Bound and Determined (31 page)

brother's arm, their resemblance marking them clearly as siblings, or the

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129

couple with a baby, he had someone to share his sorrow with, muted though it

was after several years.

Sterling looked appropriately solemn, although he seemed to be directing

the majority of his attention toward Owen. He even, as they started walking up

the path toward the center of the graveyard, reached out and took Owen's

hand, and Owen let him.

There were dried leaves under their feet, crunching and crackling in the

cold. Although there was no snow on the ground, the earth was hard, half-

frozen.

“We should have brought gloves,” Owen said as they stopped at his

parents' shared gravestone. “It feels colder here, don't you think?”

He didn't expect Sterling to agree—it was a passing fancy, the idea that

this place of death could be more cold and still than the rest of the world—but

Sterling nodded and squeezed his fingers more tightly, then drew their clasped

hands into the pocket of the wool jacket he was wearing. “Is that better?”

Sterling asked.

“Yes,” Owen said, feeling the nudge of a coin against his knuckles and the

scrape of the inevitable grit lining most pockets. He drew his hand out after a

minute or two and put his arm around Sterling's shoulders, bringing them

close together, no space between them as Sterling's arm went around his waist.

At their feet, the flowers glowed brightly, their scent and color borrowed from

spring and summer. The frost would blacken and crisp the velvet-soft petals,

and the wind and rain would shred them.

Owen's mind was blank. He stood, staring at the names inscribed on the

stones, and felt no sense that the people he'd known and loved were there, but

a sense of peace gradually eroded the blankness. He bent down and picked up

one of the irises that had separated itself from the bunch, its green stem cool

against his palm.

He'd take it home, keep it alive a little longer.

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Jane Davitt & Alexa Snow

Chapter Eleven

Sterling's mother would have come to pick him up at school, but

Christmas Eve was the night of his father's work-related holiday party (though

never to be referred to as such, Sterling had learned when he was nine, which

meant he continued to do it just to get under his father's skin), and there was

just so much to do in the days leading up to it. They could have afforded to

have it catered, but there were certain things Audrey Baker insisted on, and

cooking the food for parties that happened under her roof was one of them.

She did come to get him at the bus station on the twenty-third, though,

getting out of a silver BMW that Sterling was pretty sure she hadn't been

driving when he left for school in the fall. “Will!” she cried, waving a hand, and

he raised his in return and picked up his suitcase.

His mother hugged him tightly when he reached the car, which was

awkward—he was still holding his suitcase. “There you are! It's been so long.

Let me look at you.” She pushed him away to arms' length and studied him.

“You look good. You're growing your hair out?”

Owen preferred it longer, liked to run his fingers through it, and if Owen

liked it, Sterling did it. For the most part. “Just a little. I've been busy.”

“Are you still working at the ice cream shop? They must like you there.”

He put his suitcase into the trunk and got into the passenger seat. “I got

another raise, so I guess so. I like the guys there.”

His mother, from behind the wheel, gave him a look. He knew exactly what

it meant. It meant,
That's nice, honey, but just make sure you don't mention that

to your father
. “Good. Justine's so excited to see you—I could barely get her out

the door this morning. I had to promise I'd get her released from school early.

We're going to swing by there on the way home and pick her up, if that's okay?”

“Sure, of course. I'm excited to see her too.”

Justine went to a local school that was expensive, exclusive, and, as far as

Sterling could see, was designed to turn out perfect wives for men like his

father, starting at an early age. At twelve, Justine could probably have named

the ideal wine for each course of any given meal, and she knew all the current

vacation hot spots. To be fair to the Monmouth School, she was also receiving

an excellent education and the chance to be trained by the best in any sport or

creative endeavor she shone at. Justine's passion was tennis; Sterling could

still beat her, but it was getting to be more of a struggle every year.

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131

When they drove up to the school, glittering under a light sprinkle of

snow, Justine was waiting on the steps hopping from foot to foot, an expensive

satchel slung over her shoulder that was probably filled with homework for the

vacation, the navy of her uniform blazer turning her hair to a bright gold. The

uniformed school employee who had been waiting with her raised a hand in

greeting to Audrey, who waved back as the woman went inside.

Sterling got out of the car and held his arms open, grinning as she

launched herself at him in a series of exuberant leaps, her long legs carrying

her over the ground. “Hey, Giraffe,” he said, hugging her tight. “How's my

favorite little sister?”

She made a halfhearted attempt to punch him in the kidney, off target

because of her satchel and the extra inches she'd added since the summer.

“I'm your only sister, booger brain.”

Through the open passenger door, their mother gasped in mock horror.

“You two are awful. You know what your father would say.”

“'Go read the dictionary,'” Sterling and Justine chorused, trudging back

for the car. Sterling dragged his feet in the thin layer of snow, leaving trails

behind him, and Justine, taking advantage of his distraction, shot forward and

into the front seat. “Hey!”

“You were the one playing slo-mo,” Justine said, shutting the door and

leaving Sterling to get into the backseat.

“My legs are longer,” he said, digging his knees into the back of her seat

just to hear her yelp. “I need the extra room. I call shotgun for the rest of the

vacation.”

“You've got your own car,” she reminded him and then turned, her face

bright. “You'll be able to take me places! Daddy's always too busy, but you'll

take me to Cindy's and Laura's, won't you?”

