Page 21 of The Wicked

“Why’d you have to be such a dick?” Trey whined, messy brown hair flopping over his forehead. He needed to visit a barber. “It was just a game.”

A game that had involved daring each other to strip naked and run into the freezing ocean at one o’clock in the morning while onlookers filmed their antics. It would only have been a matter of time before one of the clips found its way to a journalist. I put down my smoothie and turned to face my half-brother. He’d shown up in the kitchen in his bathrobe, hazel eyes bloodshot, and his breath still stank of stale beer.

“Because Dad doesn’t need any more bad press.”

“I didn’t ask to be born into this family.”

“Would you rather be a sheet metal worker in Detroit?”

“I’d rather you and Dad weren’t such killjoys.”

I took a calming breath and swallowed a couple of Tylenol. “Where’s the fun in passing out drunk in the early hours in a pool of your own vomit? Go on, explain it to me like I’m five.”

“I didn’t pass out.”

“You didn’t pass outlast night. Because I was there to stop you from taking things too far.”

But hehadvomited, thankfully before he climbed into my vehicle. Rain was forecast today, so hopefully the whole mess would get washed away, otherwise we’d probably be joining the Baldwin twins on the Peninsula’s banned list. And while I hunted for Cinderella, my brother’s girlfriend had escaped the hotel with three of Hadley’s equally irresponsible friends and made it all the way to a diner on the outskirts of town because they justhadto have carbs. Elina had been practically unconscious when her father’s head of security carried her to the car. Situation Normal: All Fucked Up. Elina had a tipping point—she’d drink most of the evening and be fine, just a bit giggly, and half a glass of wine later, she’d keel over. I tried to keep an eye on her, but ultimately, she wouldn’t listen to a word of my advice, so trying to curb her alcohol consumption was a waste of time.

“You’re such a fucking suck-up, always doing what Dad says.”

“It’s called respect, and you don’t have any, not even for yourself.”

“Just because I like to have fun instead of being a corporate asshole doesn’t mean—”

“Uncle Garrett, can I have banana milk?”

Trey cut off abruptly as our niece meandered into the kitchen. Marlie was eight years old and the apple of everyone’s eye—everyone except her mother, anyway. Gracelynn, my older sister, had gotten pregnant after a one-night stand, and she’d insisted she wasn’t cut out for motherhood. But because Grandma Margaret had been a staunch Catholic, there’d been no debate over whether Gracie kept the baby.

For a while, we’d had hope. Gracie loved attention as much as the Hadley Carpenters of this world did, and she’d smiled through the first few months of pregnancy when people told her she was “glowing.” The baby shower, picking out furniture for the nursery, shopping for tiny shoes… She’d done all that. But just a week after the birth, she’d announced that she couldn’t cope anymore, and she was hiring a nanny. And by “hiring a nanny,” she meant paying someone to take Marlie off her hands.

Again, Grandma Margaret had stepped in. No grandchild of hers would be raised by a stranger, she insisted, so Marlie had come to live at the family estate near Roseburg. Our lives had been turned upside down. My stepmother—a former flight attendant who was actually a good person and didn’t deserve a man-child like Trey for a son—got landed with the bulk of the childcare while Gracie moved to New York to design shoes. What the fuck were you even meant to tell a kid in that situation?

You lied. That’s what you did. You lied. And to add insult to injury, Grandma Margaret had shuffled off this mortal coil before Marlie turned two years old.

“Sure you can have banana milk, peanut. Did you eat breakfast already?”

“Letti made me pancakes.”

She called my stepmother Letti, the same way I did. No matter how hard Letti tried, she’d never be “Mom” to either of us. Sometimes, I felt guilty about that, but even though my mom had passed away before Dad ever met Colette, she was irreplaceable. Memories faded, but love never did.

I was glad Dad had married Letti when I was still young. If I’d been older, I’d have written her off as a gold-digger, a money-grubber, but she genuinely loved my father. And yoga. And Pixie, a three-year-old miniature pinscher with a bigger wardrobe than mine.

I peeled a banana, broke it into pieces, and dropped it into the blender, then added ice cream and milk. Banana milkshake was Marlie’s favourite, followed by strawberry or blueberry. Chocolate milkshakes were a big no-no. Her refusal to eat anything brown had come after a kid at kindergarten put dirt in her lunch as a prank, and someday, we hoped she’d grow out of it, but she was as stubborn as her mom. Genetics had a lot to answer for.

Speaking of Gracie, I needed to email her…

While Marlie watched cartoons and slurped her milkshake and Trey clattered around making himself fried eggs, I typed out a message to my sister. The rest of the family had more or less turned their backs on her, but I stayed in touch. Why burn a bridge when you might need to cross it later?

Gracie,

I need to find the owner of this shoe, and you’re the shoe expert. Please tell me it’s some kind of fancy designer limited edition that’s only sold in three boutiques where the staff knows every client by name?

The Other G

“Uncle Garrett, will you help me with my Legos?”

“I just need to make a couple of calls first.”

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