Page 68 of Dahlias, Sapphires, and Cool Autumn Dusk
He snorted. “Random, but yes, badly. The fathers all tried to bond with us for a little while after Phoenix came home from the hospital after the kidnapping. Eric took us to Hawaii, but Barrett hated it. He stayed in the room the whole time. Julian broke his finger slipping on something wet and complained the whole time, while Phoenix seemed practically catatonic. Prescription drugs, because of his trauma, so it left me to pretend I was happy. I tried to surf. It wasn’t pretty.”
Wow.He gave me a lot more than I asked for, so I quirked a brow at him. “That sounds awful.”
“It was. Particularly for Eric, who honestly believed he could heal us all by flying to Maui. It didn’t help that we had to call him Uncle Eric the whole time.” He shook his head. “But that was nothing compared to the disaster of Kit taking us to a dude ranch. Oh wow. No. Stephen thought we needed to hike? Patagonia.”
I stared at him. “And Daniel?”
“His was the best of the bunch, actually. He chose dirt bikes. We rode dirt bikes for a week, after Phoenix started talking again, too. He said shitty things mostly, but still…he spoke. Our vacations usually suck, if I’m honest.”
I lifted a hand, waving at Murial who I spotted up ahead. “I sometimes got brought on attempts at family vacations with my aunts and uncles. I usually tried to be as invisible as possible. The Hamptons was sort of a vacation. For a couple of days, at least.”
“Let’s go on a real vacation.”
I laughed. “Could we go right now? We have school.”
Murial wore a nondescript khaki dress and a pair of black heels I didn’t recognize. Her perfect ponytail and mascara made me think of a porcelain doll. Next to her, Davis wore almost the same outfit as Jer, but his shirt was white.
All in all, we modeled a page from some catalog for rich kids on the Upper East Side—proceed with caution. I didn’t know if I should be amused or ashamed for becoming part of the cliché.
“Lent.” Davis said then nodded to Jeremy. “Alatheia, you look lovely.”
There it is.The creep factor worked its way up my spine as his gaze traced up and down my body. His expression said if he got me alone, he wouldn’t let me leave if I said no. Maybe, like Tiffany, I read him wrong. I didn’t think so.
“Davis,” Jeremy replied, and I turned my attention to Murial.
“Thanks for inviting us to do…” I let my voice trail off, gesturing vaguely toward her.
“One of my uncles is investigating whether or not a painting he purchased was stolen from a Jewish family during the Holocaust. It would be bad taste to keep it, if it was, and he’ll return it. I expect press, but it might be a forgery. They’re in there now to make the determination. Fake? Or thereal deal. I thought you might like to see it happen.”
The real deal?My hands went cold.Does she know?
17
Imet Jeremy’s gaze, and he raised his eyebrows. I didn’t know if it comforted me or not that he seemed as confused as me.
I nodded, glancing back to Murial with a smile I hoped reached my eyes. “Certainly seems interesting, but I’m not sure I’ll be of much use.”
“Come,” she said simply then waved her hand. “Let’s go.”
I followed her through a private entrance where the guard nodded at us. Jeremy hung behind me while Davis stayed on my left. I wished I could ask him for space or insist he take two steps away, but Murial led all of us, and I followed. Her heels clicked on the floor, resounding like she owned the place. I glanced around at various patrons considering displays in the museum, and tried to pick out the important ones in the room.
“Is it your father?” I asked Davis, because I had to say something. Social pressure weighed on me like a brick to the chest. “The guy who is having the painting evaluated?”
He shook his head, releasing a half chuckle. “No, my father is a drunk and a buffoon, and he’s probably somewhere—who knows where—doing drunken things and buffoonery.”
I jerked in surprise at his harsh judgement, especially since it took me a long time to be able to speak about my aunts and uncles with any kind of censure. I’d never heard someone talk about their parent in such a way.
Murial stopped abruptly, and we all also came to a halt, lest we plow into her.
“Here is the situation with my family, since you haven’t been informed.” She rolled her eyes at Jeremy, as if he failed her completely.
He shrugged. “I’m not sure I know anything about your family, Murial. If I know it, Alatheia knows it, too. Your mother was a super model who married your father, a billionaire. No one has seen either of them in years, and you don’t summer in the Hamptons. What am I missing? Oh, Davis is your cousin. What else?”
She sighed loudly. “Yes, to all of that, except for my parents being missing. I’ve seen them, and I promise, they’re not missing. My mother is an only child, while my father had three brothers. He’s the oldest. Davis's awful father is in Tokyo, isn’t he, darling?” she asked Davis, but plowed onward before he could respond. “Last I heard, anyway. Davis lives with me, and is more like my brother than my cousin. Then there were two other brothers, one of whom is looking into the painting. He stands to make a lot of money if we can keep it. The baby disappeared years ago, and no one knows anything about him. Maybe he is living on an Ashram? Or lost in Alaska? Or married to a shrew in Oklahoma? We have no idea, and we don’t care. Granny wrote him off years ago, and we all do what Granny says.”
She turned and started walking again, but I stared at Jeremy. I might be new to friendships, but the exchange still struck me as wildly bizarre.
The very rich in New York City are odd people. Not necessarily in a bad way, but very different from people in other places.
