Ghostlight (7 page)

I told people my father was dead because the truth was too weird.

When people asked Blake, he looked them straight in the eye and said, “I don't have a dad.” Somehow he got away with that. Nobody ever asked for more details. Mom would say, “Their father is not in the picture,” and people would nod their heads and change the subject.

I told people my dad was dead and it hurt too much to talk about him. My teachers hardly ever brought it up, probably because Mom had already dropped her line on them during enrollment or conferences. My friends never pressed for details. I guess having a dead dad wasn't a big deal in the big city of Dallas, where some kids had two dads or two moms or lived with their grandparents or were adopted from China.

I was mostly okay…until someone like Julian—with his cookie-baking, million-dollar smile, superstar dad—threw me for a loop by asking about it.

Or until I saw a photo like the one I'd just stolen from Grandpa's album.

I slipped the folded photo in my back pocket and joined Grandma in the living room. She'd started another episode of
Little House
—the one in which Pa finds Mr. Edwards drunk and brawling in a saloon—so I stood next to the couch and waited for the scene break.

Grandma lifted her clunky remote to pause the tape. “Find anything interesting in those albums?”

I nodded. “Lots of stuff. Grandpa did a nice job putting it all together and labeling everything.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to think of something to say that didn't sound fake. “I used to think old photos were boring, but when it's your family…it can be kinda cool.”

Grandma's mouth quirked. “True enough.” She glanced at the wall clock. “You better get to that watermelon before it's time for bed.”

“First I need to ask Blake something real quick.”

“Well, don't just barge in there, Avery May. Knock politely and wait to be invited in.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

When Blake and I first came to stay with Grandma in Tennessee, we'd shared bunk beds in the attic. Two years ago he'd moved to Grandpa's old music room, which was connected to the main house by a breezeway. It wasn't as cool as the attic, but it was almost as private and had Grandpa's beautiful old mandolins hanging on the wall. Plus it was a lot closer to the bathroom.

I tapped on Blake's door. “It's just me. I gotta ask you something urgent.”

“It's not locked.”

He was sprawled on the bed staring at a
Texas Football
magazine. One of the books from his summer-reading list sat next to him with a scrap of paper marking his progress. He hadn't made much.

I waited for him to look up.

He turned a page.

I cleared my throat.

“There will be no renegotiation,” he said, still staring at the magazine.

I pulled the photograph out of my pocket. “I need to show you something.”

When he finally looked up, I handed it to him.

He studied the photo and shrugged. “It's Mom and some guy.”

“They're holding hands. Notice any interesting jewelry on their fingers?”

He looked closer. “Oh.”

“Mom was married, Blake. You know what this means? She might have lied to us.” I tapped the photo. “
He
could be our—”

“He's not.”

“What?”

Blake raised his head, his eyes meeting mine. “He's not our dad. That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?”

“How do you know?”

He handed the photo back to me. “Mom was married, but it only lasted a year. I was born a decade later.”

My mouth fell open, but my brain couldn't seem to push any words out. Blake already
knew.
He must have known for a long time.

“Mom told you about this? She told
you
and not me?”

“She was waiting to tell you because…well, you tend to…”

I could feel the blood pounding in my temples. “I tend to
what?
”

“Go nuclear.” He put his fists together and exploded the fingers outward. “I guess she was waiting until you were older and could, you know, handle the truth.”

My heart was throbbing right along with the veins in my head. “Seriously? You're hardly older than me but she tells you everything, and I'm always left out.” The words were spilling from my mouth, whiny and stupid as all heck, but I couldn't hold them in. “You love that, don't you? She can tell secrets to steady old Blake, but not to rage-monster Avery. I really hate you sometimes.”

“Just get out, Avery. I can't deal with your tantrums.”

I was
this
close to slamming the door and earning myself another week of dish duty, which would have been fabulous on top of all the extra garden work, but somehow I managed to take a breath and shut the door without breaking it off its hinges.

It was no use trying to get more information from Blake. Once he was riled up, his default setting was jerkface. But Mom was coming to the farm in a few days, and when she got here she was going to get a piece of my mind, for sure.

It sounded good in theory, anyway.

I pretty much had to drag myself to Hollyhock Cottage the next day, what with that stolen key weighing like an anchor in my pocket. In the past, Grandma had always found me out, whether it was something simple like sneaking a cookie before lunch, or something twisted like slipping into Hilliard House and falling asleep for hours. What made me think I was safe now? Sure, it was hard to say no when Julian glowed with inspiration and treated me like a fellow filmmaker, but right then I was feeling a powerful urge to put the key back and call the whole thing off.

All that worrying pretty much fell out of my head when I knocked on the door of Hollyhock Cottage and it opened to a pretty girl who was several years younger than me. Her smile lit up her whole face.

“Are you Avery?” she asked.

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“I'm Lily. Didn't Julian tell you he had a sister?”

I stared like an idiot. She had long, dark hair that spilled over her shoulders in shiny ringlets. Her skin was several shades darker than Julian's.

“You don't look like him.”

The dazzling smile vanished. “Julian told me you weren't a hick like everyone else around here.”

Heat flushed my face. “Oh God, are you, like, adopted?”

Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

I was starting to feel like the eight-year-old in this conversation, and the wheels in my brain were spinning like a truck in mud. I blinked, hoping I was hallucinating after all the hard work in the garden that morning, but she still stood there with her arms crossed, looking nothing like Julian.

Except for those eyes.

Julian and his dad had green eyes. So did Lily, but hers seemed huge in her little-girl face and were framed by long, thick lashes. She would be drop-dead gorgeous one day, and she was already better dressed than any girl I'd ever known. Her T-shirt and shorts looked about as expensive as Curtis Wayne's designer jeans, and even her flip-flops had fake diamonds on them. At least, I hoped they were fake.

