Authors: Ellen Hopkins
At some point, he, Kayla, and Taylor disappear outside. My hunch is they're smoking weed, a fact that's confirmed when they return, red-eyed and moving like tortoises. No one says anything about that, either, too caught up in the merriment to chance a scene. Or maybe no one really cares.
Except I do.
I find an opportunity to tap Eli on the shoulder. “May I have a word with you, please?”
“Guess so.”
We move into a quiet corner. “I can guess what you were doing with Kayla. Kind of inappropriate, don't you think?”
“Hey, it was her idea. I only went along to keep her safe from Andaman. He's a legendary perv, and I know she means a lot to you.”
I choose to believe him.
After we've eaten, the music begins. The trio we hired does covers of pop and rock standards, plus three or four songs I have on my own playlist. Happily, I am able to dance. And when we start tossing around toasts, I propose, “To orthopedic surgeons, without whom I would definitely not be here tonight.”
When the band launches into Gin Blossoms' “As Long as It Matters,” Cavin pulls me into his arms and we slow dance, something I've done very few times in my life, and never this filled with an emotion I truly supposed had been denied me. It's a defining moment.
One I'll never forget.
The problem with leaving Eli alone at home while we honeymoon has solved itself. Cavin's dad volunteered to hang out for a couple of weeks and enjoy the mountains. Andrew is an interesting man, though cool. Apparently, it's a family trait. Still, I've enjoyed spending a little time with him. He's brilliant, so conversation is easy.
Cavin's brother is okay in a military sort of way. Which means, rather patriarchal, but seemingly quite devoted to his wife and kids. His sister is the life of the party. Only problem that night was no one to party
with,
at least not if that meant someone to sleep with. Best she could manage was sidling up to Chef Christopher, who appreciated it, I'm sure. I'm just as sure his wife would feel differently. Pam's an awful flirt, worse than I am. I like her.
Cassandra and I didn't have much time to talk, but I did corner her long enough to ask about Charlie. “It's a fling,” she said. “And a fun one.” Taylor, however, doesn't think it's so funny. Of course, Charlie is only four years older than Taylor, not to mention “hired help.”
After the wedding, Mel and the girls stayed for a couple of extra days. “Giving Graham some space” was her explanation, but I think she's giving herself a little room. Hopefully she's contemplating going it alone. They'll leave tomorrow, about the time Cavin and I drive down to Reno to catch our flight to Vancouver, so this afternoon we're at the beach and not Skunk Harbor.
The girls have rented a paddleboat and are on the lake, scoping out guys.
Mel and I kick back on short lounge chairs in the shade. The UV at Tahoe is killer, especially midday and near the water. “You ever think about getting some work done?” I ask.
“What are you talking about? I work all the time.”
“No. I mean, like, plastic surgery.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?”
“Not at all. But sometimes I think about having a little more than fillers done.”
“You can't fight age with technology. Anyway, why would you want to fight it? You look absolutely amazâ”
“For my age.” That's obviously what she means. “You
can
fight age with technology, by the way. And exercise. And water. And diet. And a whole lot of things. But to regain a more youthful face, why not resort to technology?”
“Expense?”
She's got me there.
“Anyway, what's the point? I'm approaching middle age, the mother of three teenage girls. I've got an okay career, but I'm sure not well off. Even if I looked like Miley Cyrus, what guy would be interested in me?”
“Alan Thicke?”
“Ha-ha.”
“Is that why you're so intent on hanging on to Graham?”
Growing old together.
“You know what? If Graham decides to walk, I won't be looking for a replacement. I don't mind being alone.”
Easy to say when you're not alone, and in a few years her girls will all be out of the house. Which reminds me, “When does Kayla leave for San Francisco?”
“Middle of August. There's an orientation week before her classes begin.”
“Sorry I couldn't make it over for her graduation.”
