Since she and Oliver didn’t have much money, Charlotte had taken great pains to find the prettiest silk scarf she could afford. When her aunt unwrapped the box, she stared at the contents for a second and then said, “Oh, it’s a scarf.” She didn’t take it out of the box. She set it aside and looked at Charlotte expectantly, finally saying, “Is that it?” Charlotte nodded, her face turning crimson. Oliver saw the hurt and anger come across his wife’s face and decided he had held his tongue long enough. He went after Aunt Jane with a vengeance, telling her how cruel she was. At first, Jane looked shocked that he would be speaking to her in such a way, but when he called her ungrateful for not appreciating Charlotte’s thoughtful gift, she lashed out, again recounting everything she had done for Charlotte and her sister. The shouting match didn’t last long. Charlotte and Oliver were quickly out the door. On the way home, Charlotte burst into tears, and all the years of pent-up rage came spilling out. It didn’t take much persuasion on Oliver’s part to convince her it was time to do something about the poisonous relationship.
Charlotte broke free and begged Allison to do the same. She and Oliver had been asking her to move in with them ever since they were married, and they once again urged her to consider it. Allison loved being with Charlotte and Oliver, but she was preparing to enter Boston College, and they were moving to Seattle soon, so that option was off the table. Besides, the sense of responsibility still had a grip on her, holding her back.
Charlotte called their aunt and uncle toxic, and although Allison wholeheartedly agreed, she hadn’t been able to get past the guilt. Every time her aunt called her ungrateful, she was reminding Allison of the sacrifice she had made by taking her and her sister into their home. For years Allison had heard how much money they had spent on the girls’ expenses because Uncle Russell knew that was what his older brother would have wanted. Yes, they had spent a fortune on the girls, and what thanks did they get? Precious little, according to Aunt Jane. On and on the lectures continued until Allison was weighed down with guilt because she had been the burden that made her aunt’s and uncle’s lives less than perfect. Would she ever feel she’d done enough to repay the debt she owed them? She honestly didn’t know. What she did know was that for years her aunt and uncle had been using fear and guilt to get Allison to cooperate, and it was time for a change. She finally decided their criticism of her wasn’t going to work any longer.
Her aunt looked up from the page she was reading and, seeing Allison, motioned for her to come into the dining room. Allison pulled out a chair at the head of the table so that she wouldn’t have to sit next to either one of them. Then she folded her hands in her lap and waited for them to start in on her.
Her aunt held up the paper, which had a list of names with lines crossed through them. “Do you see, Allison? These are the attorneys who have turned us down. They refused to take on Will’s case. They all said the same thing: they couldn’t do any better than Will’s current attorney. No matter how much money we offered, they all said no.”
“I thought you liked Will’s attorney. What’s his name?”
“Stephen . . . Stephen Kelly,” she said. “And we did like him. He’s done a good job until now.”
Her uncle adjusted his glasses and looked up from his notepad. “He’s given up on Will and thinks my boy will have to go to prison this time. That’s out of the question, of course. I can’t let that happen.”
Aunt Jane nodded vigorously. “No, we can’t let that happen. Will is too . . . sensitive. And none of this is his fault.” She added, “We were able to get a copy of the video in the bar.”
“Kelly got it for us,” Uncle Russell interjected.
Her aunt insisted that Allison watch the video and pushed her laptop in front of her. In the beginning of the clip, it looked as though three men did crowd Will and threaten him, but Will threw the first punch . . . and the second . . . and the third. It was frightening to watch. When he became angry, he lost all control.
“Will could have killed one of them,” she whispered, shaken by what she’d just seen.
Aunt Jane slapped the laptop shut and snatched it away from Allison. “Will’s the victim here. Get that straight,” she snapped.
Always the victim, Allison thought. She was amazed her aunt could look at the same video and come up with that conclusion.
Uncle Russell removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is going to be very expensive.”
“No matter what it costs, we have to keep Will out of prison,” Aunt Jane said. “He couldn’t handle it, and neither could we. What would our friends and neighbors think?”
Uncle Russell became incensed. “What do you care what the neighbors think?” He picked up his glass and took a long swallow. “Use your head for once. Keeping Will out of prison is all you should care about. Just how stupid are you?” He snarled the question. “You’re more concerned about yourself than your own son.”
Aunt Jane half lifted herself out of her chair. “We have to live in this town,” she shouted. “And I always put Will first. How dare you say that I don’t?”
And they were off on another fight. Whenever they started a squabble, Allison was always reminded of a horse race where the announcer talks faster and faster as the horses pound toward the home stretch. She wished she had her headphones now to block out the cacophony.
The argument continued for a good five minutes before it wound down. Allison was even more determined now to tell them she’d had enough. She was actually becoming a bit giddy thinking about never having to come back to this house again. It had never been her home. Never.
Will walked in and glared at his parents. “I could hear you loud and clear outside.”
Ignoring the criticism, his mother asked, “Did you find your passport?”
