Page 55 of This Is How It Started
Just one more,I tell myself.
Beth: “Don’t forget I’m going to be late tonight.”
Josh: “Right, Jacob’s show at that gallery in Berkeley. Is someone giving you a ride home?”
Beth: “Probably or BART. If it gets real late, I’ll stay at Jamila’s.”
Josh: “Call me. I’ll get you.”
Beth: “No need. I’ll figure something out.”
Josh: “Love you.”
The next one isn’t until three weeks later, which seems odd to me given how prolific their texting has been. Okay, one more, then I’m calling it quits.
Beth: “What do you think?” It’s a selfie of Beth in a slinky cocktail dress in what looks like a department store dressing room.
She’s so lovely that my heart folds in half. Brown hair, fair skin and blue eyes. She looks familiar, like a prettier version of me. But as I study her closer, I realize I know her. Or at least I’ve seen her before. Yet I can’t put my finger on where.
Hers is the last face I see before I nod off to sleep and the first face I see when I wake up.
But it isn’t until three days later that it finally hits me where I’ve seen Beth before. She was part of that small group at Tino’s that time after we cleaned Dad’s closet and Josh and I went out for pizza. She was standing outside the restaurant with three others. Josh said he knew some of them from Cal and that they wouldn’t remember him.
Who knew what an accomplished liar he was?
Chapter 20
Revelations
I’m at my wits’ end. I’ve tried every contractor I can find, and no one has an opening in their schedule to do the pool house. There are only four weeks left until Brooke’s traveling nurse is supposed to occupy the place. She’s staying five days at two hundred bucks a night. And I’m pretty sure the woman is expecting walls and running water.
Next week, Brooke and I move into the cottage—things are going to get cozy fast—while we play housemaids to the mystery writers.
“Can you even cook?” I ask her as we share the kitchen island over our morning coffee because I realize I don’t know this about my stepmother. And if our paid houseguests are expecting meals, it’s a little late for culinary school.
“I worked my way through nursing school, catering.” She laughs at the expression of surprise on my face. “My ex and I owned the company.”
I didn’t know she had an ex, let alone a catering company. “As in ex-husband?”
“Yep.” She doesn’t elaborate, but I’m dying to know if she and my dad were cheating on him, too. “So when are you going to break down and call Campbell?”
“Huh?”
“About finishing the work.” Brooke aims her chin in the direction of the pool house.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered Campbell. But the work is so beneath his pay grade that I don’t want to insult him. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. The real reason is petty and shameful. I just can’t be around happy right now, not while I’m still reeling from death and secrets and inconvenient truths.
“It’s not what he does,” I say. “He’s a finish carpenter, an artist.”
“Didn’t he just buy a house that he can’t afford?”
I don’t know how she knows these things. It’s not like we sit up at night in our pajamas by the fire, trading gossip.
She drills me with a look. “I’m sure he could use the money. Most artists can. We need the work done, so call him.”
The woman haschutzpah,I’ll give her that. I’d always gotten the impression that she was milquetoast. Opposite of my mother. I suppose I assumed that part of the reason Dad left Mom was because he needed a break from her domineering. So far, it seems that Brooke could give Shana a run for her money.
And for no reason I can quantify, this sudden discovery makes me want to confide in her. “Stephen is having an affair on Hannah,” I blurt.