“Not a problem. She knew you were crazy busy. She ended up graduating seventh in her class, by the way. Not that it matters. She's in at the Art Institute regardless, thanks to you.”
“Hey, what are rich sisters for?”
Wonder how many stoners end up valedictorian. Conversely, wonder how many valedictorians end up stoners. Or just plain losers. Or dead before their time.
“Hey, Mel?”
“Hmm?”
“How do you feel about Mom?”
“Sad. But then, I've always felt a little sad about her.”
I think about that. Have I ever felt sad about Mom? Maybe when I was really little? “Why? I mean, why not angry?”
“Oh, don't get me wrong. There's plenty of anger. But she's one of those people who can't accept love. She should never have had children.”
Stating the obvious.
“When you go down to see her? I won't go along. But if you need help with her will or whatever, let me know.”
It's the best I can do.
I still have some last-minute packing, so I part ways with Mel in the late afternoon, promise to keep her updated on the honeymoon by e-mail. When I get home, I'm greeted by the sound of raised voices coming from the study.
“Don't you think she has the right to know?” Eli.
“What business is it of yours?” Cavin.
I creep closer.
“Maybe none, except it was my college fund you spent.”
“Look, son. I just borrowed a little. I'll pay it back, no problem.”
“How? Extra surgeries?” Sarcasm infuses Eli's voice.
“Yes, in fact. I've managed to secure more OR time, finally. Once I get backâ”
“Bullshit! God, Dad. You need help.”
“I'm already getting it.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
“I promise I am. Don't you understand? Everything changed when she came along.”
“Then you need to be honest. You can't keep something like that from your wife. I really like her, Dad. I want her to stick around.”
“So do I. But you need to let me handle this in my own way.”
The doorbell rings. I back away, hastily retreat toward the kitchen, and as Cavin exits his office I call, “I've got it.”
On the far side of the door is Andrew, carrying a large suitcase in one hand and a briefcase in the other. “Ready for me?”
“Absolutely. Come on in.”
Cavin has appeared by my side. “Let me help you with that, Dad.” He shoots me a quizzical look. “I didn't know you were here.”
“Got home just now. In fact, if you'll excuse me, I need to use the bathroom. The restroom at Zephyr Cove was disgusting.”
The men start toward the stairs and I head in the other direction. Eli stands in the hallway, watching. “Do you really need to pee?” he asks as I pass.
I stop. “I can hold it.”
We are very close, and I am hyperaware of his body heat and shallow inhale-exhale. “Did you happen to overhear any of that conversation?”
I could lie. “Some of it. Is there more to tell?”
He searches my eyes. Looking for what, I've no clue. Finally, he shakes his head. “That's up to Dad. I hope he tells you the truth. I'd hate to see you get hurt.”
“By your dad?”
“By anyone.”
He shuffles off, leaves me treading confusion. What the hell hasn't Cavin told me? And when did Eli transform from foil to ally?
I'm not sure how to approach the subject and can't even try until bedtime. I'm brushing my teeth when Cavin comes in after saying good night to his father. He lifts my hair, kisses my neck. “All packed?”
“Mm-hm,” I manage, mouth foaming. I remedy that situation. Spit. Rinse. “You?”
“Just about. Should I bring my camera, or should we just use our phoâ”
“Cavin, is there something you want to tell me?”
Our eyes meet in the mirror. “Like what?”
Go for it. “Like what you and Eli were arguing about when I got home.”
He sighs weightily but doesn't hesitate, so I know he's considered his answer. “I should have already mentioned it, but didn't think it was something you needed to worry about. I had an issue with the IRS four or five years ago. I had a large gambling win and neglected to claim it on my taxes. They audited me and came up with a rather large bill, with penalties and interest. Rather than make payments, I tapped Eli's college fund. He happened to open a letter that came from the investment firm, saw the amount left in the account, and freaked out.”
“I see. Well, if he's serious about college . . .”
“No, I'll pay it back, of course.” His arms enfold me. “Don't worry your beautiful head about anything. I've got it all under control.”