“Not yet. I’ll check the safe.”
“Be sure to close it.”
Why did Will need his passport? Was he thinking about running? Allison jumped up from the table and ran after her cousin. He was in the den standing at the bookcase.
She stopped in the doorway and asked, “Why are you looking for your passport?”
“I might be taking a trip.”
“You can’t run away. They’d find you, and you’d spend years in prison.”
He whirled around to face her. “Who said anything about running away?”
She could see the fear in his eyes. There were tears there, too. He really was scared. She was about to respond when her aunt summoned her back into the dining room by bellowing her name. She returned and, standing at the head of the table, in a quiet voice asked, “Yes?”
Her uncle grabbed her arm and squeezed. “You sit down and listen.”
“We’re going to need you to get more modeling assignments,” her aunt said.
Her uncle pulled her into the chair. “Quite a few more,” he added with a brusque nod. “And that means you’re going to have to branch out.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know. Work for other outfits,” he said.
Did he think she could just knock on Chanel’s door and tell them she would be willing to work for them? Or Armani? They really don’t have a clue, she thought.
She took a deep breath and said, “I’m not going to quit school.”
“Yes, you are,” her aunt snapped. “You do what’s needed for this family. Stop being so ungrateful.”
There it was, that five-dollar word she threw around all the time. Allison wondered how many times she’d say it again before the conversation was over.
“The decision has been made,” her uncle said.
“Who made this decision?” she asked.
“I did.”
Here it goes, she thought. She tried to pull away, but her uncle increased his grip on her wrist. It felt as though he was going to snap her bone in half.
“No,” she said with fi
rm resolve in her voice.
“No? No what?” her aunt asked.
“No to all of it. I don’t care how many decisions you’ve made, Uncle Russell. I’m not going to help you. I’m done.”
Their reaction was almost comical. They looked flabbergasted. Her uncle was the first to recover from his shock. “You are not done here. You’re done when I say you’re done.”
He squeezed her arm again, twisting until it burned. She tried to jerk her arm back, but her uncle held tight until he wanted to refill his glass. He had to let go of her then. Alcohol trumped keeping her captive, she supposed. She watched him pour a generous splash of whiskey and down it in a single gulp, wiping his chin on his sleeve.
She scooted her chair so he couldn’t reach her and said, “I wanted to tell you face-to-face so there wouldn’t be any misunderstanding.”
“Tell us what?” her aunt asked.
“I’m finished.”
Her aunt looked up at her, her eyes flashing with hostility. “What do you mean, you’re finished?”
“I’m not ever coming back here, and it’s my hope that I will never have to see or talk to either one of you again.”
She had rendered them speechless. She knew why. She had never defied either of them before, and now she was severing all connections. She stood and headed to the front door before her uncle could get up from his chair.
“Get back here,” he roared.
She kept right on walking.
Will followed her onto the porch. “I found my passport,” he said to her. He shoved a legal-size manila envelope at her. “This was in the safe, too,” he explained. “It has your dad’s name on it. I figured you should have it.”
“What is it?”
“Looks like legal papers of some kind,” he answered.
“Why are you giving them to me?”
“To piss them off. I heard you tell them you aren’t ever coming back here. Did you mean it?”
“Yes, I meant it.” She started down the steps, then stopped. “I’ll try to help you if I can.”
He shrugged and turned to go back inside. He didn’t say good-bye.
She heard her uncle yelling her name again and continued on to her car. After taking one last glance at the house she’d grown up in, she drove away and didn’t look back.
She felt liberated.
TEN
The euphoric feeling didn’t last long.
Allison was anxious to get back to Boston. She glanced down at the envelope on the seat next to her. She was curious but decided to wait until she was at the house and in her room before opening it. A mile out of Emerson, her phone began to ring. She looked at the screen and saw that the caller wasn’t identified. It was obvious her aunt had blocked her phone number so that Allison wouldn’t know who was calling and would answer. The phone didn’t stop ringing, and within twenty minutes there were eleven messages. When she stopped for gas, Allison listened to each one of them and was thoroughly disgusted by her aunt’s crude remarks and threats.
By the time she reached Boston, there were twenty-five messages. Allison knew her aunt wasn’t going to stop harassing her, so she made a detour to her cell phone store and had her phone number changed. She then called Charlotte and left her new number. She didn’t explain why. There would be plenty of time to talk tomorrow.
She also called Giovanni to tell him she had changed her number. She’d hoped to get his answering machine, but he picked up. He grilled her, of course, and was thrilled when she told him she had cut all ties with her relatives.
“It’s about time you got away from those bloodsuckers. And don’t worry. I won’t give your new number to anyone,” he promised.
Allison was smiling when she ended the call, thinking how lucky she was to have Giovanni in her life. She pictured him sitting in his studio surrounded by fabric swatches and sketch pads. On a plaque above his desk was printed his favorite quote by Yves Saint Laurent: “Fashion fades, style is eternal”—words he lived by. Even when he was working, he was dressed to the nines, typically in a vintage pin-striped suit with the collar up and a richly colored scarf draped under the lapel. He was a creative genius, but more important, he was a good and trustworthy man. He was also a kind friend.
