“I’ll have some,” I said.
“Please,” she corrected, rolling her eyes. She poured the juice into my glass, running her free hand over my hair. “It’s nice to have my kids home. Even if they are rotten.”
“So, Scotty, when do you have to get back?” my dad asked, dropping a plate of steaming pancakes in front of me. He was still wearing his flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt, milking his day off for all it was worth. Brownish-gray stubble peppered his chin and his dark hair was slightly mussed. “’Cause it’s free puck night at the Igloo.”
Scott and I exchanged an intrigued look. The Igloo was the fans’ nickname for Mellon Arena, where the Penguins played.
“Seriously? You got tickets?” Scott asked, lowering his phone.
“We can buy them there. What do you guys say? Hot dogs, ice cream, maybe a good on-ice fight or two?” my dad said, wagging his eyebrows.
“I’m in,” Scott said. “Who needs a college education anyway?”
“Me too,” I said with a grin.
“Sweet,” my dad said. “If you’re good I’ll even buy you guys some cotton candy.”
I laughed and cut into my pancakes. Sometimes my dad still talked to us like we were kids. But I didn’t mind. Especially not today. This was exactly why I’d wanted to come home so badly. Things were just simpler here. Especially since my mom had gotten sober. As I looked around at my family, everyone but Mom in motley states of dress, all of us chowing down off time-worn ceramic plates, with a plastic bottle of syrup in the center of the table and a scorched coffee pot on a macramé place mat, I just wanted to laugh. Noelle and the rest of my friends would have probably been disgusted, or at the very least amused, if they could see me now. But this was home. This was where I belonged.
“Okay, okay. But it’s back to school tomorrow with you,” my mom said to Scott as she sat down next to him.
“Me? What about her?” he asked, pointing at me with his knife. “She’s the delinquent. I’m only missing one class today.”
“Shut up and eat your pancakes,” my dad said, smacking the back of Scott’s head as he sat. “Your sister’s going through a rough time.”
I smiled my thanks.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve been going through a rough time since the day she was born,” Scott joked, grinning at me as he chewed.
“Ha-ha,” I replied happily.
And then the doorbell rang.
Everyone sort of froze. My mom looked at the clock. “Who’s ringing the doorbell at eight thirty on a Wednesday?” she asked.
“Meter reader?” my dad ventured.
“I’ll get it,” I said, pushing myself back from the table. I walked down the short hall, past the staircase to the front door, and glanced out the skinny window.
Time stopped. The entire world turned inside out.
Noelle Lange was standing on the cement step in front of my house in Croton, Pennsylvania, along with some elegant, aged woman in a fur coat. A black limousine idled behind them at the curb. I narrowed my eyes at Noelle’s companion, feeling a thump of recognition somewhere deep in the back of my brain. I knew this woman. But why?
And then, ever so suddenly, it hit me. She’d been in the circle at the observatory. I’d taken a candle right out of her hands and tossed it on the floor.
For a long moment, I thought about not opening the door. Let them stand there in the cold. Let them stand there long enough to figure out they weren’t wanted and then get back in their luxury vehicle and leave. Then Noelle reached out to touch the bell again, and I yanked the door open before she could hit the button.
Noelle started. The older woman, however, didn’t move a muscle. It was as if nothing could shake her.
“Hey,” Noelle said.
I just looked at her. If I’d been wondering whether my anger had abated, I now had my answer. I was still pissed. If anything, I was even more pissed.
“Hello, Reed. I’m Lenora Lange,” the elderly woman said. Her white hair was cut into a soft bob that grazed her sharp cheekbones. “Noelle’s grandmother.”
“Hello,” I said suspiciously.
“May we come in?” she asked patiently.
“I don’t know,” I replied. I really didn’t. I still couldn’t imagine what the hell they were doing there.
