Chapter 9
I caught his eye on the street and for a moment I felt like I could be a lady. Any lady. One walking down the street to buy a new ribbon, clean and new and the sort he might want. I forgot myself.
—Belle Martin’s Diary, April 1868
It had been a cloudy day, which was a relief in some ways. The summer heat hung on late in this part of the state but as the year faded into September, there was more chill in the morning, more bite at night.
The silver clouds that hung over the mountains were swollen, and he was surprised that they hadn’t burst yet.
He was making small talk in his mind.
Talking about the weather so he didn’t think about Jessie and taking her out to dinner tonight.
He had made a reservation for the two of them at the best restaurant in town, and he was trying to decide if he should text her and tell her to dress up or see what she came up with on her own. He knew that he was playing games, but he couldn’t help it. Or maybe he could, and he just didn’t want to. What he didn’t expect, and yet didn’t find a complete surprise, was for his mom to call. But just as he was about to turn on the shower so that he could get cleaned up before getting dressed, his phone rang.
He groaned. “Hello?”
“Hi, Flynn,” she said. Always hesitant, as if she had cold-called a stranger. But in some ways, he supposed that was true.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How are things?”
“Good. Good. I have some new elk coming, going to go ahead and increase the herd because the initial investment has been so successful. But I don’t think that’s why you’re calling me.”
The silence on the other end was indignant. He had done it. He had called her game, and she never liked it when he did that. She always wanted to pretend that she was just a mother calling her son. She never wanted a reminder that they were the furthest thing from a conventional family.
“I talked to your sister.”
She always said that.Your sister.As if Cassidy didn’t exist, as if he didn’t have a sister that he considered far more of one than Danielle. As if she could only be talking about one person.
“Danielle?” He didn’t insult either of them by asking which sister, but he did decide to make it a question.
“Yes,” she said. “She said that your girlfriend is challenging her in the election?”
To his mother’s credit, he had a feeling that Danielle had not put it that way at all. He had a feeling that she had gone in ranting and raving about him and Jessie Jane lying. At least his mother was not coming at him with that. He almost felt bad. Because theywerelying. Because he was doing this to mess with Danielle. It would’ve been nice, actually, to be on the high road, looking down on his suspicious sister from a great height of moral superiority. But he wasn’t. He was as bad as she suspected. But then, that was the whole game, wasn’t it?
He was born of a sinner. And therefore he could never be a saint. Not like them.
“She is,” he said. “And I know that Danielle is upset about it, but first of all, I don’t tell Jessie what to do, and I wouldn’t think you would approve if I did. Second of all, if Danielle runs a good campaign, she shouldn’t be nervous.”
“It’s … it’s just upsetting, of course, to have you two in tension this way.”
Again, he held back the meaner response. “Well, Jessie Jane isn’t your daughter, so there doesn’t need to be any tension for you.”
“Is there any for you?”
“No.”
Maybe that was cruel. But in this instance, he wasn’t in the mood to hold back.
“I see.”
“You can’t magically be close to someone you’ve never even spent any time with. Genetics don’t magically make that happen.”
Maybe they did for some people. He’d seen videos of kids who were given up for adoption meeting their birth parents for the first time as adults and clearly feeling an instant bond by virtue of that connection. He didn’t feel that for his family. He just didn’t.
“I just would hate to think that you were doing any of this because you’re angry with me.”
