My Favorite Mistake (13 page)

“Whatever,” she said. “I hear you, Oh Great Financial Wizard, okay? I'm dealing with it.”

Grabbing the blouse off her bed and her favorite pair of jeans from the pile of clean laundry Mrs. Grigoryan had left on a chair, she stomped into her bathroom and slammed the door behind her. She really didn't want to think about investments or maximizing profits or anything like that right now. All she wanted to do was get dressed for her date with Alex so she could go out and have a good time and not worry about any of this for a while.

Kate could hear shouting even before she opened the front door. All her father, of course. Her mother never raised her voice.

She hesitated, tempted to back away and take off again. But where would she go? It was well after 10:00 p.m. Jamie had shooed her home from the barn after she'd spent the past couple of hours helping the grooms clean out the trailers and settle the horses in. The usual Sunday-night postshow routine. Now all she wanted was food, shower, and sleep. In that order.

Taking a deep breath, she went in. Her parents were both in the front room. The TV was tuned to some cooking show, volume muted. Her mother was sitting on the worn plaid couch with four candlesticks, a rag, and a tub of brass cleaner set out on the coffee table in front of her. Kate's father, still in his cop's uniform, was pacing back and forth between his wife and the TV.

“… and if we don't beat some sense into that boy now, it'll be too late!” he was yelling when Kate came in. “He has to know there are consequences to the dumb-ass things he's doing!”

“Please don't shout, William,” her mother said in her soft, feeble voice. “Andy already explained that he had no idea the police would have any reason to break up that party. He just went along with his friends, that's all.”

Kate winced. Great. So her younger brother was up to more trouble. Ever since he'd turned fourteen and started hanging out with a new bunch of friends, it had been all downhill with him. He'd skipped so much school last year that he had
to go to summer school. That wasn't going too well, either, since he'd ditched his very first day and probably 50 percent of those since. Now it sounded like he was in even more trouble.

Her father heard the door shut behind her. “Katie!” he said, his voice softening. “You're home.”

“I'm home,” Kate said lightly. Pretending she hadn't just heard them fighting. That she didn't know what was going on.

“Good.” Her mother stood up. “Now that you're home safely, I'm going to bed. Good night.”

Not meeting either her husband or daughter's eye, she rushed out of the room. Kate's father watched her go with a heavy sigh, then turned to Kate again.

“You hungry? Come on, I'll make you a sandwich.”

He headed toward the kitchen without waiting for a response. Kate dropped her stuff at the foot of the stairs, then followed. She slid onto one of the stools at the butcher-block island, watching her father dig into the refrigerator.

“Ham and Swiss okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, fine,” Kate said.

He tossed a loaf of bread on the island, along with a couple of deli packages and a tub of mayo. “So how was the show?” he asked, turning away to grab a plate out of a cabinet.

“Good,” Kate said. “I did the eq again on that fancy horse Jamie's been letting me ride. Didn't pin, though.”

“Hmm.” Her father's big, callused hands were already busy putting together her sandwich. He didn't know much about horses or showing—thanks to his work schedule, he rarely got to come watch her ride anymore. But usually he at least
pretended to be interested in the details. Tonight, she could tell he was too distracted to care.

“You probably heard your mother and me arguing when you came in, Katie,” he said, turning away to grab the mustard out of the fridge. “I don't want you to worry. It's just your brother—growing pains, I guess you could call it. It's upsetting your mother quite a bit, and well …”

He let his voice trail off. Kate just sat there, wishing she could be anywhere else. Cleaning a stall. Stacking itchy hay bales. Anything.

Her father finally turned back and met her eye. “Nobody ever said life was always a field full of daffodils,” he said with a sigh. “Seems like maybe this is one of those no-daffodils times for this family.” He reached over and touched her on the arm. “I'm just glad you're still your same good, normal self, Katie. Makes things a little easier knowing that, anyway.”

Kate forced a smile, not knowing what to say. Her father squirted some mustard on the sandwich, slapped on the top piece of bread, and set it in front of her.

“There you go,” he said. “Eat up, then get some sleep.” He shot a look toward the master bedroom across the narrow back hallway. “I'm going to try to talk to your mother.”

As soon as he left, Kate felt herself start to shake. Her father seemed to think she had it all figured out. That she was just as happy and single-minded as she'd been as a little girl, back when the only thing she had to worry about was earning enough money pulling weeds or walking dogs to pay for her next ride at Happy Acres.

Little did he know how hard she was working right now
just to hold it together. Or how quickly everything seemed to be spinning out of control. That disaster with Ford, and the way the secret kept gnawing at her. The way she'd let Jamie and Fable down in her eq class. Even her relationship with Fitz felt too shaky for comfort—sure, things were good again now, but for how long? How could it possibly last when they were so different?

She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of it all. Although she suddenly realized that feeling might also have something to do with being hungry—she hadn't eaten since splitting a bad horse-show burger with Dani at lunch, many hours earlier. The scents of ham, mustard, and mayo wafted up, making her forget everything else for a moment.

Grabbing the sandwich, she opened her mouth to shove it in, ready to wolf down the whole thing in one bite. But she stopped herself before she actually did it. Things were bad enough right now without pigging out and making herself
really
sick. She couldn't afford to wake up with a stomachache because she'd eaten too much too late at night. At least she should be able to manage to avoid that, even if she couldn't seem to handle a fresh horse anymore, or a fresh guy.