Sterling had vivid memories of those two girls. They had a tendency to

look at him, blush, and giggle behind their hands, communicating with each

other by sidelong glances and nudges. They freaked him out, and he couldn't

tell them apart, though they weren't actually related. “I don't mind giving you

rides, but the terrible twins don't come near my car, okay?”

“Mom! Tell him not to call them that! And tell him he has to be nice to me

too.”

Audrey sighed and pulled out onto the main road. “The next time I think I

miss the two of you both in the car with me, I'll remember this moment.”

“Oh, you love it,” Sterling told her. He knew it was true; this was the best

part, the three of them together. There'd been times when he was younger,

thirteen or fourteen, when he used to wish that his father would get in a car

accident, or even just drive off and never come back, and that it could just be

the three of them forever. Not that he'd ever believed it would really happen,

and now he'd come to realize that it never would, because weirdly, inexplicably,

his mother loved his father.

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Jane Davitt & Alexa Snow

Why, he'd never understand.

He leaned forward and tugged on Justine's hair, not hard enough to hurt.

“I'm going to be so nice to you this vacation, you'll think I'm a totally different

brother.”

“Okay, that would be kind of freaky. Buy me ice cream, and I'll consider

us even.” Justine tossed something over her shoulder and it almost hit Sterling

in the face. “Here, have some gum.”

“Jeez, warn a guy next time. I could have lost an eye.”

Their mother turned her head to look at them. “It's all fun and games until

someone loses an eye, so let's make sure that doesn't happen, shall we?”

“Besides, Dad would have a cow if an unanticipated trip to the emergency

room interrupted plans for the holiday party,” Justine said, and Sterling

accused her of being a closet
Simpsons
fan, which she denied just a little too

vociferously.

By the time they reached the house, Sterling could feel himself tensing in

anticipation of seeing his father and yet obscurely soothed by the familiarity of

it all. This was home; he'd climbed that tree there, practiced pitching on the

lawn, frosted over now with snow, a rolling expanse of turf he'd cut often.

William Baker employed a gardener, but he'd expected his son to do chores to

build character. Sterling hadn't minded; the size of the lawn meant that a ride-

on was the only practical way to tend it, and it'd been kind of neat to zoom up

and down creating wild swoops instead of neat lines.

To his relief, his father's car was in the driveway—the fact that he hadn't

put it away in the garage meant that he was just making a pit stop, a

temporary appearance before he took off again to some meeting or business

dinner or whatever it was that would enhance his reputation and bolster his

bank account. Sterling wasn't sure which one was more important—not that it

mattered when the family came in a distant third.

“Dad's not staying in?” he asked.

Audrey shook her head as she put the car in park. “Business dinner.” At

least she'd given up on trying to convince Sterling that of course his father

wanted
to spend time with him but was just too busy.

Managing to keep from saying
great
, Sterling rolled his suitcase up the

walkway and lifted it over the threshold.

Home, except that it wasn't.

The wide, curving stairway was lavishly, tastefully decorated with fresh

pine and tiny gold bows; the air was redolent of spice and gingerbread. In the

reception room leading off the lobby, a tall tree stood, shimmering with lights

and decorations, none of which had been made by Sterling and Justine, kept

and treasured. The decorations changed each year; this time, his mom seemed

to be on a Victorian kick, very traditional; one year it'd been all glittering white,

silver, and blue. Sterling, suffering from a hangover he couldn't admit to, had

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133

been forced to sit with his back to it as he opened gifts he didn't need and, if

they were in any way his father's choice, didn't want.

He took his suitcase to his room, showered for a long time, changed, and

then, hoping that he'd dawdled long enough for his father to have left already,

walked back downstairs.

His luck wasn't with him. William stood at the foot of the stairs, checking

his watch impatiently, already dressed to go out. Tall, powerfully built,

handsome, his fair hair lightly streaked with gray at the temples, his blue eyes

sharp and cold like the man himself.

“So there you are,” his father said by way of greeting.

Sterling's stomach tightened unpleasantly; you'd think it would have

learned by now that there was no point in expecting his father to change. “Here

I am,” he said. “How's business?”

Sometimes that worked as a way of distracting his father, but apparently

tonight wouldn't be one of those times. “Excellent, as always,” William said.

“Your grades?”

Of course it wasn't “How are you?” or “Are you happy?” “Straight As,”

Sterling told him, glad that it was true. “Wouldn't want to sully the brilliant

Baker name.”

“No, you seem capable of doing that in myriad other ways.” William sighed

and checked his watch again. “I'm late because I waited for you. I have to go.

I'll be back around eleven—we can talk then.”

Not if I have any choice in the matter, Sterling thought, but he nodded as

his mother appeared and kissed his father good-bye.

“Make sure you eat vegetables,” she admonished William, and for a

moment his expression softened.

“I'll eat what's on my plate, I promise. If it happens to include something

green, so be it.” William patted his wife's cheek gently, the gesture bringing a

pang of longing to a watching Sterling. Owen did that to him, cupped his face,

cradling it in the curve of his palm… God, he missed him already, the

barrenness of this life in sharp contrast to the one he'd made for himself at

college. Here, he was nothing that was real, faking for his father, lying to his