Page 61 of My Favorite Lost Cause
I thought I was going to have to feign interest in this man,but now it’s entirely genuine. Maybe he can tell me how it all turned out. I want to know if they were happy. If all those kids had kids of their own and brought them back to play croquet on that lawn while their parents looked on.
“Yes, my stepbrother Charlie is the new owner, but I’m so curious about the Ames family. Did you know them?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t really. The parents died when I was very young, and then it was just old Miss Ames. We were terrified of her.” He laughs. “Poor woman probably was no older than I am now, but we assumed she had to be a witch, out in that big mansion by herself. My mom used to visit her.”
My heart sinks. “So she never married?”
He shakes his head. “I have no idea, to be honest. Like I said, I was really young back then. She probably did. Most women married in those days.” His gaze drops to my bare ring finger as if it’s a deformity.
“Well, we just love it here,” I tell him, since he clearly has no answers about Margaret Ames. “I’m sure you’ve heard we’re having some issues with the inspections, but we’re working as hard as we can to get the house in shape.”
There’s suddenly something guarded and distant in his eyes. “I’m certain you don’t actually plan tostay.”
I tilt my head. “Why else would we be doing so much work on the house?”
“Negotiating tactic,” he says. “You convince the developer it’s your dream home just to drive up the price.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlie leading the pretty girl toward the dance floor.
“It’s not a tactic,” I reply, my voice harder. For the first time in my life I sound like Kit, as if I’m eager to go to battle. “It was Charlie’s mother’s dying wish that hekeepthe house, so he’skeepingthe house.”
I’m not sure what’s gotten into me but it’s all…wrong. The night’s just wrong.
DeChen’s eyes widen slightly. “Well, I certainly wish you luck in that endeavor,” he says, but his tone implies the opposite—as if we’re up against an insurmountable force and he’s glad it will prevail.
So he’s probably getting kickbacks from the developer, as is everyone else, and all this effort was completely wasted. I was so hopeful when I was getting ready, too and I have no idea why. It was that giddy, besotted feeling I remember from adolescence, which is not typically associated with…meeting the town’s mayor.
All I want now is to go home and probably have a good cry. I excuse myself, searching the room for Charlie, but he’s on the dance floor with the inappropriately dressed girl.
She’s lovely and probably a decade younger than me. She has her whole life, all her reproductive years, ahead of her—not that the latter would be an asset in Charlie’s book.
Except I think he’s full of shit. He says he doesn’t want kids, but one day, when he’s fucked every single female in Manhattan and several in Oak Bluff, he’ll tire of the thrill. That’s when he’ll marry some girl decades younger and he’ll have kids under duress only to discover, just as he has with the puppies, how much he enjoys them.
My father didn’t want children either. I’m not entirely sure why he bothered to marry my mother, under the circumstances, except that she was beautiful, and he was smitten. But anyway, he was one of those guys, like Charlie, who think children are a fate worse than death, and when she got pregnant, he left. And what’s really annoying about it all is the fact that he later changed his mind. It took fifteen years, but eventually he married some student of his, barely any older than me, and they had two children of their own, two children who appear with him in magazines, his “proudest accomplishment.”
Perhaps that’s why, when Charlie insists that he never wants children, I doubt him. Because the day will come when hisincredibly young wife, for whom he will do anything, insists, and he’ll be happy he gave in.
I’m done with this entire endeavor. I stalk out, near tears, and stand on the porch, which is dark aside from the light shining through the windows.
My feet are killing me, so walking home is out of the question. I take a seat on the swing, hoping to pull myself together.
Charlie’s porch could use a swing like this once it’s finished.Yes, Maren, rush-order that swing the way you rush-ordered your dress, just to have Charlie enjoy it with someone else.
Inside, a new song is beginning and Charlie’s probably dancing to it. I’m never fucking get out of here. Frustrated, I dig into my purse for my phone.
If you can take a break from hitting on the brunette, I need the car keys. I can come back to get you if you need a ride, though it appears you aren’t planning to come home.
I reread the text before I hit send. It’s too bitter, too jealous. I erase it and start over.
I’m tired and ready to head home. You can stay, but can I get the car keys when you have a minute? I’ll come back to pick you up whenever you’re ready.
“Mare,” says a quiet voice coming up behind me. I turn and there is Charlie with a quizzical smile on his face. “I was looking for you. Why aren’t you inside?”
Because I saw you with someone else. Because I’m so jealous that I’m sick over it.“I don’t know.”
“You were so excited to dance,” he says. “But I didn’t see you on the floor once.”
I shrug. “Unlike you, I’m not really interested in hitting on someone half my age.”
