Binding the Shadows (Arcadia Bell) (16 page)

Ugh. Family dinner with Rose.

Lon said he took care of everything with her. Guess I was about to find out how true that really was. I could do this. Yes, I could. My chin was up, I was ready, and everything was going to be fine.

As I shut my car door, the troops filed out of the door: Adella, Rose, Mr. and Mrs. Holiday, all led by Jupe.

“You made it!” he said as he strode to meet me, corkscrew curls bobbing.

“Told you I would.”

He flashed me a humungous, toothy grin and tackled me in a hug.

“Jeez, I’ve only been gone one night,” I said into his hair. But I was secretly pleased that he was so glad to see me. It bolstered my shaky nerves. “Really only a few hours.”

“Seventeen hours,” he corrected with his usual mathematical precision. As he pulled away from me, his gaze fell to my chest, then leapt back up. His eyes were moons. He bit the inside of his mouth and made some weird noise before turning away to shoo Foxglove back inside the house.

Heat blazed across my face.

Why did I wear Kar Yee’s shirt? It was way too tight. I considered running inside to change. Maybe I was underdressed anyway. But when I quickly surveyed everyone, I found that they were all pretty casual. Adella was even wearing jeans. She was not, however, wearing a top that made her breasts look like beach balls.

I slapped on a smile and greeted everyone with a weak “hello.”

Rose’s gaze swept over me as she studied me through glasses perched low on her nose. I braced myself.

“Good afternoon, Cady. You’re looking better today.”

Uhh . . . was that a dig? She smiled at me. Pleasantly. Was it fake? Was she trying to tell me that my boobs were a salacious spectacle, further proof to her theory that I was unfit to be in Jupe’s life?

“No chasing down robbers, I take it.” She pressed two fingers into her silvery cropped hair and fussed it into place.

“Actually—”

“Did you catch them?”

“Not yet.”

She smiled again. “I’m sure you will. Do you like seafood?”

Still waiting for the punch line, I answered hesitantly. “Umm, yes?”

“Good. We’re going to Cypress House, out on the water. Ever been?”

“No.”

“We have standing reservations,” Mrs. Holiday said. “We go every year.”

“Maybe I should just run in and change—”

“It’s casual, don’t worry,” Mr. Holiday assured me.

“The kind of place that gives you wooden hammers to crack crabs on the table,” Lon added.

“Which is
awesome,
” Jupe piped up, now over the fact that I flaunted my dirty pillows in his face. “Crab guts everywhere. I once got crab brain in my eye. But, Cady, listen—”

“Listening.”

“—they have these things called spot prawns. They are the biggest shrimp you’ve
ever
seen, and they’re only available certain times of the year. And they grill them in the shell. Oh, and they normally come three on a plate, but I can eat a dozen.”

“That’s impressive,” I mumbled.

“They’re good, but I’m with Lon. Dungeness crab all the way,” Adella said, waggling her eyebrows like Jupe always does.

“Why choose?” Jupe said with a slow shrug. “Gramma’s paying.”

The Giovanni matriarch smiled the sweetest smile at him and tousled his hair. “That’s right. You order whatever you want, baby. Now how are we getting there, Lon? You think we’ll fit in your SUV?”

“If we don’t, we’ll just tie Motormouth to the roof.”

“Oh, yeah! Dare me! I’ll do it,” Jupe said brightly. “You think we’d get arrested?”

“I think you’d get splattered in bugs,” Adella said. “You can sit on my lap.”

“No way! You’ll tickle me.”

And while they continued to argue about seating, piling into the SUV one by one, Rose patted me on the shoulder as she was going by. That’s when it really hit me: she was being genuine. Not judge-y. Not accusatory. Had I just been accepted? I glanced at Lon in disbelief as he helped her into the front passenger seat. What in the world had he told Rose to change her mind? He gave me a little wink, as if to say “told ya—I got this.”

It was all I could do not to break down and weep.