She parked in front of her house and went inside. It was empty, but she knew within an hour the Saturday night ritual of her roommates hanging out with their girlfriends would begin, and the house would become loud with laughter and music. She hurried up to her room and closed the door. Sitting in the middle of her bed, she opened the envelope and looked inside. The first paper she pulled out was a piece of stationery with some handwriting on it. Underlined at the top were the words For the attorney. She wondered who had jotted the notes. Her mother or her father, perhaps? Under the heading was the name of a private school. She recognized it because it had the reputation as one of the best in the city. There were also the names Suzanne and Peter Hyatt with an address and a phone number.
She put the paper aside and pulled out legal-size pages that were stapled together. At the top was the name of an insurance company. Glancing over the copy, she realized it was a life insurance policy for her father. She quickly scanned it. By the time she reached the signatures on the last page, her hands were shaking. She was both astonished and outraged. The policy was worth five hundred thousand dollars, and she and Charlotte were the beneficiaries. Her father had left them a large sum of money, and yet they had never seen a dime. Where had the money gone? She didn’t have to think long for the answer. Her aunt and uncle had somehow gotten their hands on it. Everything was making so much sense to Allison now. It was all about the money. That was the only reason her aunt and uncle had taken them in. They had kept the money a secret all these years. Yet how many times had she and her sister heard they were a financial burden? One big lie.
Allison couldn’t help wondering where it went. It certainly wasn’t spent on Charlotte and her. Any new clothes or essentials were purchased at a discount store, and once the girls were teenagers, they were expected to find ways to pay their own expenses. They had gone to a public elementary school, and when Allison expressed a wish to go to St. Dominic’s for high school, her aunt and uncle refused. She wasn’t deterred. She persisted until they gave in, with the stipulation that she would have to pay the tuition on her own. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to earn the money by working jobs on nights and weekends. Giovanni helped out her senior year.
Her aunt and uncle hadn’t lived a lavish lifestyle. They did, however, like to go out on weekends with their friends. Allison supposed the bars and clubs they frequented had taken a great deal of the money. Pampering Will probably took the rest. There was nothing he ever wanted that he didn’t get.
Allison set the documents aside and picked up the piece of stationery again. Suzanne and Peter Hyatt. The names sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place them. She stared at them for several minutes, trying to recall where she’d heard them before, but eventually she gave up. There was an address in Houston and a phone number. She wondered, after all these years, if these were still accurate. One way to find out, she thought. She pulled out her phone and tapped in the numbers. After five rings she was ready to give up, but suddenly a woman’s voice came through.
The woman sounded slightly out of breath, as though she’d rushed to get to the phone. “Hello.”
“Is this Suzanne Hyatt?” Allison asked hesitantly.
“Yes.”
“My name is Allison Trent, and I—” She stopped when she heard a low gasp. “You know my name?” she asked.
“I do,” the woman said.
“How?” she wondered. “How do you know me?”
“Your mother was my dearest friend,” Suzanne answered. “And I knew you when you were just a little girl.”
Still trying to recall, Allison said, “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”
; “You and Charlotte were so young, and we only saw you a few times because we lived in Houston and you were in Boston.” She paused. “How are you and Charlotte? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought of you.”
“We’re fine,” she answered. “I’m calling because I found your name and number on a piece of paper that was with an insurance policy belonging to my father. I was wondering if you knew anything about this.”
Suzanne responded curtly with a hint of bitterness in her voice, “I know exactly why my name was there.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me more. My aunt and uncle never mentioned you . . . or the policy, for that matter.”
“I’m not surprised,” Suzanne said with disgust. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly. “It’s been a long time, but I still get upset when I think about your parents and what happened.”
“What did happen?” Allison asked.
Suzanne took a long, deep breath before letting it out. “I met your mom in college, and we became close friends. When we graduated, we both got jobs in Boston and shared an apartment. Actually I was the one who introduced your dad to your mom. He worked in the office next to mine, and a few of us would go out after work. He was a great guy, and I knew he and your mom would hit it off, so I invited her to join us one afternoon. I was right. They were meant for each other.” She paused, and Allison could hear a smile in her voice when she continued. “We had a great time back then. Anyway . . . I eventually met Peter, and we were married. When his company transferred him to Houston, it was really hard for me to leave your mom and dad. They were like family. Your mom and I talked on the phone every other day.” She laughed. “Our husbands weren’t too happy about the phone bills, but they understood. Whenever possible, we would fly up to Boston or they would come to see us in Houston, but once your mom became pregnant with Charlotte and we had our son, Alex, it became more difficult to get together. Then you were born. Your mother was so happy. Our visits didn’t happen as often. Still, we never lost touch.”