Just like that, I'm worried about everything.
This is not the way love should feel.
I'm reclining on the upper deck of a magnificent ship, basking in tepid Alaska summer air, observing the spectacular scenery of the Inside Passage. It's the fifth day of our cruise and I don't think I'm drunk enough. I signal to the cute waiter to bring me another sidecar.
Cavin is enjoying the shipboard casino. I guess he's enjoying it, considering he's down over two grand. He says not to worry, he'll earn it back. And you know, maybe he will. I am starting to think, however, that he might have a tinyâor largerâgambling problem. It has even occurred to me that Eli's college fund might have gone to pay more than the IRS. And then there's that second mortgage on the Carmel house. Not to mention late arrivals back to the room, no real explanation. Paranoia is a bitch. However, intuition is a good friend.
Cavin promised Eli he was getting help. Is he really? If so, it's not working. This is not something you should keep from your spouse. You can't disguise an addiction forever. And the deceit involved with the attempt will continue to crack the foundation of your relationship. Love is not a strong enough mortar.
I keep returning to Eli warning me that words are cheap.
Eli pointing out the date of Caldwell's report.
Eli saying he doesn't want me to get hurt.
Eli asking for my love.
Eli. Eli. Eli.
It was you who hacked your way into my house. Taylor came clean and admitted the two of you did it together for kicks, and the chance to sample my cellar. But other than that and helping yourself to my larder, you never really disturbed anything there, and that was before we had the chance to connect in a more personal way.
Was I wrong to have doubted you?
Was I wrong to place my absolute trust in your father?
Because here's the thing. If I discover that I was no more than a means to an end, I will liberate the part of me I work very hard to keep detained. My knee will have healed by next ski season and there are a lot of trees at Heavenly. Cavin is probably a better skier than Raul, but I've secured a stash of opioid painkillers. Two or three in a cup of prerun cocoa could deteriorate one's skill. It only took one for Raul.
If “regret” was in my vocabulary, I might feel guilty about what happened. I didn't mean to kill Raul, only to cause a small accident, something to keep him off the mountain. His ski instructor that trip was an attractive girl, a bit younger than I was, and his flirting, innocent or not, became way too obvious. He took lessons in the morning and after lunch we skied together. As always, stepping off the cornice brought a sharp rush of pleasure, but when Raul hit that tree, what I experienced was very close to orgasmic.
His death was unintentional, but its immediate benefitsâan immense trust fund, coupled with the freedom to be and do anything I wished at age twenty-threeâwere immediate, and that it was so easy intrigued me. I might have succumbed to the temptation to extract similar revenge on Jordan and Finn, whose infidelities were much more concrete. But Raul's demise was, in fact, an accident. Law enforcement conducted only a cursory investigation. Had the next two husbands died, however, it might have raised a little suspicion. Tapping into their power meant more than taking a chance on death row. I didn't love them. Better to toss them aside, make them pay with what they valued most.
I almost regretted that decision when the private investigator finally discovered it was Jordan behind the text and e-mail threats after all. But he was already serving his sentence, and the plea bargain eliminated the need for continued harassment. I'm not sure what he thought he could blackmail me with, other than my mental health issues, which he only got glimpses of. I may have inherited brain abnormalities from my mother, but unlike her, I mostly maintain self-control.
I could lose it completely if I discover Cavin has done nothing but play me. But until such deception is a proven fact, I'll continue to love him with everything I'm capable of. If he gets back to our cabin early enough, I've got lingerie he still hasn't seen, and I think my knee can accommodate doggie style tonight.
I pick up the book Eli loaned me as the waiter delivers my sidecar. He looks at the cover. “
Confessions of a Sociopath
? Doing some research?”
I smile at the echo. “Self-help, maybe.”
The honeymoon, I'm afraid, is over.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go . . .
âRobert Frost
A shrug of dawn