Page 24 of Return to Whitmore
“But don’t you get it?” Charlotte whispered. “It means you’re not my real sister, Nina. It means we aren’t related at all.”
Nina scrunched up her face and grabbed Charlotte’s hands. “Are you kidding me?” she demanded, without hesitating. “You’re my sister, no matter what. I love you. Don’t you forget it.”
Chapter Eleven
November 2001
It wasn’t initially obvious that Jack didn’t have any money. After Charlotte followed Jack from the documentary screening to that little dive bar, they drank beer after beer and cracked jokes and seemed, miraculously, to avoid conversations about the fire and Jack’s faked death. Every time Charlotte accidentally called him Jack, he shushed her and reminded her of his new name, Seth. And every time, Charlotte stage-whispered, “Seth Green? That’s a terrible name. You don’t look anything like a Seth Green.”
Jack laughed and said, “That’s the funny part about it.”
“You’re the most Italian-looking guy in this bar,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Actually, like all Greens, I hail from Ireland,” he joked, putting on a horrible Irish accent.
Charlotte gave him a light punch on the arm. But she was euphoric. How was this possible?
Finally, after they ordered their third beer, Charlotte got up the nerve to ask Jack how he’d found her. “Why did you go to my documentary screening?”
Jack laughed and smacked his thigh. “It was the craziest thing. I read about the screening in a dinky-looking ’zine with a write-up about a few documentaries to watch out for at the festival. A girl I was crashing with had the ’zine on her bedside table, and I just happened to pick it up. When I read your name, I nearly lost my head. The girl asked me what was wrong, and I jumped out of bed and ran out.”
Charlotte could picture Jack crashing with some Manhattan beauty, building up his life in any way he could. “I would have freaked out, too.” She swallowed. “But seeing you is like engaging with a thousand Nantucket ghosts.”
If Charlotte wasn’t mistaken, Jack’s face flashed with pain that he immediately hid away. “We had a heck of a time, didn’t we?”
Charlotte took a breath and put her beer on the table with a clack. Outside, night had fallen, and a sturdy rain made Manhattan feel soggy with black ink. “Does anyone else know you’re alive?”
“Maybe,” Jack said, his eyes flashing.
“Does Mom?”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“You broke her heart, you know?”
Jack raised his shoulders. “It wasn’t my idea.”
Charlotte’s ears rang with alarm. “Whose idea was it?”
Jack sipped his beer and didn’t answer. Charlotte reached across the table to force his beer back to the table. “Come on, Jack. Seth. Whatever. Tell me what happened that night. It was the single-biggest disaster of my entire lifetime, and I’m starting to think…” She paused. “It wasn’t an accident, was it? Someone started that fire.”
Jack let out an ironic laugh, one that made her blood run cold. “Of course it wasn’t an accident.”
Charlotte bit her tongue, then forced herself to ask, “Did you start the fire?”
“No.” Jack flared his nostrils. “Like I said, it wasn’t my idea.”
Charlotte’s chest frothed with anger and fear. “Are you in trouble?”
“No, Charlotte.”
“Then why are you going by this ridiculous name?”
Jack shook his head ever so slightly. “Why don’t we talk about something else? Like, maybe, you? How was Italy? Did you have a wild and beautiful Italian life, like Mom always promised we would if we ever went back?”
Charlotte snorted. “You could say that. I found out Mom had an affair. Dad isn’t my real dad.”
Jack didn’t look entirely surprised.
