Читать книгу The Runaway Bride - Patricia Johns - Страница 11
ОглавлениеAFTER THE PAPERWORK had been completed and the mechanic pushed Bernie’s car into the garage, he heaved that old door shut again. He stood there in cowboy boots and surprisingly clean blue jeans, squinting slightly in the lowering sun.
“I’ll drive you over, if you want,” he said.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Bernie tried to sound confident, but she didn’t feel it. She’d never met her aunt before, and all she knew was that Lucille had been part of a big family squabble that had started before Bernie was born and had only grown over the years.
The mechanic opened the door of a rusty, old pickup truck, and gestured for her to get in. It was a far cry from the lambskin seats in the Rolls-Royce. Bernie gathered her skirt, then stepped onto the rail to hoist herself into the truck. Was it a good idea to trust a mechanic driving a wreck? That vintage Rolls-Royce was from her father’s personal collection, and if it didn’t come back in mint condition, that vein in his forehead would burst. Mind you, she’d just walked out on the society wedding of the year. That vein had probably already blown.
The mechanic held the door open for her as she clambered up. Her wedding dress was ruined. She plucked at the place where her ring had snagged the gauze. A hole had spread, large enough to poke three fingers through. She’d dreamed about what her wedding day would be like, and nothing like this had ever occurred to her... Right now, if things had unfolded differently, she’d be at her reception, dancing with her handsome groom, making small talk with the who’s who of New York, turning toward camera flashes and cutting cake.
The mental image of Calvin and Kimberly entwined in each other’s arms was sickening...and she couldn’t quite banish it from her head. She’d been numb to the full impact of what she’d seen, but it had slowly hit her as she drove the long stretch between Manhattan and Runt River.
This wasn’t the future they’d all planned: Calvin was going to run for president down the line—he had Bernie’s father’s financial support, the backing of the Republican party and a boyish grin that charmed even the stoutest Democrats. He’d be the first from the Morgan family in the White House if he were elected, and the Morgans wanted this so badly that they salivated.
They’d been trying to get Vince groomed and ready to run for president, but her cousin wasn’t quite clean enough. He’d had too many affairs, hired too many hookers, thinking no one would notice if they left by a back door... Calvin had been a compromise—a senator they could not only get elected, but who could be in the Morgans’ debt by virtue of how much they could do to support his rise to power. As his wife, Bernadette could supervise him... Bernadette wasn’t interested in running for office, but had she been willing, her father would have made ample use of her, too. But all those political plans mattered very little to her right now. She would never be his First Lady, and she sincerely hoped he never made the White House. And how had she not noticed that he was cheating?
“I’m Liam Wilson, by the way,” the mechanic said.
She hadn’t asked, she realized belatedly. She shot him an apologetic smile. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem.” He slammed the door shut behind her and ambled around to the driver’s side. She followed him with her eyes for a few seconds, taking in his relaxed good looks. Where Calvin had been smooth shaven and smooth-talking, this man had stubble on his face and grease-stained hands. The inside of the truck was like a furnace, and sweat sprung up across her forehead. Liam hopped up into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She pushed the button to lower the window, the outside air meeting her face to provide some relief.
“How long will it take to fix my car?” she asked as they snapped their seat belts into place.
“I’ll have to look at it, see what parts we need and then order them.”
That didn’t sound quick. “So how long is that?”
He shot her a dry look. “Can’t say yet. I’ll get started first thing in the morning. If you don’t want me to work on it, you can always call for a tow to take you back to New York.”
No, she didn’t want that in the least.
“I’ll wait,” she said. But if he thought he was going to drag this out for money, she had lawyers who could end his business in a matter of days.
“You said you’ve never met your aunt?” he asked as he backed the truck out of the parking space.
“No. She’s always been distanced from the family, so I never got the chance.”
“So she didn’t call you?” he asked.
“Call me?” She frowned. “We’ve never even spoken. Why?”
“Nothing.” He put the truck into Drive and pulled onto the road.
