Astaire
* * *
I’m at a coffee shop Wednesday after school, my laptop and grading notebook spread across a booth in the back, when I feel the familiar weight of an unfamiliar stare.
“Astaire, right?”
I glance up, only to be met with the overly-friendly grin of Beth Schoenbach.
“I thought that was you.” She waves a manicured hand and steps closer. “So crazy running into you again … Do you come here often?”
She slides in across from me, a tiny paper cup of coffee in hand.
“We’re still getting our bearings around here. So much has changed since the last time we lived here. It’s like a completely different city.” Beth sips her coffee, leaving a barely-there impression of nude lipstick on the rim. She’s in tight black leggings, Adidas, and a pale denim jacket, ready for a quick Instagram photo if the moment called for it, I imagine.
I checked out her profile the other night. I couldn’t sleep. But I was also curious after meeting her at the supermarket. She seemed so friendly, so benign. How could someone like that be so happily married to someone as allegedly evil as Errol? But their social media profile paints them as any other attractive, upper-middle-class, childless, jet-setting couple with the world at their fingertips.
I realize everyone and their dog looks happy as clams on Instagram and Facebook, but the two of them looked beyond happy. Unbelievably happy. Enviably happy …
And Bennett walks around like there’s a raincloud over his head half the time. He’s getting better, but still. It’s how he is. Can’t help but wonder if there’s an undercurrent of jealousy between the brothers? Could it be that Errol has what Bennett has always wanted … contentment?
“Sorry about my husband the other night.” She leans in, half-rolling her eyes, half-chuckling. “He thinks it’s strange how friendly I am with people I don’t even know, so he tries to rein it in sometimes. But he’s at the gym for the next hour, so we can talk.”
She bats her left hand, winks, and reaches for her coffee, the glimmering rock on her ring finger catching the incandescent light above to the point of distraction.
Beth follows my gaze, offering a humble smile. “So you and Bennett … are you two serious?”
I try my best to peer around the room without making it obvious, thinking back to the other night when I asked Bennett if Errol was capable of following me and he didn’t exactly deny it.
“Um, we’ve been spending time together,” I choose my words carefully.
“Glad to hear that.” She nods. “It’s been a long time since Benny’s had anything stable. I hope he’s being good to you …”
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
She shrugs a bony shoulder. “Bennett … he’s complicated. Moody. Defensive. I’ve just seen the way some of his other relationships go down, and it’s never been pretty. Schoenbach men are notoriously … intricate. Emotionally. It’s just how they are.”
I sip my tea. “Okay …”
“They aren’t like most guys,” she continues. “They’ll ruin you. They’ll ruin you for anyone else. One day you wake up and you realize you’re damned if you stay and you’re damned if you go …”
She glances to the side, and for a moment, I hesitate to say anything because I think she’s about to shed a tear.
But the moment passes.
“Sorry,” she says. “I don’t mean to get emotional. Just going through a lot ...”
I know better than to keep the conversation moving deeper, but I also have a heart.
“I’m sure whatever it is … it’ll pass,” I tell her, engaging as little as possible while still managing to be sympathetic.
“I don’t know.” She sighs, turning to glance out the window next to us. “Errol and I are supposed to be adopting a baby in a few months. We moved back here to be close to family and Bennett won’t have anything to do with us—which blows my mind, because I know he and his brother have had their differences over the years, but they’re still family. And you’d think now that he’s going to adopt his daughter and we’re going to have our son, he’d put everything aside—”
“—wait. I’m sorry. Back up. You said Bennett’s going to adopt his daughter. You mean his niece?”
“No. His daughter,” she blinks and sits straighter. “I mean, technically she’s both.”
I squint across the table. “I don’t understand.”
For a fraction of a second, I imagine Honor’s face next to Bennett’s, and I realize now it isn’t improbable. They share the same inky hair, the same crystalline eyes.
Oh my God.
He kept saying he had no idea why she’d leave her daughter to him … but if he’s the father, it makes perfect sense.
“He didn’t tell you he’s adopting a little girl?” she asks, lashes batting.
“No. He did. But he said it was his niece … he never said it was his daughter.” I slam my laptop lid and shut my grade books, and then I pack up.
“Oh, jeez. I’m so sorry. I’ve said too much. You’re clearly upset.” She places her hand over my computer, as if that could stop me. “Astaire, I’m sorry.”
I wave my hand and slide my laptop out from under her. “It’s fine. You have nothing to apologize for. This is … extremely good to know. But I’ve got somewhere to go, so …”
She slides out of the booth, fidgeting and worrying her lower lip as she watches me collect my things.
I almost make it to my car without throwing up in a trashcan by the sidewalk.
The thought of Larissa—a fellow foster child—being adopted into this privileged family only to be manipulated, taken advantage of, used in such a disgusting way by the people who are supposed to love her …
A million thoughts scream through my head on the drive to his house—none of them kind.
When I get to his door, I have zero recollection of getting here. Only a mind filled with the type of words you reserve for a monster.
With a balled fist, I pound on his door—only to have it swing halfway-open on the first knock.
I take a step back.
He never leaves his door unlocked. Certainly never leaves it open.
“Bennett?” I call out before pushing the door wider. Only it won’t open any further. And when I peek my head in, I find him lying on the ground—unconscious.
I squeeze through the opening and drop to the ground, checking his pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there. His chest rises and falls with each slow breath. He must have passed out.
Digging my phone from my bag, I dial 9-1-1. They stay on the line with me until the paramedics arrive, and when they ask if I’d like to ride along, I hesitate before finally agreeing.
A sliver of me believes Beth was lying. And all of me wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. Until I talk to him, until I get his side, I can’t abandon him.
Not like this.
But I also can’t look at him without wondering … what if it’s true?
Thirty-Eight