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“I know you are,” I pull my hand from under his, lifting the silver coffee urn from its warmer to freshen up his cup. “And I’m grateful.”
Another snort from Celine.
Ignoring her, I set the urn back on its warmer and add a sugar cube to his cup. “I’m going to call Jeremy,” I say giving him another smile before leaving the room. I not even out of the room before I hear the rattle of Spencer’s newspaper.
Upstairs, I’m careful to lock my bedroom door before I head into my closet. I shut and lock that door too, retrieving the cell phone I keep hidden in the pocket of an old backpack I’ve had for years. One of the only things I have left from my old life.
Powering it up, I call the only number I have saved and listen to it ring.
“O’Connell,” Ryan barks into his phone.
“It’s Henley.” He sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel. I shout as loud as I can. “Can you talk?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Hang on a sec.”
It sounds like the phone is passed through a meat grinder and I have to hold it away from my ear, but when he comes back on a few seconds later, all I can hear is him.
“How’s the other half livin’?” he says, his way of asking me how I am. I pretend not to hear the note of bitterness streaked through his words.
“Champagne and caviar,” I say, giving him my standard answer. “I’m swimming in my pool full of money as we speak.”
He laughs, and I’m glad to hear it. He doesn’t do it often enough. At least not with me. “I suppose you’re calling to put off the Boston trip again, huh?”
“Actually no,” I tell him, sinking slowly until my ass hits the chaise lounge under the window. “Mother is leaving for Paris in a few days so, I’ll be leaving on Friday.” My news is met with silence. “Ryan? Are you there?”
A few more seconds before he answers. “Shit—yeah, I’m here.” A harsh sigh, followed by a rasp, like he’s passing his hand over his face. “It’s just—are you sure about this, Hen? I mean—are you sure you want to go home?”
Home. Boston.
“Yes,” I say, looking out the window. I have a view of the East River from my closet. “As a matter of fact, I’m planning on staying a little longer than originally planned.”
“Longer?” Ryan sounds irritated. “What the fuck for, Hen?”
“I have other people I’d like to see besides Dad.” I hedge, not wanting him to call Conner and tell him. I suspect it was hard enough to get him to agree to escort me on my search for our father. If he knows I’m planning to stay more than a few days, he might refuse to see me altogether.
“I don’t like this.” Ryan sighs. “I have a few weeks leave coming—wait until Christmas. I’ll come home. We can go see him together.”
Christmas. The thought of it tightens my throat. “I can’t,” I say, my voice sounding strained. Strangled. I clear my throat and try again. “We’re going to London for Christmas,” I say, and he chuckles at the way it rolls off my tongue. I know what he thinks. That I’ve become spoiled. Indulged. We don’t know each other. Not anymore. “Come with us.” I make the offer on impulse. My mother will blow a gasket when I tell her, but I don’t care. Suddenly, I’m desperate to see him. To know my brother again.
It’s been eight years.
“Come to London?” He says it like I’m crazy. “Mom will shit a brick if I show up there.”
“I don’t care,” I tell him and I mean it. “I miss my brother.”
He was an unbearable asshole most of the time, and he left me alone to deal with our parents while he essentially buried his head in the sand, but he’s the only person left in my life who knows me.
The real me.
“I can’t.”
That’s all he says.
I can’t.
“Okay.” I nod my head, my view of the East River growing blurry. “I understand,” I say, and I do. It’s her. Our mother. He can’t face her. Is probably afraid of what he’ll say or do if he’s finally confronted with the woman who essentially abandoned him.
But understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less.