The Glass Kitchen (35 page)

“I am not a baby,” she told herself, climbing the rest of the stairs to the second floor, music thrumming up the walls, smoke following her. “I am not afraid of what I’m going to find.”

Though the truth was, she was scared out of her wits. She could hardly believe she’d gotten herself down to the Port Authority, on a bus, then a taxi, and was now getting ready to dig around in her mom’s study. Dad was going to kill her.

Which brought her back to the fact that Dad wasn’t her dad. Or so Uncle Anthony said.

She felt another one of those disconcerting surges, like she disappeared just a little bit more. Shaking it off, she slipped into the study, closing the door behind her with a
click.
The music faded away as she walked to the big wooden chest that sat low on the floor, the hinged top covered by a thick cushion that matched the curtains.

Carefully, Ariel pried open the top, images flashing through her memory of the last time she had snuck into the room. She had been home sick from school, just a month before her mom died, and had woken from one of those feverish naps. The house felt so different in the middle of the day, during the week, the neighborhood weirdly quiet. She had woken up and went to find her mother, discovering her kneeling in front of the chest.

“Mom?”

Her mother had jerked up. At the sight of Ariel, she had dragged in a deep breath.
“Damn it, Ariel!”

Ariel had flinched. Her totally proper mother cursing, her mother who always said anyone who cursed was white trash. Of course, now it turned out that Mom had grown up eating out of tin cans instead of with silver spoons.

Back then she’d been confused by her mother’s anger. But now, Ariel thought about her mom growing up in the Amsterdam Houses, and wondered if the outburst had been from guilt. She’d probably been hiding that box … or whatever it was.

Ariel tucked her hair behind her ears, then rummaged around inside the chest, but found nothing. Not that she had expected to find anything there. Her mother had been specific about Ariel finding something behind it.

She lowered the top, then grabbed the edge of the chest and pulled hard, tugging it away from the wall. There wasn’t any box she could see. The wallpaper was just barely darker, not faded, but other than that, she didn’t notice anything different. She dropped to her knees and ran her hand down the pattern of vines and roses, slowly, feeling. Her heart pounded. The wall felt normal.

She sat back on her heels, trying to figure out what she had gotten wrong. Her mother had said the memory chest, she was sure of it. Leaning forward, she ran her hand down the wall again, this time even slower. Then she felt it. A seam, a break in the wallpaper over a tiny door.

She broke out in a sweat. A burst of laughter from downstairs startled her. She glanced back, but the door to the study was still closed.

She ran her hand along the seams, but didn’t find a handle. Frustrated, she banged and it popped open. She squeaked in surprise, then peered inside. Her heart squeezed again when she saw a box at the very back of the space.

“The box,”
her mother had said to her. It had just been the two of them in the car, blood all over, Ariel staring in shock.

She pulled the box out with shaking hands. Her fingers shook as her thumb pulled back the metal clasp. The lock was stiff, and at first the lid wouldn’t give.

When Ariel finally pried it open, she found a big manila envelope. It wasn’t sealed and inside she found a to-do list, a key, and two smaller envelopes, one with
Gabriel
scrawled across the front. The other was addressed to
Mr. Carter Davis
. Underneath that, her mom had written
Bell, Longo, Lynch and Smith, LLC.
Lawyers.

Do not read,
Ariel told herself. None of it was addressed to her. Her mom had said to give it to her dad. And no question, just like everything else, she knew she totally didn’t want to know what was written inside either one of these letters. But she also knew she couldn’t hide anymore from the stuff she didn’t want to know. If she turned the letters over without reading them herself, her father would never let her in on whatever secret her mother had hidden.

Wasn’t learning the truth the whole reason for coming all the way out to Montclair in the first place? Hadn’t Miranda coming out here for whatever stupid reason given her the courage to follow? To find out? It seemed like a sign that it was time.

She read the to-do list first.

1. Get copy of the will

2. Make copy of Anthony’s document

3. Call C. Davis

Since it looked like everything was still here, and there was no sign of a will, Ariel assumed her mom hadn’t finished whatever she had been doing.