“Reed? Who is it?” My mother came up behind me, all smiles. She was about two steps from me and the door, when she locked eyes with Mrs. Lange and all the color drained out of her face. Noelle looked at her grandmother warily. I looked at my mom. But then, as if nothing odd had happened, my mom closed the distance to the door and smiled.
“Hello, Noelle,” she said.
“Hi, Mrs. Brennan,” Noelle replied. “May I introduce my grandmother, Lenora Lange?”
“Yes, of course,” my mother said. “It’s good to … see you.” She reached out to shake Mrs. Lange’s hand. Mrs. Lange hesitated just a moment then took it.
“Charmed,” she said.
They both withdrew their hands. I felt apprehension skitter down my back as the four of us stood there in silence, two on the inside, two on the out. There was something going on here, I just had no clue what it was.
“Well, come in,” my mother said finally. Her voice was loud and strained, as if someone had pinched her and she was trying to bite back the pain.
Mrs. Lange crossed into our tiny front hall first, followed by Noelle. She gave me this look that was like an apology crossed with curiosity and giddiness. I got the distinct impression that whatever was happening, all three of them knew about it. But how could my mom have a secret with Noelle and her grandmother?
Once again, I was the naive one. In the dark, as usual.
“Come in, come in,” my mom said, heading back to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Breakfast? We have plenty of pancakes.”
I almost laughed. Somehow I didn’t see Lenora Lange pulling up one of our rickety extra chairs and tucking in for some Aunt Jemima and Log Cabin.
“No, no. We won’t be staying long,” Mrs. Lange said.
She paused at the threshold to the kitchen, probably realizing that she and her expensive fur wouldn’t quite fit inside the small space along with the rest of us. As soon as my dad saw the woman’s face, he paled and looked up at my mom warily. But it was as if my mother couldn’t meet his eye.
“Hello,” he said to Mrs. Lange.
“Mr. Brennan,” she replied with a sniff.
Noelle and Scott looked each other up and down.
“’Sup, Noelle?” he asked, slurping some OJ.
“Scott,” she replied.
They had met only once before, on our brief stopover in New York after Christmas, and each had kept a respectful distance. It looked like they’d made some kind of silent agreement to keep it that way.
“Mr. and Mrs. Brennan … would you mind if Noelle and I had a private chat with your daughter?” Mrs. Lange asked. Her nose wrinkled a bit on the word “daughter.” As if it felt funny to say.
“Uh, sure,” my father said, looking over at my mom.
“Actually, I think I’d like to be in that conversation,” my mother said shakily.
“Suit yourself,” Mrs. Lange said.
“I believe I will.” My mom stood up straight and set her jaw. “This is, after all, my house.” She stepped past Mrs. Lange and her huge fur, leading us all into the living room. “Shall we?”
As soon as we were all inside, my mom yanked the accordion door between the kitchen and the living room closed. Then she stood in front of it with her arms crossed over her chest, like a sentry. Like she was going to keep us all from bolting. Or keep my dad and Scott from getting in.
“Okay, what is going on?” I asked, walking to the far side of the coffee table. “You guys are freaking me out.”
My mom looked at Mrs. Lange and said, “If we’re going to do this, let’s just do it.”
I felt like she was speaking in tongues. Why was she talking to Mrs. Lange like that? Like she knew her? Like
she was mad at her?
Mrs. Lange looked at Noelle. Noelle cleared her throat. She unbuttoned her black wool coat, took it off, and slowly folded it over the back of my dad’s lounge chair. Then she leaned her hands into it, and looked me in the eye.
“Reed, back at the observatory, when I said we were sisters, I meant it,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “Not this again.”
“No, I mean … I didn’t mean Billings sisterhood, blah, blah, blah,” she said, shaking her head. “I meant, we’re sisters. Like, real sisters.”
“Blood relations,” Mrs. Lange supplied. “The two of you … share the same father. My son.”
I couldn’t have been more stunned if she’d reached out and picked my nose.
“What?” I blurted. “No. No. I know who my father is. You people are cracked. I can’t—”
“Reed,” my mother said quietly. “It’s true.”
