?”

It’s the day after their wedding, but they aren’t leaving on their honeymoon until after the Cooper case is finished, so Dad has the perfect opportunity to nail me to the wall. Shockingly enough I wasn’t exactly in the mood to chat after my little swim.

“Don’t stand there and fucking psychoanalyze me. How about you? Why do you find it so hard to believe I wasn’t responsible?” Head high, I look Dad in the eyes as he turns to face me. “Or don’t you care about the truth so long as blaming me fits into your tidy little narrative.”

I was half surprised nobody was waiting outside the elevator to arrest me when I came in.

The next silence seems like it lasts forever. “I do care, but you’ve done nothing lately except show me over and over that you resent Claire and Annette. Excuse my language, but get the fuck over it already. Annette will never replace your mother, but she’s a part of my life now and so are you. You’re going to have to find a way to accept it.”

“Why her?” I need to know. It’s something I should have asked months ago, but I didn’t want to hear his answer.

Dad smiles wistfully. “I love her. Not more or less than your mother, but differently. Annette will never be Caitlyn, and I don’t want her to be. They’re different people, but I love them both. Your mother would’ve wanted me to move on, just as I would have if our places had been reversed. I wish you could see that.”

Listening to him yell would be less uncomfortable than this. I know the shitty greeting card sap he’s spouting is probably true, but it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

“Every time I go to the house, it looks a little less like our home. Mom’s painting isn’t in its old spot.” My words sound better suited for an eight year old than for a grown man. “Little by little, she’s disappearing all over again.”

“Your mother isn’t in those things.” Dad’s icy blue eyes, exactly like mine, stare right into my own. “Of course Annette will make her mark there. She’s living there now.” He sighs. “I didn’t do either of us any favors by throwing myself into work and letting the house turn into a museum. It was long due for a change. Maybe you should try coming home every once in a while, and you’ll see.”

I’m the first to look away. “Yeah, whatever.”

“You’ll always be welcome, you and Claire both, though I’d advise staying away from her for a while.”

“I didn’t do it,” I whisper, not expecting a response.

Dad grimaces and runs a hand through his hair. “I know.” He holds a hand up to stop me when I open my mouth. “You’re not off the hook. I still hold you partially to blame for it happening. Claire told us the details as she knows them, and I know you well enough to guess at some of what’s missing. If you’d come to me earlier, we might have been able to fix this.”

“So why do you suddenly believe me?” Don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking thrilled someone does, but I’m suspicious about the sudden change of heart.

He gives me a funny little half-smile. “I should say that as your father I’ll always believe you, but honestly? I heard what you said when she left.”

Shit. “That was... uh—”

“Stop! I’m not sure I want to hear about it. It’s been hard enough pretending not to notice the way you two have been dancing around each other here at the office. All I need to know is that your motivations have nothing to do with me and her mother, and that you didn’t intend to hurt her.”

I shrug. “The way to Hell is paved with good intentions. But no. The way I feel about Claire is about her, not some fucked up revenge plot. Not that she believes me.”

“You’re a Riordan. You’ll figure it out.”

“So’s she, as of Sunday,” I point out.

Dad looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Do you just
have
to make everything as awkward as possible?”

For the first time since the wedding, I laugh. My mood actually feels a bit lighter. Not happy exactly, but not so alone. “So Claire’s not coming back, then?”

“Officially? She’s taking a leave of absence. Unofficially? I’m not sure she’ll be back. It’s too bad. Barring all the messes involving you, she seemed to be doing good work.”

“She was. I know I’m on thin ice myself, but I want you to know she was handling a very difficult assignment with more professionalism than I probably would have in her place.” It’s true, for all the shit I gave her, Claire’s ability to put aside her issues with Cooper and still do her job was one of the things that first impressed me about her.

Well, second if I count our first night together. That was really fucking impressive too.

Dad doesn’t need to hear that.

