Page 47 of Little Pieces of Light
“Senator Harrington has invited us to Washington, DC, for a fundraiser at the St. Regis tonight, then as his guests for the weekend,” my father said.
“It’s important we cultivate a good relationship with John and his family, considering he is serving on the Committee on Environment and Public Works. ”
“Right. Senator Harrington.” The man who unseated Tucker’s dad and was now Wallace Industries’ new favorite person.
“Charles has a son about your age,” Dad said. “Colton. He’s quite involved in tech, apparently. He’s sold two companies for a small fortune, and he’s only twenty-four.”
“Twenty-four isn’t ‘about my age,’” I said.
“Don’t split hairs, Emery. It’s close enough,” Dad said, adjusting a cuff link.
Mom touched my chin, her smile watery. “Belinda has made you a wonderful birthday dinner, and we’ve left your gifts on the table.” She frowned and lifted the pendant on its chain around my neck. “This is lovely. Where did you get it?”
I took my gift from Xander off only to shower and usually kept it tucked it under my shirt. I had forgotten to adjust it after lunch in the art room.
“Oh, uh, Harper. For Christmas. It’s pretty, right?”
“Yes.” Mom smiled wanly and let it rest against my chest. “Very pretty.”
“Do you really have to leave for DC tonight?” I said, partially to change the subject but mostly because I was watching my Very Happy Dinner with my Very Happy Family slide right down the drain. “It couldn’t wait one more day?”
“The timing isn’t ideal, but we’ll make it up to you when we get back.” Dad pecked me on the cheek. “Happy Birthday, Emery.”
I watched them drive off to Middletown, in Newport, where our private jet awaited. I’d turned down Harper. Delilah had wanted to throw me a party. I could have gone to Boston with Xander and Dr. Ford for moral support. I could have done anything else, but instead I’d foolishly trusted my parents.
Tears of frustration and hurt stung my eyes, but I willed them down. My parents didn’t deserve them.
In the dining room, a dozen elegantly wrapped gifts were stacked on one end. Scents of Belinda’s pot roast emanated from the kitchen. She came through the double doors, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Happy Birthday, darling!” she exclaimed, though the pity was bright in her eyes. “Your mom and dad…they had a pressing engagement.”
“I heard. Where’s Jack?”
Her hands twisted. “I haven’t seen him, love.”
“You probably made a lot of pot roast for just me.”
“Oh, it’ll keep, it’ll keep. Are you hungry?”
“Not really—” I began just as Jack came striding in.
He glanced around, taking weight of the room. “They’re not here, are they? Those motherfu—” Jack bit off his words for Belinda’s sake. “It’s only your eighteenth birthday. Not like it’s important or anything.”
“Thanks for rubbing it in,” I muttered.
“I just meant they’re the literal worst.” Jack offered a commiserating smile. “They’re lucky we don’t full Menendez-brothers on them.”
“Now, Jack Wallace,” Belinda scolded but only half-heartedly, clearly relieved he was here. “Let’s have a nice dinner, if you please. You two set the table, and I’ll be right back.”
She headed to the kitchen, leaving us alone, the years of distance and animosity like ghosts between my brother and me.
“You’re in a good mood,” I said, crossing my arms. “I don’t think you’ve spoken that many words to me in ages. Must be a special occasion.” I noticed a Newport Medical Clinic visitor sticker on his shirt, peeking out from under his jacket. “What…um…or who brought about the change of heart?”
“Stuff. Life,” he said. “I’ve been a dick, and I’m sorry. They just make me so fucking angry, and I’ve been taking it out on you. For years.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”
“Come here.”
To my shock, Jack wrapped me in a hug, his chin resting on my head. I sagged into his brotherly embrace, the first I’d had since Grant died, and held on tight.
“Let’s have a nice dinner where you can eat all the bread and cake you want, then open your gifts and decide which to keep and which to sell for escape money.”
I stared in shock. “How did you…? I mean, is that what you do?”