“What?” I practically screamed, backing away from her. Backing away from all of them. “How is that even possible? You don’t even know Noelle’s dad. He lives in Manhattan! He’s, like, a gazillionaire! Where the hell could you two have possibly met and—” My throat closed over, choking me before I could complete the thought. “You were married to Dad. You were …”
I sat down on the couch and bent in half, my arms around my waist, my head between my knees. Dad. Dad was not my dad. My mother was married to my dad who was not my dad when she’d been with Noelle’s dad somehow and made me. This was too surreal. Too much for me to process. Way too much for me to believe.
But then, in the whirl of screaming protestations, a few bits of fact came screeching through. Like the fact that I looked nothing like my father. The fact that I looked a lot like Noelle. The fact that Upton said Lenora Lange reminded him of me. The fact that, in St. Barths, Mr. Lange had been insanely protective of me, had given me the same gift he’d given Noelle on Christmas morning. The fact that her mother had avoided me like the plague.
I looked up, tears streaming down my face, and the three of them looked down at me. My mother looked scared. Noelle looked hopeful. Mrs. Lange, sympathetic.
“We know it’s overwhelming,” she said.
“No,” I replied. “You have no idea.”
I looked at my mom. “Does Dad know?”
“He does,” she replied.
“Does Scott?” I asked.
“No.”
My parents had been lying to me my entire life. Lying to both of us.
“So when I went away to Easton last year … did you know that Noelle was there? Did you know we were going to meet?” I demanded.
My mother’s face rushed with color. “I wasn’t aware of much at that time, sweetie,” she said. “But later … yes. I did, I did realize that the girl you were always talking about … that Noelle … was Wallace’s other daughter.”
“How could you never have said anything? How could you not tell me?!” I blurted.
“Reed, you don’t understand. I—”
But I didn’t want to hear it. I pushed myself off the couch. “I have to go.”
“Reed, come on,” Noelle said, grabbing my arm as I tried to get past her. “You can’t just keep running away.” I looked her in the eye and she tilted her head. “I know this sucks on some level, but think about it for a second. We’re sisters.”
I felt a pang in my heart, but it was quickly extinguished by the deluge of horrifying emotions.
“I don’t care,” I told her.
Then I turned and ran out into the cold.
I didn’t come back for a long time. I rode my bike to McDonald’s, scored a free coffee from Big Ted behind the counter, and then just sat there, not even drinking it, waiting for Target to open. When it finally did, I crossed the street and went inside and spent at least an hour walking up and down the brightly lit aisles over and over, seeing nothing. Considering I was in mismatched sweats and slippers, I caught surprisingly few disturbed looks.
Finally I realized it was well past time to go home. I didn’t want to see my mother or Mrs. Lange or Noelle, but I really wanted to see my dad. I needed to see him. I needed to talk to him and find out what he thought of all this. Why he’d stayed with my mom after she’d cheated on him and produced a baby with another man. Why he’d raised me like I was his own. Why he loved me so much. Mostly I just wanted him to hug me and tell me it was all a big joke.
So when I came around the bend onto my street and the limo was gone and my dad was sitting on the front step, I pedaled all the harder. He stood up when I got to the end of the walk. I dropped my bike on the asphalt and ran into his arms. It was the first time I let myself cry. I just pressed my face into his sweatshirt and cried and cried and cried.
“It’s okay, Reed. It’s all gonna be okay,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
I really, really wanted to believe him. Finally, we both sat down on the step and stared across the street at the Romolos’ house.
“What happened, Dad?” I said. “I don’t understand how this could’ve happened.”
He took a deep breath and blew it out, making a huge steam cloud in the air. Then he looped his arm around me, warming me from head to toe, and I cuddled into his side.