This town was miniscule, and the fact that people actually lived in a place like this was mystifying. Compared to New York’s bustle, the three or four cars along this street were kind of eerie—like a Walking Dead episode. But even that didn’t make her want to head back to New York right away. The big city also held the wedding she’d run from. She closed her eyes, trying to dissipate the anxiety that bubbled up inside her. Her parents were already furious, as the McMann family would be. She’d talked to her parents briefly—long enough to have them order her to return and for her to tell them it wasn’t happening—and then she’d turned off her phone. She couldn’t deal with their anger right now, especially when it was all aimed at her instead of her cheating fiancé. She didn’t much care what Calvin thought; he could go rot somewhere, for all she was concerned.
The newspapers, the magazines, network news channels...they’d have a field day with this. How long had it taken before people figured out the bride was missing? Probably not too long. The security detail would have made sure of that. But thanks to Kitty’s tireless PR work, no fewer than four newspapers and two bridal magazines would have been there to record the catastrophe.
New York traffic had been miserable, as it always was, but luckily an angry bride shaking her fist out the window blended right in in New York. She hadn’t called her parents until she hit open road, and by that time, Milhouse and Kitty Morgan were beyond tender concern and had gone straight to irate shouting.
Should she call them now? They’d be worried sick. Also furious, and she had no desire to bring her father’s security detail over to this tiny town to hustle her back home. She was thirty, not a child...and yet she was plenty old enough to know that her family’s power lay in more than simple wealth. Their influence was political, and politics required kid gloves with everything...including cheating fiancés.
“Runt River is pretty small,” Liam was saying, and she dragged her attention back to the present. “I think our population is seven hundred now—we hovered at 698 for about three years before some babies were born.”
He looked over at her, and she thought she caught some humor in his half smile. He looked kind, and after the day she’d had, she was grateful for a little bit of kindness.
“So why are you here?” she asked.
“I’ve lived here most of my life.” He shrugged. “It’s home.”
“And you have enough business around here?” she asked dubiously. This was her education in marketing and economics shining through.
“Oh, yeah,” he replied. “I’m the only garage in Runt River, and then there are people coming down the highway who have engine trouble. There are garages in nearby towns, but those are far enough away that I do okay.”
“That’s a good setup,” she said with a nod. “A cozy little local monopoly. I like it.”
“I can’t complain.” He glanced in her direction again, and she noticed a new sparkle of respect in his eye. Most people didn’t expect her to care about anything beyond fashion and brunch, but she was no vapid socialite. Bernadette was the future owner and CEO of her father’s businesses—a responsibility she didn’t take lightly.
It was a relief to be so far away from New York and the pressures there, but she was nervous about meeting Lucille. She’d heard the stories. Lucille was her father’s sister, and apparently, there had been no love lost between them. She’d married some guy named Arnie Neiman—someone desperately below her—and settled into Nowhere, USA. But there was more to that story—one Bernie had managed to piece together over the years. The whole estrangement had been about a three-carat engagement ring that had belonged to a grandmother. She’d verbally promised the ring to her grandson, Milhouse, after he’d sweet talked her into it. Lucille had already turned down two very charming marriage prospects, and Grandma was planning on proving her displeasure by changing the will, but then died before she had the chance. The will left the ring to Lucille, and Lucille wouldn’t part with it. And a feud was born. It was ridiculous. A three-carat ring was a nice size, but it wasn’t exactly unattainable. Bernie’s own engagement ring was probably worth more. Milhouse had bought Kitty plenty of bigger diamonds over the years, so why let a three-carat ring come between siblings? That was why she’d decided to come out here to find Lucille—she might be the only person who understood her instinct to run like heck. Still, Bernie had never met her aunt, and she was curious...who was this woman who kept a ring and cut out the rest of her family?
“What’s my aunt like?” she asked.
Liam was silent for a few beats. “Lucille is kind. A good neighbor. Honest.”
“But you didn’t know she was a Morgan,” she countered. “Are you sure she’s that honest?” The mechanic’s description didn’t match what she’d heard about her aunt.
“I haven’t heard her side of it yet,” Liam replied. “So I’m reserving judgment.”