Two hours later, we were all slumped in our chairs, full and groaning. Cypress House put us on an enclosed outdoor patio twinkling with white lights. It overlooked the dark ocean and a winding, lit walkway leading to a cluster of Cypress trees growing on a bluff above the water. It was really nice, but casual, just as they said. And I was surprised how easy it was to feel comfortable around the Giovannis.

Imagine that.

I laughed at family stories. Jupe and I even told a few of our own. I felt like I was part of something. Like I was welcome, and things were going to be okay after all. It was pathetic, really, how much I craved their acceptance. Rationally, I knew if I was sprawled on some doctor’s couch, delving into the deep, dark workings of my brain, I’d come to the realization that this was because of my fucked-up relationship with my fucked-up parents. Of course it was. But knowing something and
experiencing
it were not the same.

Lon flashed me a small, approving smile when no one was paying attention. I think I might’ve actually sighed with happiness at that smile. And as the dinner progressed, that smile changed to something bolder. He gave me pornographic looks from across the table, heavy gaze sliding to my breasts, squished inside the too-tight shirt. One of those looks gave me goose bumps, and his oh-so-smug look told me he knew. It was kind of romantic for a moment, minus being surrounded by in-laws and Jupe merrily mutilating the steaming corpses of several crabs with his wooden mallet. Though he never managed the dozen spot prawns, he made up for it in crab, and now sat between Adella and me, bellyaching.

“I think I’m going to explode,” he moaned.

“Are you really?” Adella’s hair wasn’t tied back with a scarf tonight; the shape of her poofy mass of curls was exactly the same size as Jupe’s. She poked a finger into his ribs, making him jump in his seat.

“Don’t do it, Auntie,” he pleaded. “I might throw up.”

“He might do worse than that,” Lon said after swigging the last of a beer.

“It’s true,” Jupe admitted, stifling a soft belch. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

A commotion somewhere inside the restaurant dragged my attention to the patio door. It swung open, and a tall African-American woman strolled onto the patio with a protesting waiter in tow. Dark glossy hair cascaded around her bare shoulders, swaying with the flowing hem of her gold and black dress. Towering on clicking, spindly heels, she came to a stop in the middle of the patio and surveyed the room. After a moment, her long, regal face turned our way to reveal almond shaped brown eyes framed by miles of lashes, and flawless nutmeg skin.

She looked like a supermodel. A supermodel with a green halo crowning her head. A green halo flecked with gold.

Yvonne Giovanni.

No no no no no.

Her eyes found Lon’s. I saw it all unfold in slow motion, as if I’d used my moon magick to slow time. Shock stretched his facial features. With a shrill pop, the neck of the brown beer bottle shattered in his hands. He didn’t even notice. His nostrils flared as he pushed to his feet, and then—

And then his face just turned to putty. His eyes went all liquid and adoring. He looked as if he’d just seen the face of God. Rapturous.

My heart stuttered inside my chest, turned black, and shriveled.

If I hadn’t been consumed by a jealous rage, I might’ve realized that what I was seeing in Lon’s face was her knack being turned on full-blast. And if I realized that, I might’ve had sense enough not to look back up at her.

But I didn’t have sense, and I did look up. And my world tilted.

I was awestruck. Reeling. I knew how Cupid must’ve felt when he looked upon Psyche after pricking himself with his own arrow. The woman who’d strolled onto the restaurant patio moments before was beautiful, but this woman—this version of Yvonne—was brighter than a star. Ravishing, beautiful, perfect. I wanted to stare at her for hours.

How could one person be so . . . divine?

For a moment, just a moment, I heard a chorus of murmurs around the table, murmurs of awe confirming the same feelings I had. Then a single, sharp voice broke through the haze.

“Yvonne Grace Giovanni! Switch that off before I come over there and knock you into the middle of next week.”

All the shiny, shiny brilliance and the beauty and the overwhelming goodness just . . . dimmed. The goddess disappeared. And a retired forty-something supermodel stood in her place. Still stunning. Still regal. But just a person.

How had Rose resisted Yvonne’s knack? Was she immune, being her mother? Or just accustomed to it? Whatever it was, Yvonne didn’t seem surprised—she just took a deep breath and spoke to her.

