Page 16 of Burn for the Devil
I had no idea what my business had to do with my dad’s political aspirations but nodded my agreement anyway. “The tech seemed to know what he was doing.”
“I should hope so.” Changing the subject she said, “You’ll be attending the opera with Matthew.”
I returned my shaking glass to the table. “How did you know that?”
Her hand waved gently. “This is exciting, he’sveryeligible.”
“Mom—”
“He’s from the west coast; owns a large company. Your father looked into it.”
Irritation wormed its way through my head. “It's none of your business. Yes, I agreed to accompany him but that doesn’t mean anything. What if I can’t stand him?”
The conversation paused while we placed our orders. “You should have ordered the salad,” my mom chided. I bristled at her insinuation. I didnothave a weight problem; my figure was slim, and I spent thirty minutes a day on my treadmill. My body would do whatever it did as long as I took care of it.
“Stop meddling in my love life. I know you and Dad want me paired off but it's not up to either of you.” A crawling sensation climbed up my spine and I turned to look behind me.
“You’re thirty-years-old, sweetheart. The pickings will get slimmer and slimmer.”
Everyone was engrossed in conversation, chatting, eating, and drinking. “This isn’t Victorian England; there is no rush.”
“I just want better for you, and we have an image to uphold. After Zoey...” My mother trailed off.
Tears prickled my eyes, the pain still fresh after so much time. “That wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
“Your sister would’ve been twenty-five,” she said swallowing. “We were so blind.”
My little sister, Zoey, had been out drinking one night and had called both myself and my parents for a ride home. None of us had heard our phones ringing. Zoey was only seventeen and in a horrific car crash that night, killing herself and an innocent child asleep in the back seat of their mother’s car as they headed home from a family movie night. My little sister blew rightthrough a stop sign at fifty miles an hour, T-boning the other vehicle.
The public fallout was immense, with my family being painted as villains. The story was that we ignored our phones on purpose out of shame, after a tabloid leaked personal details. Cocaine was found in Zoey’s system as well as an incredibly high blood alcohol ratio. The internet had a field day with those details.
Ever since then, my mom and dad held themselves and I to impossibly high standards, attempting to be re-accepted into society. It’d worked, but only after they’d moved up to Boston, and they didn’t want to lose the ground they’d gained. Hence, the pressure was on me, the remaining daughter, to carry on the family name and remain spotless while doing so. The load was so much sometimes, I wished it were my parents who’d been in the accident. Of course, that intrusive and immature train of thought did nothing to help the weight I bore.
I told anyone who asked—including myself—that my parents were loving and affectionate and I had a good childhood but honestly, that’d changed after Zoey. Sure, in public the image they presented was enviable, but I could still feel the difference, the separation. My little sister and I were very close. I should’ve known.
Life had become plagued with guilt—my parents’ and my own, the “what if” and “why” questions tormenting us with alternate possibilities.If only one of us had heard our phone.If only one of us had seen her issues.
I reached across the table and grabbed my mother’s hand. We’d had no idea Zoey had a drinking or drug problem, and the fact she had was almost as shocking as her sudden death. Why didn’t we know? We were, we’d thought, a close-knit family. We should’ve known.
There were no words with which to comfort my mother.
“I’m Chad, I’ll be serving you ladies this afternoon.” A young man had arrived with our meals, deftly plating our choices and placing them in front of us. His eyes lingered on me before he sent me a little wink. I swallowed a chuckle. My mother waved him away, dismissing him.
“He’s handsome,” I observed, carefully eyeing the woman across the table.
She blanched, as expected. “You must be joking.”
As I snagged a piece of bread, my mom scowled at me. “It's my business not yours,” I stated.
Here it comes, I thought.
“If your match does not meet certain standards, your father and I will have to keep our distance.” In other words, they would shun me and retract any finances I may or may not need. My trust fund would only go so far. Thankfully, with my little occult shop, I didn’t need it. I would be fine. Besides, I knew her threat was idle, and they’d never follow through. She only spoke the words to convey how much she wanted me to cooperate. Still, it was a bit cruel.
“Please don’t talk like that, you sound so snobby. Don’t say things you don’t mean.” I softened my tone. “I know it's only because you care. I apologize. Please don’t worry so much, everything will be fine.” I reached across the table again and squeezed her hand lightly.
My mother straightened her shoulders, the worry vanishing from her eyes and being replaced with regret. “We love you and only want the best for you.”
“I know.” I smiled. And I did know. Despite their snobbish ways and hollow words, they had always been loving and affectionate parents.