Kate set the sandwich back on the plate, then grabbed the knife her father had dropped on the counter. Carefully pressing the dull blade into the soft bread, she cut the sandwich into four equal sections. Then she picked up one of the sections and ate it, taking small bites and chewing carefully to make it last. She'd read in some magazine somewhere that it was healthier to eat that way, anyhow.

When she finished, she stared at the other three sections
for a second. She thought about eating one more. But no—she'd already decided that one was safer. If she didn't have the strength to stick to a stupid decision like that, how could she ever expect to get the rest of her life in order?

Grabbing the plate, she quickly dumped the rest of the sandwich in the trash before she could weaken. Good. That was done. She felt better immediately, stronger, even though her stomach was still grumbling a little.

But that was okay. She could handle that. No problem.

Zara woke up, rolled over to look at the clock on her bedside table, and groaned. Almost two in the afternoon.

“Ugh,” she muttered, her mouth feeling cottony and gross. She was pretty sure it was Tuesday, which meant she was supposed to be at Pelham Lane for the juniors' group lesson in a couple of hours. What time had she finally passed out last night, anyway? She couldn't remember. Stacie had invited some people over—again—and things had ended up getting pretty crazy.

Zara rolled over and lurched to her feet. Stumbling over to her bathroom, she stuck her head under the cold-water tap until she started to feel more human.

Soon she was out on the landing overlooking the main room. The place was a wreck, but that was no surprise. Stacie hadn't bothered to clean up at all after the last few parties. Why should this one be any different?

The surprise was that this time, not all the partyers had
gone home. And not just whichever lucky guy Stacie chose to let pass out on top of her, either. This time there were three or four strangers sleeping it off down there, nestled into various sofas and chairs and, in one case, sprawled on the floor under a table.

“Great,” Zara said aloud. “Fabulous. Just what I need.”

She stomped down to the guest room at the other end of the row of bedrooms. When Zara glanced in through the half-open door, some short, stocky guy with a hairy back was flat out and snoring on the big double bed. No Stacie. Zara even tiptoed in to check the bathroom, but her cousin wasn't in there, either.

Okay, now what? Zara was heading for the stairs when she heard her phone ringing in her room. She dashed in and grabbed it off her bedside table. To her surprise, the caller ID read:
GINA GIRARD
.

“Mom?” Zara blurted out, pressing the phone to her ear. “Is that really you?”

“Zara, my love!” Her mother's warm, melodious voice poured into her ear. “How are you? I miss you like crazy!”

“Me too.” Zara sank down onto the edge of her bed. “Where are you calling from?”

“The set here in Vancouver.” Gina sighed. “There's some kind of trouble with some permit or something, and it's causing all sorts of delays. Since I'm just standing around twiddling my thumbs here, I decided it was the perfect time to call and check in on how my favorite daughter's doing.”

She was Gina's
only
daughter, but Zara smiled anyway. She hadn't spoken to her mother in almost two weeks, and until now hadn't realized how much she'd actually missed her.

“Everything's cool,” she said. “I'm totally showing New York who's boss.”

Gina laughed. “I bet you are,” she said. “But listen, your dad told me about your cousin coming to stay. How's that going? You two girls getting along all right?”

Zara hesitated, her gaze straying through the open doorway to the overlook. Living in a nonstop party zone was getting a little old, and there was a really easy way to put a stop to it. All she had to do was tell her mother the truth about everything that had been going on, and Stacie would be on a bus back to Southeast BumbleFlip as fast as she could pack up her mall-slut wardrobe.

“Um, it's fine,” she said. “I mean, I told Zac I didn't need a babysitter, but whatever.”

Sure, Stacie was getting a little carried away with the partying. So what? Zara wasn't going to narc her out. She wasn't like that.

“I know you think you're grown up enough to stay alone, love,” her mom said. “But your dad and I both feel better knowing someone's there with you.”

Yeah. Zara glanced out toward the main room again. What would Gina say if she could see just how many people were keeping her company in the loft right now?

“So how's the movie going?” she asked, deciding it was time for a change of subject. “Have to kiss any fat old has-beens with bad breath?”

Like any actor Zara had ever met, her mother didn't need a second invitation to talk about herself. She launched into a vivid description of every step of the movie-making process as if revealing the meaning of life.

Finally Zara cut her off in the middle of some boring story about one of the makeup artists. “Listen, Mom, I've got to go,” she said. “I have a riding lesson today.”

“Sounds fun,” Gina said. “I should go, too. There's a reporter visiting the set today from one of the big news weeklies, and I don't want to let my costars hog all the free publicity!” Her musical laugh sounded tinny over the phone. “Talk to you soon, my love!”

“Bye, Mom.” Zara hung up and walked over to her closet to see if she had any clean breeches. She was going to have to book if she didn't want to be late. Jamie really hated it when anyone was late.

But wait. How the hell was she supposed to get to the barn? Stacie was supposed to be playing chauffeur as part of her Zara-sitting duties. But even if she happened to turn up in the next few minutes, Zara somehow doubted her cousin was in any condition for the hour-plus drive up to Westchester County. At least based on her condition the last time she recalled seeing her, somewhere around 3:00 a.m.

“Shit,” she said. For a second she thought about calling Tommi. Okay, so she probably wouldn't be thrilled to drive all the way downtown to pick her up, especially after last time. But maybe Zara could hop the subway up to Tommi's place. She just needed to take the E train to the 4-5-6. Or was it the 1 to the 7? Dammit, she still couldn't keep all the different lines and transfers straight. Back in LA, nobody ever even thought about taking the pathetic excuse for a subway, so who could blame her for having trouble?