“Hello, Mama.”

“What in blazes are you doing here?” her mother snapped.

“It’s Christmas. I came to see my child.”

“I told you not to come!” Jupe said in a desperate voice.

Lon stepped between Yvonne and the table, as if he meant to defend all of us from some fire-breathing dragon. “You’ve been talking to him?” His brows knitted. An angry, deep line creased the middle of his forehead as he got in her face. She moved her head to the side, trying to avoid his gaze, but he moved with her, not touching her, but close. She finally gave in and stared back at him, a little defiant, a little fearful.

“She called last week,” Jupe mumbled next to me. “I should’ve told you, Dad. I’m sorry. But I told her not to come—I swear! She was asking about dinner, and—”

Lon whipped around and stared daggers at Jupe. “And you told her?”

“He didn’t have to,” Yvonne said sourly. “You all eat at the same place every year.”

“I told her not to come,” Jupe repeated again, and started to offer some other protest, but Lon shot him a warning look that shut Jupe down—they’d definitely be discussing the kid’s secret-keeping later.

Lon swung back to Yvonne. “The court says you get to see him from noon until five, Christmas Day, as long as you notify me first. You’ve known this for years. Nothing’s changed.”

“Well, what if
I
have?”

“If I had a fucking nickel every time I’ve heard that.”

She sniffled, affronted, then squared her shoulders. “That’s fair, I suppose.” Her eyes roamed over him, curious. Her shoulders dropped. She swallowed. “You look good, Lon.” She reached out to touch his hair, but he jerked his head back. Her arm fell against her hip. She blinked a few times and awkwardly tried to make light of the rebuff. “It’s not fair you aren’t going gray. I have a regular appointment at the stylist to keep mine covered.” She gave him a soft smile. When he didn’t return it, she stepped out of his path and glanced around the table.

“No hello from you?” she said to Adella. “I’ve left messages the last couple weeks.”

Adella stared her sister down for a few minutes, then simply said, “Been busy.”

Yvonne nervously rattled her clutch handbag against her thigh. She nodded at Mr. and Mrs. Holiday. “Good to see you, both.”

They didn’t answer.

Finally, Yvonne’s eyes flicked to mine. Then my halo. She flinched as some sort of recognition sparked. Oh, yes, she knew who I was. At least, she knew
what
I was: the girlfriend. A thousand expressions passed over her face. At first I thought she might laugh—some vaguely cruel, laughter-like sound got stuck in her throat. Then she looked confused. Or maybe it was disbelief. She slanted a glance at Lon, shook her head, and said, “I see.”

In my head, I’d imagined Yvonne as an evil villain. Someone who abandoned her son for parties and a cocaine addiction that survived five stints in some of the country’s most exclusive rehabilitation centers. Who unashamedly cheated on Lon with countless other men. Who slashed Lon with a knife in front of the county courthouse on the day of their divorce. Who the judge decreed wasn’t fit to see her own child without another adult present.

Someone her own family had given up on years ago.

But now that she was standing in front of me, looking less like a monster and more like someone who’d fucked up their life beyond repair, I didn’t know what to say to her. She didn’t have my sympathy, exactly, but I felt sorry for her, nonetheless.

She cleared her throat and spoke to me. “I’m Jupe’s mother.”

It took me a few moments to recognize the remark as laying claim. Some weird feral part of me bristled. For a brief moment, I had visions of jumping on Yvonne and scratching her eyes out. Maybe calling up the moon power and binding the shit out of her until she begged me to release her.

Then Jupe’s hand slipped into mine under the table. He was shaking. And that melted my heart a little. I folded my fingers around his. This was about
him
—not about me or my insecurities. He was looking up to me. I had to be the bigger person. So I simply replied, “I’m here now.”

He squeezed my fingers. I squeezed back.

Gold bracelets clinked on her wrist as she lifted her hand to flip her hair away from her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve heard stories,” she said to me. “Remember, not everything you read in tabloids is true. I’ve had to sue over some of those articles.”