That was new—who did that these days, reserving judgment on another person’s failings? No one she knew personally. Apparently, Aunt Lucille had some loyal friends.
Runt River’s downtown consisted of a few stores—a ranch supply store, a burger joint, an ice cream shop, a drugstore—and only one stoplight that Bernie could see. Most vehicles seemed to be pickup trucks that parked in the angled spots in front of stores, their tails hanging out into the road. Downtown came and went in the space of two streets, and then they turned on to a street of houses. These were decent-sized, well-maintained, with large yards and mature trees. In New York, they’d be worth a couple million, but out here in Runt River, Ohio, they would probably sell for pocket change.
“Here we are,” he said, pulling into the drive of a large white house. An older woman sat on the porch, a toddler beside her eating crackers out of a box she held in her lap. The little guy was cute—with the biggest brown eyes she’d ever seen.
Was that her aunt?
Bernie couldn’t make out any of the Morgan traits in the older woman. She was gray—what woman let herself go gray in their family?—and she carried some extra weight. She wore a flower-patterned summer dress, and her hair was cut in a chin-length bob—just a touch of fashionableness. The older woman squinted when she spotted Bernie in the front seat, then leaned forward.
Liam got out of the truck, and looked back at Bernie. She slowly pushed the door open and raised a hand in a tentative wave.
“Hi, Lucille,” Liam said. “I’ve got someone here who says she knows you.”
Lucille stood up and fixed Bernie with a shocked expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting married?”
Bernie’s hand flew up to the veil still affixed to her hair with clips and pins. The stylist had promised that it would stay put, and that was no lie.
“That was the plan,” Bernie replied, gathering her skirt up into her arms again. Liam had the decency to come over and offer her a hand as she climbed down so that she didn’t land flat on her face.
Lucille came down the steps, the toddler staying on the porch with the box of crackers, and she stopped a couple of feet away from Bernie, looking her over carefully.
“You’re Bernadette, aren’t you?” Lucille asked softly. She’d called her by her full name, and a place in Bernie’s heart warmed at that.
“Yes.”
“Did you marry him?”
Bernie blinked. “No. I...didn’t.”
Lucille nodded twice, then turned and headed back toward the porch.
“Come on in, then,” Lucille called over her shoulder. “I imagine you’ve got lots of questions, and so do I. You, too, Liam. We’d better sort this out.”
* * *
IKE STOOD ON the porch, a cracker in one hand, crumbs all over his fingers. He wore a new outfit—shorts that were long enough to be pants on him, and a too-small T-shirt. Lucille must have dug them up from somewhere. Liam was grateful for Lucille—she’d stepped in when he was fresh out of ideas—but even she didn’t seem to be enough for the little guy. Ike’s eyes were filled with grief, his little mouth pursed into a rosebud. He looked more like a Morgan to Liam. The curls, the eyes...
He misses Leanne.
And Liam couldn’t fix that one. He’d spent the last three years missing her, too, on some level or other. He’d known it was over when she left him, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about her at the strangest times. They’d been married, after all. That had meant something—to him, at least.
Ike trotted over in Liam’s direction and held up a soggy, half-eaten cracker.
“Share,” Ike whispered.
Liam bent down and picked up the toddler, turning his face away from the proffered cracker.
“No, thanks, buddy,” he said. “Maybe later.”
Ike smiled, a tiny uplifting of the corners of his pink mouth. That was the closest thing to a smile Liam had seen from the kid, and he felt gratified. He’d wanted this so badly—to be a dad to someone—that holding Leanne’s son was both painful and a relief at once.
Lucille led the way into the house and Bernie followed, her dress dragging along the carpet behind her. The screen door banged shut behind them. The suitcase, which Liam had retrieved from the trunk of the Rolls, was still in the back of the pickup truck, and he idly wondered when Bernie was going to want to change out of that soiled wedding dress.
“Did you have a nice day?” Liam asked Ike. What would nice even be like for a two-year-old who’d lost his mother and was now with a bunch of strangers? He remembered what that had felt like when he was a kid in the foster system, and it hadn’t been warm and fuzzy.