“I know. I’ve been following everything to do with the Cooper case very closely.” He raises an eyebrow at me and I wonder exactly what he means by
everything.
“If she doesn’t continue on with us, I’ll pull some strings to make sure it turns out alright for her.”

That’s one less worry on my mind. “So I still have a job?”

“Yes, yes.” He waves me away. “Get back to work.”

“H
oney, I’m home!” I barge right into Dad’s house. If they want me to knock they should take away my key.

There’s something really bizarre about feeling like a stranger in the house I grew up in. I lived here for twenty years, but coming back to it now feels completely different. Signs of that jump out at me right away. In the center of the wall in the foyer is a picture of Annette and Dad out in the orchard that they had done for their engagement.

He’s looking at her and smiling like they’ve just shared a joke I’ll never be a part of. I remember that smile, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen it. Off to the side is a picture of Claire and her mom together. It looks like it was taken on the same day. There’s one of me and Dad too, but it’s ancient. From my graduation I think.

Where the fuck was I when they were doing pictures?

Probably ignoring everything and hoping it would go away. I made so many excuses to avoid being around Dad and Annette in the last few months. I was always walking my non-existent dog or “stuck in traffic”.

Claire looks so pretty in her picture. I wonder what I would have done if I’d been there. We’d have reconnected in totally different circumstances. Maybe things would’ve been easier for us.

Or maybe we’d never have hooked back up at all.

I notice that Mom is missing, and Claire’s dad too. A nice and neat, new little family. How convenient. Annette wiped the house clean of our messy pasts.

Taking off my shoes, I step into the hall and yell, “Anybody home?” Knowing my luck, they’re all out.

Dreading more changes, I start up the curved staircase to the second floor. Right away I can see I was at least partly wrong. There are more pictures. Lots more. From the bottom of the stairs to the top, there are small pictures dotting the wall. New ones alongside old images I haven’t seen in ages. Mom and me. Dad and Mom on their wedding. Me as a kid.

But not just us. There are pictures of Claire and her Dad. Happy times it looks like from before he got sick. I recognize one that must have been taken around the same time as the one on her desk.

Both of our families are there, in all their iterations. It surprises me. Last time I was home, everything was cleared away with a fresh coat of paint on the walls.

I feel like a hypocrite. I’m never home because of all the memories, but I’m willing to resent Annette for putting those memories away. Fucking masochism, is what that is.

Which room is Claire’s? Probably not my old room, though there’s a dirty sort of appeal in the idea of fucking her deep in the bed where so many teenage fantasies played out. We’d probably break it, if it’s still there. My fifteen year old self would be proud.

Taking the stairs one by one, I call out again. “Claire? You home?” Why am I going so slowly? What the hell am I afraid of? That she doesn’t want to see me? That she won’t talk to me? Fuck if I know. She’s probably not even here.

At the top, both the door to my room and the door to the guest room are closed. Dad’s master suite is open a crack, but she’s not in there. Instead, I knock on the guest room door.

No answer. I try my room, just in case. You never fucking know, right? I knock, but it’s as quiet as the guest room.

Oh fuck it, it’s my damn room. I open the door.

Whatever I expected, what I see wasn’t it. It’s still my room, I guess, but on my wall is a huge picture of Mom and me that didn’t use to be there. It’s from one of the last vacations we took together as a family, and on my desk is a little jar of sand I know came from that same trip. I remember her cleaning out the glass and filling it up so we could take the beach with us.

There are other photos, along with bits and pieces of my life pulled out of boxes and off dusty shelves to be given places of honor, but none of them feel important next to this.

I pick up the jar and hold it, sitting down on the bed with my eyes closed so I can feel the sun. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sleep in this room again, but somehow knowing it exists makes me feel better.

“Do you like it?” Annette’s voice sounds behind me softly. Whirling around, I find her standing in the doorway, leaning against it. “I went through everything I could find and tried to pick what I thought would mean the most. I figured you’d want the memories.” She’s cautious, staying away like she’s not sure what I’ll do or say.

I suppose I’ve earned that. “Does it matter what I think? I don’t live here anymore.”