“Yep,” Jack said, setting the table for three with silverware and plates from our side cabinet. “Other than my camera, I sold everything I own to pay for my new wardrobe”—he gestured at his black jeans and shirt—“with plenty left over. And I got a job.”
“Where?” I asked, feeling a stab of jealousy.
“At the single-screen movie theater. I work the box office. I saw your boyfriend there with his dad back in December.”
Another jolt of shock. “I-I don’t have a boyfriend. I broke up with Tucker ages ago.”
“It’s okay, Em.” Jack set out water glasses from our best crystal. “I won’t say a word. He’s that super genius, Xander, right? He didn’t recognize me. He seemed pretty worried about his dad.”
“How did you know we’re together?” I said, my heart skipping a dozen beats. “Does Dad know?”
“I have my ways,” Jack said. “And no. If Dad knew, you’d have heard about it. Where is your man now? We could invite him over, straight into the jackal’s den.”
“His father has early onset dementia. He’s dropping him off with a specialist in Boston for the weekend to run a bunch of tests and won’t be back until late tonight.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said just as Belinda arrived, a steaming pot in her mitted hands. “Here, Belinda.” He pulled out a chair. “You sit. I’ll serve.”
Our housekeeper and I exchanged glances. “Do you have a fever, Mr. Jack?” she asked, taking a seat while he went to the kitchen and came back with green beans and bread. “I haven’t seen your handsome face wear anything but a scowl in ages.”
He shrugged but also looked as if it were impossible to stop smiling, and that made me smile. I recognized that look.
He’s in love too.
The three of us sat down to Belinda’s dinner and her homemade angel food cake with a side of fresh strawberries. It was the best dinner I’d had at home in ages. After, we cleaned up to give Belinda the night off, and then I took my gifts upstairs.
In my room, I contemplated opening the presents from my parents, but they had “personal shopper” written all over them, and I wasn’t in the mood. I’d changed into my pajama pants and sweatshirt, when a knock came at the door.
“Come in.”
Jack stepped inside, carrying his laptop. “Hey. I have something for you. A birthday present. Seven years too late,” he said, as we sat side by side on my bed. “I’m sorry again for being terrible to you. You’re doing the best you can too. But anyway, I made this for you.”
Jack opened his laptop and played a video.
My breath caught and my eyes flooded with tears almost immediately.
It was of Jack, me, and Grant as kids. A film of our childhood.
Grant, handsome and lean with dark blond hair and a wide smile, playing on the surf in Barbados.
Or skiing in Aspen. Or just the three of us goofing off at home, being kids—set to a soundtrack of soulful piano music.
The film was expertly cut together, with the last frame showing Grant, about age sixteen, standing at the door, waving goodbye.
He’d been on his way to a party, I remembered—happy and smiling. It was haunting nonetheless.
“Jack, that was beautiful.” I wiped my eyes. “You made this?”
He nodded and shut the laptop. “It was more compilation than anything else, but yeah. It’s what I want to do. To be a filmmaker.”
“That’s so wonderful. I’m so happy you found what you love. I’m glad we’re talking again. I’ve missed you.” I took his left hand, which still wore a neoprene fingerless glove. “How is it?”
“Hideously scarred for life,” he said without traces of irony.
“My hand modeling career is over before it began.” He gave my fingers a squeeze.
“I’m getting out of here, Em. I’m going to graduate from the Academy and live my life far away from Grayson and Cassandra Wallace. And you should do the same.”
I glanced down at our entwined hands. “I have something like a plan too, but there’s a part of me that wants to stay. To keep trying. To show Dad my own art and somehow keep us together. Don’t you want that too?”
“He’s not going to change, Em. Trust me.”
“You know something, don’t you? About Grant?”
Jack’s blue eyes hardened, becoming as icy as our father’s. He rose to go. “I’ll send you a link to the video,” he said, and went to the door. “If you decide to leave, I’ll try to help you however I can. But if you decide to stay, I won’t see you after graduation.”
“That sounds like goodbye,” I said softly.
“It’s for my own good.” He looked torn, his dark hair falling over his handsome, angular features. “And yours too, Em. If you have a chance to get far away from here, take it.”