“You know your mom and I were high school sweethearts,” he said. “And you know we moved to New York after I graduated college.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Well, after about a year of trying to pretend I was made to be a stockbroker, I wanted to move back here,” he said. “As it turned out, I didn’t want that life. But your mom, she still did. She was working as an assistant at this big financial firm and she liked going to work every day and getting dressed up and all that stuff. After she had Scott, it was three months at home and then right back to work. For two years we argued about where to live and what to do and then one day we just couldn’t argue anymore. We separated.”
“You guys got separated?” I asked. “I never knew that.”
My father lifted his shoulders. “We never really had a reason to tell you guys. Till now.”
I swallowed hard and looked down at my slippers. “So then she—”
“She had an affair. With her boss,” he said, nodding. “Right after it happened she came back to me, so upset. She told me everything and said she realized she wanted me. She was just hoping I’d take her back after what she’d done.”
“What did you say?” I asked.
“I told her I’d take her back no matter what. I’d just been waiting there for her,” he said with a small smile. “Your mom’s the one, bud. She just is.”
I instantly thought of Josh and felt an ache that almost leveled me.
“We decided to move back here and it wasn’t until three months later we realized she was pregnant,” he said. “We both knew there was no way it … no way you could be mine, but I didn’t care. I loved you from the second I felt you kick inside her belly.”
I laughed and a new wave of tears rolled down my face. My dad turned slightly and hugged me again.
“You’re mine, Reed. No matter what,” he said. “You’re my girl. You know that, right?”
“I know,” I said, my words muffled by my tears.
We stayed out there for a while until my breathing returned to normal. Until I could think again. Until I felt like I’d cried every damn tear I’d ever have.
“Mrs. Lange wants to see you in the morning,” my father said finally.
“Yeah? Why? Is she gonna give me my inheritance early?” I joked.
“You wish,” he said, giving me a squeeze. “Nah. I think she just wants to know you. And who could blame her?”
I smirked. “Yeah. I’m a real catch. It’s, like, one o’clock and I’m still in my pj’s with snot and tears all over me.”
“Good enough for a hockey game,” my dad said.
“We’re still going?” I asked, brightening.
“Of course we’re still going,” he said. “You can’t promise your brother an Igloo hot dog and t
hen take that away. He’ll kill us both on the spot.”
“Good point,” I said. I looked over my shoulder at the house where I knew my mother was waiting to talk to me. Waiting for some big, emotional encounter. I dreaded it with every fiber of my being. “Can we just hang out here a while longer?”
“We can,” my dad said. “But sooner or later you’re going to have to go inside. You know that, right?”
“I know,” I said, leaning my head on his shoulder. “Just not yet.”
I guess the Croton Comfort Suites hotel wasn’t good enough for Lenora Lange, because Thursday morning my mom had to drive me all the way to Pittsburgh and the luxury hotel room the old lady had booked for herself and Noelle. Scratch that. It couldn’t be called a hotel room. It was, in fact, a presidential suite on the top floor of a luxury hotel, the square footage of which, my mom couldn’t help noting with awe, was larger than the square footage of our entire house.
“Welcome to my world, Mom,” I said as we waited for Mrs. Lange in the opulent parlor area, complete with crystal chandelier, brocade couches, and a continental breakfast spread fit for a queen.
My mother gave me a wan smile. Our relationship over the past twenty-four hours had devolved into a kind of polite silence. We’d barely spoken on the two-hour drive to Pittsburgh, other than to comment on the weather and talk about the game last night. Just as we’d pulled up to the valet at the hotel, my mom finally asked me the one question that had probably been on her mind for two days straight. Was I, or was I not, going back to Easton?
I told her I still didn’t know.
“Good morning, ladies,” Mrs. Lange said, stepping into the room with Noelle on her heels. She wore a chic black dress with a boat neck and straight skirt, a double strand of pearls decorating her collarbones. Noelle was far more casual in slim jeans and a cowl–neck cashmere sweater. They both stood before us, much like they had the day before at my house. Only they were farther away this time, what with all the space.
“I trust your drive was pleasant,” Lenora said.
“It was fine, thanks,” my mom replied.