Swallowing, she opened the letter to the lawyer first.

Dear Mr. Davis,

I got your name from a friend I used to know when my father was still living. He said you were discreet, and could help me. This is something I have needed to deal with for some time now, but haven’t had the first clue how to do it. I am getting a copy of my will. I would like you to add an addendum based on documents I’m supplying. I’ve also included a letter to my husband. Once everything is completed, I would like you to hold on to the entire package. If something happens to me before I can deal with this situation in a better way, please give the letter, documents, keys, and amended will to my husband.

Thank you,                   

Victoria Polanski Kane

Ariel took a deep breath and then slid her fingers under the flap of the second envelope, her chipped and half-painted nails taunting her as she broke the seal. Her hands shook even more as she pulled out the letter and started to read.

Gabriel,

Not Dear Gabriel, or Dearest Gabriel. Just his name. Short. Harsh. Impersonal. She hated that.

If you’re reading this, something has happened to me, which hardly seems possible as I write these words. But that’s not the point.

Will it surprise you if I said I was never brave enough? I never was, not really. I’m still not, as writing this letter instead of telling you to your face proves. But here’s the truth: I never meant to hurt you or the girls. In my own way, with this key and letter, I’m trying to fix things. Believe it or not, I really do try to be a better person, even if you would swear that I rarely succeed.

Ariel felt as if her mom’s frustration and anger boiled from the page. All that stuff, that emotion between her parents that she had never let herself see.

I know as I write this that eventually I’ll have to fix things in a better way than this letter I’m going to give to a lawyer. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell you what I’ve done. I’ve worked hard for years to keep my secret.

Frankly, I plan to live a long life, so with any luck you’ll never know that I was a fool. I always said “Fake it ’til you make it.” I wonder if that ever works, or if we end up spending our lives trying to be someone we’re not. Who knows? But I do know that when it came to the Kane brothers, Anthony believed in me. Your brother loved me for the drama of me. You never believed. You hated the drama. Why couldn’t I have just wanted Anthony?

The truth is, I wanted you all along, even though it was Anthony who made me feel alive. Of course you never wanted me. I knew that. But I wanted you anyway. I knew you’d give me the life I wanted. So I got you the only way I knew how. I was young and pretty, and had the sort of hunger that most hardscrabble, scared girls have, which isn’t so hard to understand, given where I came from. I knew what I wanted and was determined to get it. That’s all I could see. I never considered who might get hurt in the process.

Of course you remember that drunken night when I seduced you and ended up pregnant. You thought I was shallow, and you hated me after that, but you married me anyway, as I was sure you would. From the moment I met you, I knew you were a man who took his responsibilities seriously. THAT is what I did love about you. And I wanted that responsibility to be me. You would give me the life I wanted. You would be my prince to my Cinderella. Foolish, I know. But isn’t that every poor girl’s dream? Anthony would never be able to do that for me. I thank my lucky stars every day for that night, for Miranda. And I thank God you couldn’t have loved Miranda more. It’s to your great credit that your resentment of me never spilled over to our daughter.

Proof that Miranda was Dad’s real daughter.

Ariel’s stomach lurched; she hated the truth, not that she really wanted Miranda not to be legit. It was just that Miranda being legit proved that Anthony hadn’t lied about that part.

Her heart pounded, but she kept reading.

That wasn’t my only sin. I also knew you hated that Anthony thought
you
seduced
me
to win me away from him. I’m still amazed that you never told Anthony the truth: that I seduced you.

If I’m really truthful, I loved that he was madly jealous that we married. Do you understand the draw for a girl like me to have two men seeming to fight for me, even if one of the men wasn’t really fighting for me, but for his unborn child? And when you never forgave me—always made it clear that I had tricked you, even if it was through your stoic silence—is it really a surprise that I would seek out the only man who did make me feel beautiful and loved? When you married me, I swore that I would never sleep with Anthony again, and I swear I wouldn’t have if you had ever tried to love me. Do you get that part of this is your fault?