“Right, I'm sorry. You're just so much…
prettier
than Julian.”

She smiled at that. “Of course I am. Girls are pretty, and boys are handsome, and Dad says Julian will get better looking when he's older, but don't tell him I said that.” Lily did a little bounce and wiggle, almost as if she had to pee. “Are you coming inside or what?”

“Oh, yeah, that'd be great.” I could just see Grandma frowning at my manners. “It's very nice to meet you, Lily.”

“Nice to meet you, too. I got here last night.” She lowered her voice. “Julian told me about the
project.
I'm supposed to take you upstairs before—”

“Lily, is that Avery May at the door?” a voice called from within.

Lily's shoulders sank. “Yes, Daddy!”

“Bring her to the kitchen.”

She mouthed “sorry” before turning to lead the way.

Curtis Wayne stood at the stove by a shiny kettle that sounded like it was about to boil. “Hey, Avery May. How about a cup of tea before you guys set out?”

As nice as it sounded to sit with Mr. Wayne sipping tea, it was hot as heck outside. “No thank you, sir.”

He smiled and turned to Lily. “Go grab your hat, honey, and put sunscreen on your face. Your mother will kill me if you go back to Nashville with a peeling nose.”

Lily scrunched up that pretty nose but didn't complain as she skipped out of the room.

The kettle started boiling for real then, and he quickly lifted it off the burner. “It always spooks me when it whistles.”

I nodded, watching as he held the tag of the tea bag with one hand and poured with the other. He wore a T-shirt, which meant I could see the tattoo on his right arm—an intertwining design like you'd see in the borders of a medieval manuscript. He wasn't a beefy sort of guy, but he had nice muscles in his arms. And he always moved in a slow and steady way that told me he was comfortable in his own skin. I liked being near him.

“I'm going to have a cookie with my tea. Can I offer you a snickerdoodle?”

I was a little too nervous about Hilliard House to be hungry, but he seemed so eager to give me
something.
“Yes, please.”

He grinned. “We can have a little sit-down while you wait for Julian.”

I tried not to stare while I nibbled on the cookie, but part of me was comparing his face to that of the man in the photo with Mom. Another part of me imagined Mom meeting Curtis Wayne long ago and having children with him before he got to be a famous musician. Then I'd have a brother more like Julian. But even better, I'd have a dad, and it didn't even matter that he was rich and famous. I didn't care about his money, and that kind of made me proud of myself.

I jumped a little when he spoke.

“You sure look thoughtful, Avery May.”

“Your daughter is nice.” I rubbed a crumb from my chin. “But I made an idiot of myself when she opened the door. I thought she'd look more like Julian.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “She takes after her mother.”

“But…”

“Julian's mother and I are divorced. Lily's mom is my second wife.”

“Wow.” I'd spent all this time with Julian, but I'd never asked much about his family. Then again, he seemed to shy away from talking about his dad. “Is it hard? I mean, is Julian mad at your wife for taking you away from his mom? Does he hold it against you?”

Mr. Wayne winced.

“That's what happened with a friend of mine back home,” I said quickly, my cheeks crawling with heat. “I shouldn't be so nosy.”

“It's okay. The whole world seems way too nosy about my life, but I know you're not snooping for the tabloids.” He glanced at me over the rim of his cup. “You're not hiding a microphone under that ponytail, are you?”

I gasped. “No way!”

Then I saw the twinkle in his eye.

“There's no ‘stepmonster' business going on with us,” he said. “She and Julian get along pretty well.”

“What about his mom?”

He frowned. “I got custody, and Julian's lived with me since the divorce.”

“Does he ever see her?”

Mr. Wayne leaned forward. “Are you sure you're not working for the tabloids?”

I giggled. “If I am, no one told me.”

His eyes twinkled again, but with a blink they turned serious. “Julian's mom is very ill. She has been for a long time.”

I started to ask what kind of illness, but something in his expression warned me off. “Julian seems okay, though. And Lily is cool.”

“Yes, she is.” His shoulders softened.

“And beautiful.”

He smiled. “She wants to be an actress, and she's already getting small parts in commercials and music videos.”

“I'm a swimmer, too.” Lily appeared at the door, spreading a blob of sunscreen across her nose and cheeks. “Did Daddy tell you I was born in the water?”

“Literally,” he said.

“I just came from swim camp. Swimming is my second-favorite thing. Want to hear my life plan?”

“Uh, sure,” I said.

“First I train for the Olympics. After I win a few medals, I'll do sponsorships.
Then
I'll start acting full-time in movies.”

Her face was perfectly straight as she told me this. And the crazy thing was, I didn't doubt she could tackle it all. For an eight-year-old she was pretty intense, but not in a bad way. Some people—like her and Julian—just knew what they wanted. Other people tended to wander between this and that, not really trying hard at anything. Like me.

Julian appeared behind Lily and pulled his backpack over both shoulders. He was wearing another funky T-shirt with a cartoon of some guy's head. Only this head was a simple outline that was shaped almost like a balloon. Or half of one, at least. Where did he get these shirts?

“Are we ready?” Julian asked. “If we don't leave now, Dad will make us have a tea party.”

Lily giggled.

Mr. Wayne leaned forward and lightly tapped the cartoon on Julian's T-shirt. “By all means go make your movie, young Mr. Hitchcock. Just know that I'm counting on you to pay the bills when my career bottoms out, which it will if I don't get enough songs written this summer.”

“Embrace your despair, Dad. It can be a great motivator.”

Mr. Wayne waved us off with a laugh, but I saw something else in his eyes as I turned to follow Julian out the door. It looked a lot like worry.