“It sounds perfect,” Rachel said, and meant it. The media coverage was growing savage and relentless. It was the last place anyone would look for her.
She’d just rolled her suitcase down the stairs when someone rang the doorbell. Alesha was the last person Rachel expected to see on her front porch. It took Rachel a while to commit to doing more than glaring through the peephole. Alesha jammed her thumb against the bell until the annoyance of that constant ringing compelled Rachel to open it.
“Took you long enough.” Alesha smoothed the lapels of her white blazer and glanced up at the house. “I’m kind of surprised you’re still here. I was sure he would have tossed your stuff out on the lawn by now.” Rachel stepped back and tried to close the door in her face, but Alesha wedged her foot against it. “Let me in.”
“I can’t handle one of your lectures right now.”
“I spoke to Mia. She told me you’re planning to stay in that storage room, but I have more space. I want you at my house instead.”
Rachel huffed a laugh. “No. Absolutely not.” She tightened her grip on the door handle, fully prepared to put her entire weight into slamming it again. Alesha raised her hand, softened her voice, and used a word Rachel had been sure wasn’t part of her vocabulary.
“Please. Hear me out.”
Rachel relented, and led her to the formal sitting room. Alesha sat on the sofa. “I haven’t seen the inside of this place in a while.” She surveyed the room and sucked her teeth. “Still boring.”
Rachel laughed and groaned, “Why are you here?” She slumped into the opposite chair.
“Did you know that your husband’s out there playing the victim? He pitched the Post an exclusive last night. He’s also milking that bruise your little boyfriend gave him for the cameras.”
“I’m not surprised,” Rachel said. “Matt has a lot more to lose than I do.”
“Really? You think so? Mia told me about the prenup. Do you plan on letting them get away with that?”
“I hired a lawyer,” Rachel said. “Julia Beaumont.”
Alesha raised her eyebrows. “That girl is practically a criminal. Do you trust her?” Rachel nodded, and she shrugged. “Then maybe it’s what you need.”
Rachel ran a nervous hand over her legs. Matt would probably be home soon. If he saw Alesha there, it would make things worse. “Was there something else you wanted to say?”
Alesha swallowed hard and seemed to shrink on the couch. “Can I have a cup of tea? Chamomile if you have it. To settle my nerves.” Rachel was so stunned by the admission of weakness that she immediately went to the kitchen and made a cup. When she returned, Alesha was looking out the window.
“Vultures,” Alesha muttered, tapping a finger on the glass. “That’s not journalism out there. It’s hunting.” A row of photographers lined the street. They stirred at the movement in the window, and Rachel stepped back. She handed Alesha her tea and returned to her chair.
“Ramona used to love having her picture taken,” Alesha said.
Rachel was thrown by the sudden change in topic. “I had no idea you knew my mother.”
Alesha nodded and kept her eyes downcast, focused on the cup. “We met in college.” She looked up, and finally made eye contact. “We dated in college. That’s also how she met my brother.”
Rachel’s mouth dropped. “You dated my mother?”
Alesha took a deep, fortifying breath. “She was a year older and was assigned as my upper-class mentor. We were the only Black English majors in the dorm.” She tapped nervously against her teacup. “I wasn’t out then,” she said. “I was barely out to myself. Being bisexual wasn’t something most people talked about. There was gay or straight, and I spent a chunk of my life thinking I was both or neither.” She paused. “It’s nice that Faith can be herself with the people she loves. I never really had that.”
Rachel’s throat tightened. It was the first time Alesha had ever implied she was a good mother.
“Ramona was beautiful,” Alesha continued. “People were always telling her that. It’s why she quit writing and got into theater. I think maybe if she didn’t hear about it so much, she might have been a novelist, or a journalist like me.” She sipped her tea and swallowed hard. “Instead, she got close to Peter. They both had stars in their eyes, while I just wanted to make enough to pay the bills. A few months later, they eloped. I never saw her or my brother again.”
She looked at Rachel. “When you showed up fifteen years ago, looking just like her, something in me snapped. All those things I said to you, those horrible things? I was saying them to a ghost.” She shook her head. “By the time I realized the damage I’d caused, you were dating Matt Abbott. And I thought, well, if she wants that, let her have it.” Alesha hunched her shoulders and sank into the cushions, like the story had drained her. “But it wasn’t what you needed. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
If Alesha had told her this fifteen years ago, Rachel might not have believed her. But now she knew what betrayal looked like. It came from the place you least expected and fed on insecurity like a parasite. She thought back to their worst arguments, and how unhinged Alesha had seemed. Now, she could see her aunt more clearly. Alesha was like her, struggling to put a painful mistake behind her, where it belonged. And like Rachel, she’d finally found the strength to seek forgiveness.
“Does anyone else know about this?” Rachel asked.
Alesha shook her head. “My kids have no idea. They think your father and I fell out over money. Everyone else is gone.” She leaned forward. “But I need you to believe me when I say I’m trying to help. That I won’t throw stones at you, because my whole damn house is made of glass.”
Rachel couldn’t speak. Relief engulfed her, so intense and smothering, she could only nod or risk bursting into tears.
“Good.” Alesha sat up straighter and crossed her legs. “Now let’s get you out of this house and into my guest room. Then we’ll call that shady lawyer and get to work.”
Nathan had to close the laundromat. The day after the gala, people with cameras were lined up at the door, shouting his name when he tried to service a washer. The customer he was helping had gathered his dirty clothes and fled the scene like he’d witnessed a Mafia hit.
He wasn’t entirely surprised when Mia stopped by. He’d seen the look in Matt’s eyes after that punch. The bruise on his jaw had spread to his ego, so he’d used the one weapon he had left, threatening to call the police. When it came to drunken midnight fistfights, guys like Matt would always win in the harsh light of day.
Mia greeted him at the door with a steaming paper cup. “Brought you coffee.”
Nathan winced as his right hand closed around it. His bruised knuckles had swollen during the night. “Thanks.”
She briefly fussed over his hand before sitting next to him. “Matt’s making some noise, so I wanted to check in and see what happened last night.”
“He was being a dick. So I hit him.”
She sighed. “Nathan—”
“Is Rachel okay?”