Ike stared at him mutely, then leaned forward and rested his head against Liam’s shoulder, and the little body deflated in a long sigh.
“That bad, huh?” Liam murmured. He patted the boy’s back and followed Bernie into the kitchen where Lucille was pouring tall glasses of iced tea.
“So you’re my aunt, then?” Bernie asked, accepting a glass.
“I am.” Lucille held up a glass toward Liam, and he shook his head. She put it onto the table, paused, then turned to him. “I didn’t lie... I just didn’t mention my family. They cut me off. I have no access to their fortune or their influence. I had to start fresh. Alone.”
Liam nodded slowly. Except that for the entire time he’d been nursing his heartbreak over Leanne’s affair, she’d never once even hinted that the Senator Morgan who stole his wife was part of her family. She’d acted as cool as anyone else—a distanced stranger from that set of powerful politicos in New York.
“It wasn’t a lie,” she repeated.
“Okay.” What else could he say? She’d certainly not told the whole truth, though.
“And what brings you to Runt River?” Lucille asked her niece. “I mean, besides the obvious run out on your wedding.”
“You.”
Bernie plucked at the veil affixed atop her head, and Lucille stepped closer and began pulling out pins and clips, dropping them onto the tabletop in a small pile.
“I had no idea you even knew I was here.” Lucille dropped another couple of pins onto the table and pulled the last of the veil away from Bernadette’s hair. Bernie ran a hand through her dark tresses as if in relief.
“You’re the only Morgan not at the wedding.” Bernie smiled wanly. “So really, you were my last hope...dressed like this, at least. I was just focused on getting out of there, and I didn’t even want to stop and get changed. Someone would have spotted me. I could have hopped on a plane and gone somewhere sunny, I guess, but not without my passport. And I wanted—”
“Family,” Lucille concluded.
“Yes.”
“And little Ike there had nothing to do with this?” Lucille asked, her expression hardening.
“What?” Bernie shot a confused look between them. “The boy? Why would he? Whose is he?”
“Mine, for the time being,” Liam said. How much did they want to tell this woman about his private business? Ike was looking at Bernie fixedly now, leaning toward her so that Liam had to tighten his grip to keep the kid from dropping out of his arms. He knew what Ike was seeing—a woman about his mother’s age with the same dark hair and flawless complexion. The same things that made Liam wary were comforting to this little guy.
“Leanne Wilson,” Lucille said. Bernie didn’t even flinch.
“Who is that?”
“My late wife,” Liam replied.
“Ah.” Bernie frowned. “You two are acting like the name should mean something to me.”
“Doesn’t it?” Lucille pressed.
“No.” She shook her head. “I came here because I thought you, of all people, might actually understand what I was going through. I just walked away from the political marriage of the decade. I thwarted my parents’ plans that go a whole lot further than a simple wedding. There aren’t a lot of people who would understand what that means, and since you’ve gone head-to-head with my dad, I thought you’d get it. Maybe I made a mistake.” She licked her lips. “Liam, if you’d be so kind as to take me to a hotel or something, I’ll sort myself out.”
“No, no...” Lucille sighed. “You’ll stay here with me, of course.”
Ike squirmed, and Liam set him down on the ground. He toddled straight to Bernie and looked up at her. Bernie’s face softened into a smile.
“Hi there, little guy. What’s your name?”
“Share?” Ike held up the sodden cracker.
“Mmm.” She pretended to take a bite. “Yummy.”
That seemed to be the response that Ike was looking for, because he grinned and shoved his cracker toward her again.
“Share?”
Ike had smiled—not just a hint of a one, a real smile. Liam wasn’t going to cut it, was he? This kid needed a mom who knew how to play his games, how to coax an honest smile out of him. He’d had Ike for a month already, and he still hadn’t managed that.
“What’s his name?” she repeated, looking up at Liam, her expression still softened by her game with Ike. She was beautiful, and he was irritated to be noticing that right now.
“This is Ike,” Liam said. “I’m his legal guardian.”
“Oh.” She frowned, seeming to be adding it all up. “So, he’s your late wife’s son...”
“We were estranged,” Liam said. “She moved out three years ago, so Ike is hers...and no, I’m not the dad.”
