Page 88 of The Sun and the Moon
Wait, what?I step back. A dent forms between her brows.
“Your dad is the con artist?”
“What happened at the winery?” Her lips kick into the tiniest smirk. “You wanna go first?”
“I think maybeyoushould,” I say. She nods, agreeing with reluctance. She paces to the bed and sits, but I am too restless to follow. I turn to face her, noticing as I do that Chicken has lain back down in his bed, his eyes already closing again.
“Where the hell do I start?” she asks, but it’s directed more to the room. Or even the Universe, God forbid.
She flips her hair into a deep side part and runs her fingers down the length.
“He brought up all this old stuff like he wanted to get a bunch of new revelations off his chest. I felt like he was building to something, but then Pam’s horse went bananas and we had to cut the ride short.” As she talks, she’s looking away, not right in my eyes. I don’t think it’s dishonesty keeping her from settling her gaze. It feels more like nerves. The energy of which shoots from her like electricity in a live, frayed wire.
“I mean, that’s a good thing, right?” I ask, holding my other thought back so she can finish her story. He might have been trying to tell her about the wedding, in which case, she may not feel this as such a massive blow.
Moira had me on location and still didn’t spill. It shouldn’t sting as much as it does.
“If I hadn’t then overheard Dad talking to Greg about digging out of a hole and how this thing—which I can only assume is the engagement to Moira—is part of what’s helping him get out.”
It’s like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.
“He’s getting something from her, you mean?” I ask, my vocal cords constricted with the chill that’s setting in. Am I that out of touch with my own intuition that I couldn’t see the signs?
“The documents at the bank with Kismet’s name on them,” Sydney says, connecting the dots in my head out loud. “They could be refinancing the property to get the equity out. Moira might know Dad needs financial help—”
“And if she doesn’t?” I ask her. Sydney doesn’t say what we’re both thinking.
She will hand over the money because she’s in love with him. Moira is cunning; it’s hard to imagine she isn’t at least aware of his need for cash. I can’t imagine she’d go along with him without her own ulterior motive.
“We have to tell her.” Her eyes sheen; the barely contained wobble in her voice threatens to break out. I move to the bed and sit beside her. I can’t quite bring myself to reach out, take her hand, even though I want to. Too much is spinning in my head, but just being near her helps.
Hopefully the feeling is mutual.
“We have to do it now,” I say, dreading the addition of my newly gleaned knowledge. It adds a whole new layer of tension to the situation, especially since we don’t know the whole story. “Because the engagement party isn’t an engagement party.”
She whirls, gripping my hands. The contact slices through my anguish; it’s a rudder on my drifting boat. “You mean Lola wasright about her theory?” This revelation rattles her despair momentarily.
“I saw an invitation—that they will probably deliver to guests this afternoon at that wine and cheese tasting. It didn’t outright say they were getting hitched, but there’s no other way to interpret it.”
“This is a wedding, and my dad didn’t tell me.” It’s a blow, possibly even bigger than learning Rick may be conning my mother.
“He might have been planning to,” I say. The urge to smooth out this uncomfortable situation is strong. Big emotions—especially from other people—twist me up inside myself. I feel like it’s on me to settle everything down, remain calm, even when no one else is. A great skill out in the wild but a sucky way to actually live your life. Sydney’s fuming. I can tell by the set of her jaw, the flare of her nostrils. She shoots to her feet like she’s spring-loaded.
“That doesn’t fucking matter now. He didn’t tell me, not about any of this.” Her eyes drop to me still stuck to the bed like glue. “I think we need to ambush them.”
Confrontation is not my favorite pastime. But at least we have each other’s backs.
Chapter Forty
Sydney
I am the one to twine our fingers as we walk. It happens like an instinct—a longing to be close, to feel the heat of her skin. I fit our palms together, savoring the texture of her rough calluses, her deft grip. I don’t know if she’ll keep holding on when we reach our parents’ room or if this thing between us is a secret she wants to keep even as we demand the truth from both of them.
But I do think it won’t stay hidden, whether our hands are gripped or not.
The Sun and the Moon and the Two of Cups.
I never told Cadence about the reading—I should stop her now, tug her into a corner and tell her. I don’t consider myself a naturally intuitive person, or maybe I’ve just pushed that part of me so far down in my quest to be the perfect daughter, to live the life I think will make me the least likely to ever actually get hurt, that I can’t hear the truth inside me anymore.