In the end, yes, I went back to your brother. Does it matter that it wasn’t right away? Does it matter that we both knew by then that our marriage was falling apart?

Of course it doesn’t. But even then, I was given a gift. This time, it was Ariel.

Ariel moaned out loud, her fingers curling into the paper. She squeezed her eyes closed, every inch of her growing hot and sick and hurting. But she couldn’t stop now.

Just as with Miranda, you loved Ariel from the moment she came into the world. I saw the love in your eyes as you held Ariel for the first time. I never had the heart to tell you Anthony was her father, not even as a way to hurt you more when I still couldn’t find a way to make you want me. But Anthony knew, and I’ve paid dearly to keep him quiet.

But that’s the past.

Anthony Kane might love me in his own equally selfish way, but he cares more about himself and money than anything else. Do not, I repeat, do not ever let him convince you otherwise. If you are reading this, then I’m no longer in a position to continue funneling money to Anthony in order to keep Ariel safe. Please don’t let him hurt her. Please don’t let him use her to hurt you. Hopefully by the time you read this, I will have been able to pull it all together so that you have everything you need to make sure he can’t.

I have done a lot of things I’m ashamed of. Despite how I got them, the best thing I have produced in my life is our daughters. Ours. Yours, Gabriel. Both of them. I can only hope my sins won’t get in the way of you keeping both of them safe.

Victoria

Ariel couldn’t breathe. What did it mean? How could Anthony hurt her? A scream pounded inside her, wanting to get out. Panic licked at her as her greatest fear was realized, the one that she had been too afraid to say out loud: Anthony really was her father, and Gabriel Kane didn’t know. Yet.

After he read this, would he turn her over to Anthony?

“No,” she whispered.

Her fingers closed around the small key, deciding she should figure out what the key opened before she told anyone about it. Inch by inch, she went through her mom’s study, biting her lip hard to keep the tears away. Maybe her mom had a safe somewhere with money to pay off Anthony. She picked up decorative boxes and frames filled with photos—photos of her, Miranda, Dad—looking for something that needed a key.

There was nothing. Her mom would never have hidden the box or whatever it was in the bedroom, not the one she shared with Dad. Ariel stuffed the envelopes in her backpack and left the study. She peered down the stairs. Most of the kids were in the living room playing weird dare games. She could just make out a girl shoving marshmallows into her mouth, one by one, the kids egging her on and then laughing when she spit them out. Seriously, idiots. But there was no sign of Miranda or Dustin.

She ran down the stairs, through the dining room, through the swinging door into the kitchen, then into the den. A bunch of kids were in there now, but still no Miranda. Ariel kept going to the stairway leading to the basement.

Nerves made her slip and clatter down the thin wooden staircase, catching herself on the banister, stumbling into the dark space, but she managed to find the tiny chain that worked the lightbulb. The bulb cast a weak light, not much, but she managed to find a flashlight, then went through the basement. She was hardly breathing as she went through old metal lockers with no locks, cabinets, boxes. Nothing that needed a key.

“Damn, damn,
damn
!” she cried, slamming the lid on a trunk, dust puffing up in the dank air.

Crashing down onto a low work stool, she dropped her head into her hands. She was covered in dust and grime, her wild hair tangled, her clothes filthy. But she still didn’t have what she needed.

She sat up all of a sudden. Would their mom have told Miranda something? Was that why Miranda had said they would talk later?

Ariel hurtled up the stairs from the basement, her backpack banging side to side on her shoulders like a pendulum as she ran. In the den, two kids were now making out on the couch, the TV blaring, beer cans lying about the tables like crumpled tin soldiers. She raced through the swinging door from the den to the kitchen and then to the dining room and found a girl crying at the table, a friend trying to console her. She didn’t stop. In the foyer, another girl stood on the stairs sipping a beer, a guy leaning up against the banister, probably trying to convince her to go upstairs to one of the bedrooms.