solemn most of the time, to hear her laugh was to be charmed.
“Thank you for telling me about the baby. Who, regardless of who she was, is going to be your daughter. I think if you can hang on to that, the rest might be . . . not easier, exactly, but . . .” She realized she had no business giving anyone parenting advice, never mind a woman pregnant with her mom. Speaking of parenting . . . “I’ll keep it to myself until you say otherwise. But right now I need to talk to Jack.”
“He’s in the backyard experimenting with the grill. Except he didn’t take matches. Or food. And we all had supper. And the grill is closed. And he’s been sitting on the back steps for half an hour.”
“Ah.” They all had their code words for wanting to be left alone. Sometimes the code was ignored. More often, it was honored. Unfortunately, Angela couldn’t oblige this time. “Back in a bit. If Mom gets back, tell her I cordially hope she drops dead. Oh, and that we’re out of milk. I see no reason why she can’t help around the house more.” At least, while we’re all still here. Which won’t be for long, I think.
? ? ?
ANGELA SAT DOWN beside Jack on the steps. Their small backyard had a wooden ten-by-ten platform that Jordan and Mitchell had cobbled together one weekend, and the rest was lawn. They all feared and hated gardening, though occasionally Jack would get ambitious and plant herbs in pots. Then they’d spend the summer drowning in mint and thyme and he’d swear off gardening of any kind. Until winter hit. Then he’d start thinking about thyme scones and mint macarons.
She cleared her throat. “So this is my cue to say something inane—can you believe how warm it’s getting?—and then say something to acknowledge the fact that our world view has gone tits up in twelve hours, while also reminding you that life goes on and telling you to cheer up, l’il buckaroo.”
He didn’t laugh, but she got a smile. And though she’d been careful to leave some room between them, he shuffled a little closer to her and stared down at his knees.
“How could she?”
“Oh, Jacky. I don’t know. She explained the whole thing and I still don’t get it.”
“How could he?”
She shook her head.
“I can’t stay here,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to cook for her or take care of her anymore.”
“Understandable. You probably don’t need me to tell you this—”
“But you’re gonna anyway.”
“You’re entitled to be upset. You’re entitled to be furious. Christ knows I am.” Angela studied her hands, flexed her fingers. “I thought about drowning her in Lake Willowmere. Then myself. And then being reincarnated and tracking her down and drowning her again. And Paul’s so upset he hasn’t asked anyone to measure him since this morning.”
“That’s how you recognize the depth of his trauma,” Jack agreed.
“Mitchell’s plotting something that involves chicken feathers, Mom’s bed, and several neighborhood dogs.”
“Yeah, I know, he left the schematic in the bathroom.”
She cleared her throat. “You knew he was sad.”
“What?”
“Jason Chambers. You’d only seen him twice. And you didn’t touch him either time . . . Did you?”
He said nothing.
“But you knew about his dysthymia, the same way Leah did. It made a big enough impression on you to comment on it. And I notice you and Leah have gotten tight in a short time.”
“We talk sometimes,” he said cautiously.
“I’m glad you’ve had someone to talk to. But given that you live in a house full of people and have fifty friends, I have to assume you wanted to talk to her about a specific issue you had in common. So unless you’re pregnant, I assume you were worried about being an Insighter.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Whew! Don’t get me wrong, you’d be a great dad, but you’re too young.”
“Very funny,” he said, smiling a little. Then he looked away. “I like talking to her. She’s interesting. And nice.”
“You don’t have to sell me on Leah Nazir. I was practically the president of her fan club. I’m glad you went to her.”
“I didn’t. She came to me. Remember when we were all in the kitchen having hot chocolate?”
“Yes, that was one of the times I asked you if everything was all right and if there was anything you wanted to talk about and you said everything was fine.” She managed (just) to keep the tartness from her tone.
Jack raced ahead, trying to outrun the argument he thought was coming. “So she hasn’t been sleeping well and she knew I wasn’t, either, and we got to talking and later she figured it out and came and asked me about it.” He looked at her, distressed and pale. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad. Why would I be?”
“Because I didn’t come to you.”
I’m not mad. I’m a little jealous, but not mad. Well. A lot jealous. “I don’t own your confidences, you goof. You can confide in anyone you like. If Leah helped you, how can I be anything but glad about it?” There was another mystery solved: why Leah couldn’t sleep. Constantly fretting about giving birth to your mother would wreak havoc on anyone’s REM cycle.
“And—and you’re so busy with Dad’s—with Uncle Dennis’s murder.”
“That’s not it and you know it,” she said kindly. “You were afraid to come to me because you were afraid you’d become me. You thought being an Insighter meant being an insecure, spiteful bitch. You didn’t know that only applied to Insighters who are Angela Drake.”
“That’s what Leah said. Not about you being spiteful! Jeez, your eyes went to slits in half a second.”
“Sorry. Reflex.”
“She likes you, so don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t,” she lied.
“Leah said it didn’t have to define me. That it was like being born able to throw a fastball . . . being able to do it didn’t mean I had to devote my life to try and go pro.”
Angela nodded. “That’s a good way to put it. I don’t make money from Insighting, I’ve never seen a client, I just studied the hell out of it because—well, you know. But it was never my job. And it doesn’t have to be yours.”
“Yeah.” Jack gazed at the grill for a few seconds, then looked at Angela. “What happens now?”
“Oh. Um. I have no idea.”
“Will Mom move out?”
“I doubt it.” Why would she? The house was hers, free and clear. That was assuming she didn’t go to jail, but Angela wasn’t going to bring that up. The poor kid had enough to mull over. “I think we’ll all have to leave. Paul and Jordan are talking about renting a house in Evanston, and Mitchell—”
“Philadelphia.”
“Yep.” Mitchell Drake had one great love in life: the show It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.* He’d wanted to live in Philly and open a bar in homage to Paddy’s Pub since he was eleven. He had been designing the drinks menu (“The Dee,” which was mostly orange juice for a bird-yellow hue; “The Mac,” which was three Cosmos served in a beer mug; “The Frank,” which was skunk beer dregs; and “The Greenman,” which is anything even vaguely alcoholic dyed green) since he was twelve.
“It’s nice that the collapse of our family means he can pursue his dream,” Jack said with touching loyalty.
“Nothing’s collapsed,” Angela corrected sharply. Whoa. Modulate that tone. “You and I still love each other, we love our brothers and cousins, there will be a new baby Drake in a few months, life goes on.”
He just looked at her. “You don’t think you’re simplifying a bit?”
“What our parents did doesn’t mean our generation—the cousins and brothers and future spouses and their kids—aren’t a family. Emma and Douglas Drake do not have that kind of power over us. The backstory changed, but not how we feel about each other.” She took his wrist, held it firmly. “Don’t do that, Jacky. Don’t give our parents that kind of power.”