“So it’s complicated, then,” she confirmed.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Do you know who his father is?” she asked, running a hand through the boy’s hair. Ike leaned his head into her hand.
“Yep,” Liam said. He wasn’t ready to get into that with Bernadette. The last thing they needed was a posse of lawyers from New York descending upon them. What Liam needed was some time and space to keep thinking. Lucille followed his lead and remained silent.
Color rose in Bernadette’s face, and she shrugged. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry. He’s a sweetie.” She paused, then looked at Ike a little closer. “Did you say Leanne Wilson?”
Liam suppressed a sigh. This was what he’d been waiting for—for her to connect the dots.
“That’s right,” he said.
“I’d hate to suggest something untoward—” She winced. “There was a woman caught up in a scandal with my cousin Vince.”
“That would be her,” Liam said. Leanne had stayed out of the news, but the couple of times that Liam had talked to her, she’d mentioned how hard it was to have her silence purchased. The lawyers had swarmed her, and she’d been worried about all the papers she’d signed.
“So Ike—” Bernie looked down at the toddler more pointedly. “Ike is Vince’s son?”
Liam didn’t need to answer, because when she looked up and met his gaze, she heaved a sigh.
“Obviously, Vince didn’t acknowledge him,” she surmised. “And he wouldn’t.”
“Has he done this before?” Liam asked. “Get a woman pregnant and pay her to keep her mouth shut?”
Bernie shot him a tight smile. Liam had doubted that she’d admit to any of that. Senators had to keep big secrets if they wanted to stay in their jobs. They were all silent for a few beats.
“I think I’d count as an aunt, then, wouldn’t I? Sort of...” She ruffled Ike’s hair. “I’m technically a second cousin, but I think he could call me Auntie.”
Liam exchanged a look with Lucille. This was quickly getting into dangerous territory. He didn’t know what he wanted to do exactly, but he didn’t want a Morgan bonding with Ike, getting attached.
“We’d appreciate it if you could be discreet,” Liam said.
“What do you want?” Bernie asked. “Money? For Vince to acknowledge Ike as his?”
Money? That was what she thought of when she saw an orphaned child? But then, she came from a different world. He was worried about keeping the kid out of the foster system. She seemed more worried about lawsuits.
“I don’t need anyone’s money,” Liam retorted. “Nor do I want it. I’m doing just fine. But I’d like a bit of time to think this through. I want what’s best for the kid. I have no intention of making anyone acknowledge him if they don’t want to.”
In fact, he hadn’t even considered that option. That would make little Ike nothing more than a pawn. The boy needed a family to raise him with love, not to treat him like a problem to be solved, a political liability. The kid needed a childhood—sprinklers in summer, sleds in winter, maybe even a dog—not to be known as a politician’s illegitimate child.
“Sorry...” She sighed. “I get this is difficult.”
“You have no idea,” Liam muttered.
“Well, we all seem to want the same thing,” she said. “A bit of quiet so that we can think.” Ike tugged at Bernie’s dress, and she picked him up and cuddled him close. “I just ran out on the wedding of the century, and my family is furious. You’ve got this little guy to consider. So maybe we can agree to discretion all round.”
“Deal,” Liam said.
Could he trust her? He didn’t have a whole lot of choice, but of one thing he was certain: Ike needed to come first. If that meant he ended up with his relatives, or if he stayed with Liam, the priority had to be what was best for this little boy.
He’s not yours, Liam reminded himself. But without Leanne, this boy needed someone tough enough to look out for his interests, and Liam would be that person. There was no way he was tossing this kid into the foster system or into a family of political jackals. Even if Bernie seemed sweet right now, he wasn’t fooled. She came from a different world than he did, where the Morgans were near the top of the food chain, and ordinary Joes like him were nothing more than scenery.
Ike put the last of his cracker into his mouth, followed by his thumb. And for the first time since he’d arrived, the little guy looked comforted as he rested his head on Bernie’s shoulder.