She surprises me by drawing herself up straight and taking a step closer. I stand, towering over her. Annette raises her head and looks up like it doesn’t matter that I’m nearly a foot taller. She might not be
my
mom, but she sure is
a
mom.

There’s a look only mothers seem to have. The one that makes a person feel like they’re about to get grounded, no matter how old they are. When she takes a step closer, I’m halfway taking a step back before I catch myself, standing my ground.

Her frustration bubbles over, and she looks so much like Claire when she’s angry that I have to keep myself from grinning. “Declan, I’m trying here. I’m not your mom, and I never will be.”

“Obviously.” I don’t even really mean to be sarcastic. It just comes out reflexively. I sigh and try again. “I know, Annette.”

She huffs and looks ready to throw something. “Do you? Because I think you look at me and see some sort of monster, and I don’t know what else to do to prove I’m not. Your father loves us both, and I know a part of his heart will always belong to your mother. If you look around, I’ve left something of her in almost every single room.” She looks away sighing. “It’s not a competition. She’s part of your history, and I accept that, just like Garrett accepts that Claire’s father is part of ours.”

I’m too stubborn to know when to quit. “I’m not stupid. I get it, but I don’t have to like it.”

Annette tips up her chin and looks me in the eyes. “It’s a good thing your opinion doesn’t matter, then.” Her tone is icy.

“What do you mean it doesn't matter?”

“It doesn’t,” she says with a shrug. “Your father and I are in love. I’m here to stay, and you can get used to it, or not. I’ve gotten a second chance at happiness, just like your father. We’d be idiots to let that go, even if you don’t like it.” Bringing her hand up, she rubs her forehead, like she’s working out a headache.

“Well I don’t.”

Her eyes flash like lightning. “Don’t you take that tone with me. I’m not your mother, and you don’t have to like me, but you will respect me. I love your father, and you’ll just have to deal with that.” She throws up her hands. “God, I don’t understand what Claire sees in you.”

My head jerks in surprise. “Sees in me?”

“I’m a mother, remember? What, you didn’t think I could figure it out? She adored you until your stunt at the wedding.” She shudders.

“Annette. I swear, it wasn’t me. The only person who had that footage was Michael. I’d never seen it until then. I was only trying to shut the damn thing off.” Claire’s mom might not be my favorite person, but I don’t want her to think I’d do something so cruel.

“Michael, right. So where was he?”

“When you guys charged in? Apparently crawling away with his tail between his legs.”

She arches her eyebrows, waiting for my explanation.

“Look, I spotted him going in, and I should’ve dragged him to security or something, but I tried to handle it myself. You saw how well that worked out.” I sigh. “Claire is the one that needs to hear this, but if she’s not around, I’ll see myself out.”

“Declan, wait.” She stops me as I leave the room. “Claire isn’t ready to talk to you. Even if you’d found her here. But I’ll tell her what you said.”

“You believe me?”

One slender shoulder tips in a half shrug. “I agree with Garrett that it seems out of character, and I’m willing to defer to his judgment considering he knows you better. Personally my experiences with you haven’t left me so inclined to be generous.”

I wince. “And it doesn’t bother you that Claire and I were,
are
... involved?”

“Truthfully? Yes it bothers me, because you seem petty and immature. But it bothers me more to see her like she is now. Quiet, adrift and obviously not over you in any sense that I can think of.” She shrugs. “She’s an adult, and she’s seen me make mistakes in the name of love. Maybe she sees something in you that I don’t.”

I nod. “That’s fair.” With a sigh, I do one of the things I’m worst at. “Annette, I’m sorry.”

She purses her lips, bemused. “For which thing are you apologizing? Just so I know.”

Shit, I can see where Claire got her attitude from. I’m starting to see why this was finally the woman who got through to Dad. “For being a dick. You’ve obviously put a lot more thought into me and my happiness than I have yours. Can we start over, maybe?”

Her face softens. “I’d like that.”