Page 27

27

SAWYER

J amie and I are plastered together in my twin bed, and I’m laughing at his description of cleaning fish for the first time.

“Ma was showing us, but with twenty fish in the cooler and it being late, she’s not messing about. She gets going and scales are flying everywhere and hitting us on the heads, and my wee brother Jude starts yelling. ‘Fish rain. No! Stop getting on my head, fishy.’ He climbs under the wood table for cover. As though we’re under fire.” Jamie chuckles. “I’m a clever lad, so I see an opportunity to avoid cleaning up the gruesome fish guts. I say, ‘I’ll get him, Ma.’ Once I get under the table though, Jude and I start discussing what sweets we’re going to eat as a reward for helping.”

“How old were you guys?”

“I don’t know. Four and three, I reckon. We were just a year and a half apart.”

“Under five, though? And she gave you a knife to clean fish?”

“Nah, she was showing us the motion one at a time with her hand over each of ours. Until she got impatient. Then, what we were supposed to be doing was throwing away the remains and wrapping the cleaned fish in butcher paper. Usually she had the girls out there, not us. They were older and much more help, as you’d imagine. But Jude and I were so keen on fishing, and I think Ma reckoned she’d soon have three times as many fish to scale or fillet and wasn’t having it. My mom doesn’t actually care for fish the way most of the family does. Imagine you don’t even like fish stew and you have to make a pot of it every week for your greedy family. Along with fish fillets and fish and chips. When the catch was good, we had fish more days than not. That suited my dad and me down to the toes, and we’ve not really changed. You know what my American cousins introduced me to that I could eat every week? Fish tacos. Absolutely brilliant.”

He rises from the bed, flashing his perfect ass, as he grabs a packet of Scottish shortbread cookies from Ash’s nightstand.

“Hey, those aren’t from the dining hall.”

“So?” he says, tearing open the package.

“They’re Ash’s stash, and I don’t know where to get more to replace them. Don’t?—”

Jamie pops a cookie in his mouth and chews. “It’s all right. Just tell her I ate them while reminiscing about my little brother. I could set fire to the beds, and she’d say, ‘Oh, that’s all right, Jamie. No problem.’ She’s the little sister I wish I had. The rest of my sisters put up with zed.”

“You talk about your brother as though…” My voice trails off and I grimace, studying his face for signs I shouldn’t ask. Finally, because he doesn’t change the subject, I say, “Is he gone?”

With a lick of his lips, Jamie nods. His expression clouds for a moment, but he banishes the expression. “Long time now.”

“I thought for a while I had a real brother. But no. So disappointing. I can’t imagine growing up with a sibling and then… I mean I can imagine.” I wince. “But it’s obviously way more heartbreaking in your case.”

Desperately wanting to know what happened to his little brother, I bite my tongue to keep myself from asking for details. I, of all people, know that it’s better not to ask intrusive personal questions.

After eating another cookie, Jamie holds out the packet to me in offering. I shake my head.

“Go ahead if you’d like one. I’ll get Ash some more.”

“I don’t usually eat cookies for breakfast.”

“No? Missed opportunity. Life is short, Sauce.” The mock gravity in his tone makes me smile. “Explain about the brother you thought you had. How does that work?”

“Weirdly.” I blow out a breath. “I don’t usually talk about it.” Holding my breath, I wait for him to let it pass. Which is what I want him to do. I think.

He sits on the side of the bed and finishes off the cookies before pitching the wrapper into the trash. When he looks at me, there’s a speculative expression on his face. “You don’t need to speak about it if you’d rather not. But if you want to say something, go ahead. I can keep it a secret if that’s what you’d like.”

Chewing on my lower lip, I shrug. “When I was young, there was a guy and a little boy living with us for a while. The little boy was a year or two older than me, I think. Someone must have joked that he was my brother or something.”

“When was this?”

“I must’ve been about two or three when they moved in.”

“This was before your mother married Allendale? So, he’s not your real dad then?”

Pressing my lips between my teeth, I glance at the ceiling, then the window, then Jamie’s chest. “Actually, I’m adopted. My dad’s great, actually. We’re close.”

“Well, it worked out, then. I reckon you might be closer to him than I am to my father. We disagree on some fundamental things, and it’s caused me to pull away. We may put it right one day but haven’t so far.”

“I hope you can. Family’s important.”

“It is, yeah. So, Brad Allendale? Brother or stepbrother?”

“Yeah, step. Well, adopted brother, but it doesn’t feel like it.”

“He resents it, does he? That’s his rationale for what he does?”

“I guess. The family name is a big deal. Their money and family history are part of their identities. That’s one of the reasons getting into the Briar Club is so important. My Allendale grandmother was a Briar Club member like my mom. If I get in, that’ll go a long way to proving I’m like my mom Celine was. Someone with great potential who’s going to be an asset to the family.”

Jamie’s hand slides over the side of my face. “Your mom’s gone?”

“Yes. Cancer. Such an awful waste. She was a member of the US House of Representatives, and they put her on a really important committee during her second term. She was literally changing the world.” Blowing out a breath, I blink my eyes several times to banish threatening tears. “The Allendale money and influence might’ve helped her get elected, but once she got there, every bit of respect was earned.” Rubbing my eyes, I shake my head. “It’s important that I live up to my potential and get her bracelet back.”

My eyes narrow. “Wanna hear the fucked up thing my so-called brother did? Each member of the Briar Club gets a custom bracelet. When a member dies, they have the option of returning the bracelet to the club, so it can be passed on to a new member. My mom’s had been passed down from one of the founders. It’s so vintage and cool. I used to put it on my upper arm, like Cleopatra, and prance around. Mom wanted me to have it when I became a member. She was going to have a new one made for herself when I got in and give me hers. When she died, Brad took the bracelet and returned it to the club, instead of letting me keep it, which I totally could have. I would’ve brought it with me into the club. But no. So now, it’s back in circulation and there’s no guarantee I’ll be the one to get my mom’s. If I get in, I hope they’ll let me have it. They’re pretty big on legacy and tradition, so there’s a good chance. Hope so.”

Jamie nods with a serious expression. “It’s important to have faith. And a plan. You’re smart to have both.”

“Am I?” I draw in a breath and shrug. “Just doing my absolute best every step of the way. Can’t afford a misstep. But there’s not exactly a plan.”

“Sure, there is. And we executed it perfectly last night.” He winks then leans over and kisses me. “Let’s get up. I need caffeine.”

“Same,” I say with a small smile.

I should’ve told Jamie the whole truth, including about it being my bio mom, not Celine, who had live-in boyfriends. But explaining that I’m adopted and why I need to prove myself as worthy of the Allendale name is huge for me. If things keep going the way they are, I think I’ll be able to tell him my whole life story eventually. Old shame is just hard to set aside.

When Brad told his prep school friends about my “jailbird” mom, “the Tennessee white trash,” they either pitied me or became condescending assholes. One even blackmailed me into writing his final papers to keep my secret, so the popular girls at school wouldn’t find out. That would’ve ruined me for sure. One day, I’m going to cross paths with that guy again. And when I do, I’m going to figure out a way to make him regret what he did.

A stab of concern erupts in my chest. A thirst for revenge is a nasty urge that hits me way too often. I worry I inherited it from my bio mom. She could be ruthless.

This morning though, I remind myself I’m my own person and I’ve gotten farther in life than my bio mom ever did. Even if I do have poison in my genes, I also have Celine’s. She was a distant cousin to my biological mom, which is how she learned about my motherless plight in the first place.

Celine rose above her middle class roots and any blood ties she had to the Tennessee branch of the family. As long as I’m careful, I can, too.