* * *
THAT EVENING, BERNIE sat on Lucille’s couch in a borrowed bathrobe, since the clothes she’d packed were more fitting for a Caribbean honeymoon. At least she had a few outfits to wear, and she was mildly proud of herself for having had the forethought to dump Calvin’s suitcase in the parking lot when she made her escape. It was strange, the things that felt like victories now, like saving her tears for when she was alone on the highway.
If she hadn’t found Calvin halfway down Kimberly’s throat, she’d be Mrs. McMann... Instead of sitting on her aunt’s faded couch, she’d be strolling down a moonlit beach with a handsome husband. She hadn’t been head over heels in love with him, but she had loved him. She wasn’t some kind of heartless robot who married a man for nothing more than political ambitions. She’d been willing to build on the love they had, and hopefully as the years passed, their feelings for each other would have grown and deepened. Apparently, he hadn’t been able to wait.
How long had he been cheating? She’d known that Calvin had been quite serious about Kimberly before they were introduced, but he’d assured Bernie that it was over—completely. She knew that his decision to marry her had been largely political. He wanted to be president, and a wife was a big part of the campaign. Kimberly wasn’t First Lady material. She wasn’t senator’s wife material, either, in Bernie’s humble opinion. But it was possible to make the wise choice in mate and still feel affection. Had he kept up with Kimberly all along, or had this been a final goodbye of some sort? What did Kimberly have that Bernie didn’t that drew Calvin in like that?
It didn’t matter—cheating was cheating. Bernadette had expected fidelity in their marriage, and Calvin had wholeheartedly agreed. The less to hide the better, he’d said. And if she wasn’t sure how well she could trust his love for her, she could definitely trust his ambition. And they both knew that in order to get where they wanted to go, fidelity was imperative. She’d never be able to trust him again after what she’d witnessed. But she still wanted to know. Blast it, how could he be making out with Kimberly mere minutes before he was supposed to be saying his vows? What kind of man did that?
Bernie leaned her head back. Her life had been so carefully planned. She was going to marry Calvin, and they were going to make their bid for the White House. Bernadette would learn the family business for when she eventually took over from her father, and one day when Calvin’s presidency was behind them, they’d run the Morgan dynasty together. And perhaps she’d been naïve, but she’d honestly believed that she was beautiful and intelligent enough to capture her husband’s heart. The flames to their romance might have been fanned with money, but she’d expected monogamy. But now everything—absolutely everything—was going to be different. And that included her running the Morgan family business, because she’d just infuriated her father so badly that he might very well change his mind. She passed a hand over her face.
Liam had taken Ike back to his place across the street earlier in the evening. That mechanic had been kind to her. Heaven knew how crazy she’d looked when she’d driven up. After he and the toddler had left, she’d gone to the washroom and seen herself in the mirror for the first time; it wasn’t a pretty sight. She had makeup streaked down her face from crying, her hair was in tangles, and the dress was dusty and torn.
She’d wrestled her way out of the dress—popping a few buttons and managing to tear the skirt even further—and then sat on the closed toilet lid and had a good cry.
Vince’s wife, Tabby, was used to this. Vince had always had some girl on the side—that was just the way he was.
But Bernie wasn’t as tough as Tabby was. She couldn’t stand next to Calvin in a campaign, declaring him to be twice the man he really was. She wasn’t that good a liar, and she didn’t care to be.
“Hot chocolate?”
Bernie roused herself from her thoughts, and looked up to find her aunt standing in front of her, a cup of frothy cocoa in her hands.
“Thanks.” Bernie took the mug with a grateful smile. “I haven’t had unnecessary calories in five months in order to fit into that stupid dress.”
“Then time to make up for it,” Lucille replied with a low laugh, sinking onto the sofa beside her. “I’ve got pie in the kitchen, too.”
Bernie took a sip. “I couldn’t do what Tabby does.”
“Vince’s wife?” Lucille asked. “How do you think she’ll react if she finds out about Ike?”
Bernie shook her head, then glanced out the living room window again toward Liam’s house. “She probably already knows.”
Tabby was the genius behind Vince’s political campaigns. She acted meek, beaming up at her tall, meaty husband, but somehow she’d managed to disconnect her heart from the game. How did a woman do that? How did she support a man whom she knew was a cheater?
“You aren’t like her,” Lucille concluded.
“No,” Bernie replied. “I’m not. I couldn’t just stand there and pretend everything was perfectly fine when it wasn’t. I actually thought Calvin would be faithful.”
“I’m glad you came,” Lucille said with a sympathetic smile. “And I’m glad you aren’t that good an actress. It says something about you that you can’t fake it.”
“My parents wouldn’t agree with that,” she replied in a low voice.
“What did they tell you about me?” Lucille asked. There was tension in her voice, and she looked away.
“Oh, you don’t want to know that.” Bernie laughed uncomfortably. Her father had never had anything good to say about his sister.
“No, I do.” Lucille looked back. “I always hoped your dad would come around one day and make contact. He never did. Then I hoped that you’d get curious about your aunt...”
“Why didn’t you come around?” Bernie asked.
“I wasn’t welcome. I was also a little scared. I didn’t know what he’d told you.”
Bernie grimaced. “He said you were a social and political liability.”
That was the kind way of putting it. What her father had actually said was that Lucille was low-class, and even with money, she acted like a poor person with nothing to lose. He said she was grasping and selfish, and he suspected that she had some untreated mental illness.
“My father told me about your grandmother’s engagement ring,” Bernie said after a moment. “Is that really what started this whole feud—a ring?”
“It was more than a ring.” Lucille’s mouth turned downward, and she fell silent.
“What was it?” Bernie pressed.
Lucille heaved a sigh. “It was your father’s domineering ways. He didn’t ask me for the ring, he demanded it. He told me that unless I came with a sincere apology for my insulting behavior and the ring, then I was dead to him.”
“And you couldn’t do it.”
“I had my pride,” she replied. “I still do. He demanded that I genuflect like the household help, tug at my cap like a chauffeur. He’d inherited the whole shebang, and I was slotted in below him. He liked that role—ruling us all. And I didn’t.”
Bernadette could understand that, actually. Her father was a prideful man, and he took his position in society and in the family very seriously—perhaps more seriously than anyone else did. A lot of people would have complied with that demand, but they weren’t his sister.
“I get it,” Bernie said. “But you walked away from an awful lot of money.”
“I still get my lifelong allowance from my father’s inheritance,” Lucille replied. “It’s enough to live on now that Arnie’s gone. I didn’t walk away from that. I walked away from the duties, the social obligations. I walked away from the houses that would be paid for by my brother—and all the strings that came with them. I refused to be handled. And Milhouse wouldn’t bend. So—” She spread her hands. “It is what it is.”
She’d refused to be handled. Bernie had just done the same thing when she’d turned off her phone and driven west. Her parents had always “handled” her, and until today, she’d never minded. She’d done her duty, shown up at cocktail parties and dinners and made nice with various politicians. She was a general media favorite, and she liked the attention.
But now she wouldn’t do what they wanted. She wouldn’t smile for the press and say something sweet and submissive like, “Calvin and I are so sorry to disappoint everyone today, but we’ve done some soul-searching together, and we really feel...”
That would be a lie. They’d done zero soul-searching, least of all together, and she wasn’t going to stand there, making the cad look like a decent man to protect his ambitions.
“I think I want some of that pie,” Lucille said, rising to her feet. “I’ll bring you a piece.”
Looking around that living room, Bernadette saw the worn patches on the sofa, the slightly shabby furniture, her aunt’s wide hips and grubby slippers. Lucille had walked away from the obligations and social demands that came with wealth and a privileged family, and she’d landed here, in a town called Runt River. Here, in the midst of ordinary. There were no maids or housekeepers. Everything looked faded and worn instead of chic and elegant. Personal indulgence came in the form of a mug of hot chocolate made from a pouch of powder, instead of European truffles or a crystal dish of chocolate mousse. Gone were the luxuries and comforts Bernadette had been accustomed to, because with a similar sense of outrage and commitment to utter truthfulness, Bernadette had done the same thing her aunt had done—defied Milhouse Morgan.
What have I done?
