Dad nodded and looked down at the table. “Yes, I imagine she won’t be up for an hour or so yet.”
My gaze wandered to the clock on the stove. It was quarter to one. Mom would have been stomping up the stairs, throwing open Casey’s bedroom door, and dragging her out of bed by her hair or her ear—either way, it would have been painful and humiliating, and Dad and I would have remained in the kitchen where it was safe until the battle ended.
The kettle began to whistle.
Dad got up and went about making us tea.
I clasped my hands together. “I think we need to get everything out on the table about Casey, Dad. She’s starting to scare me.”
“She’s starting to scare me, too. Last night wasn’t the first time she’s been dropped off during the early morning hours high as a kite.”
“How long has it been going on?”
He gave me a weary look over his shoulder that made him look older than his fifty-eight years. “Laila, come now. You know this is nothing new. She’s been pulling these kinds of stunts since she was seventeen. Casey has always been too wild, reckless, and curious for her own good. She has more of your mother in her than I ever realized.”
I frowned and picked at a splinter on the edge of the table. “What does that mean?”
I knew my mother was a bit of a wild child, and she pushed my father out of his comfort zone time and time again. I also knew Casey was more like her than I ever had been, but something about the edge in my dad’s voice told me there was more I didn’t know.
He sighed and turned his back on the stove, crossing his arms over his chest. He had a bit of a stomach growing on him that never used to be there. “When your mother was young she got herself into a lot of trouble, Laila. In the beginning, it was part of her charm. I followed the rules and stayed within the lines, but when I met her that summer? Everything changed. I took risks I never would have. I tried things I never would have. All for her. All because I was terrified of losing her.”
“Are you talking about drugs?”
He hesitated before nodding. “Your mother had a rough time before we met. She looked for love in all the wrong places and all the wrong men, and it got her into trouble. She didn’t believe me when I told her how much I cared for her. She didn’t think she deserved someone with a job or plans for his own future. It took a long time before she trusted my love for her and was able to give it back to me in full. Casey? Well, she has that in her, too. She doesn’t trust easy, Laila. She carries her pain with her everywhere she goes and she chooses shallow pursuits so she doesn’t have to fully commit and risk losing something that actually matters to her.”
I blinked. “I thought you were a mechanic, not a psychologist.”
He chuckled, and some of the tension evaporated. Since Mom died, Dad and I had become comfortable with difficult conversations, but it was nice to take the edge off with a joke every now and then.
It was the perfect time to hit him with even worse news. I told him about Casey giving lap dances and working at a rough nightclub. Dad took the news in stride, but I saw pain in his eyes as he rubbed his temples.
“Have you ever talked to Casey about any of this stuff about Mom?” I asked.
He turned and poured us our tea. Dad knew how I liked mine, so he added one teaspoon of sugar and a splash of milk. He brought the mugs over and sat down across from me. I thanked him and took a sip while he gazed out into the backyard and collected his thoughts. In the back corner of the yard was an old playhouse Dad had made for us with our mother’s brother, Daniel. Daniel had moved away for work when I was fourteen. He came back for Mom’s funeral, but I hadn’t seen much of him since. He and Dad busted their butts building that playhouse, and Casey and I played in it day in and day out for weeks until a giant spider made a home in the roof and fell into Casey’s hair one afternoon when we had our Barbies out there.
Casey never set foot in it again, so I took it over.
Even as a young teenager, I’d hole up in the playhouse with blankets and Sixteen magazines. I’d flip through image after image of razor-thin models and wish I looked like them. Mom used to tell me that thinness was a trend and a fashion statement and not a healthy pursuit for a beautiful young woman like me. I’d wanted desperately to believe her, but it was hard. All my friends were smaller than me. My sister was smaller than me. I wasn’t big. I was just average, and I always felt overlooked.
Until I turned fourteen and started modeling. Mom told me that every woman had a body, and a body was all one needed to model. If I could learn my angles, work hard, take advantage of my lighting, and listen to direction? I could be successful.
She was right.
Dad leaned back in his chair and sipped his tea. “I’m not sure I want Casey knowing how your mother used to be or if your mother would want me sharing that part of her past with you girls.”
“Dad, listen to me. Nothing will change how much Casey and I love Mom. I promise. But telling her the truth? It just might help her understand herself better. If anything, it might make her feel even closer to Mom.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, a sign that he was thinking.
I gave him space and quiet to do so, and after a couple of minutes, I offered to stay while he had this conversation.
Dad nodded. “I would appreciate that, Laila. Thank you. You’re always looking out for me. For your sister. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You’d be just fine.” I cracked a smile. “Or your lives would implode, and you’d be the one selling lap dances for money.”
Dad laughed in earnest, and I felt better for it. While we sat and drank our tea, waiting for Casey to wake up, I took my phone out and texted Storm.
Does your offer for dinner tonight still stand?
A couple of minutes passed. Dad told me about a time when Mom showed up at his door when they were in their early twenties, looking for a place to crash after being kicked out of her apartment by her boyfriend. He let her in, gave her his bed, slept on the sofa, and made her breakfast in the morning.
For some reason the story immediately made me think of how Storm had made me breakfast today.
My phone buzzed when Storm’s reply came through.
Absolutely.
With the promise of a good evening on the horizon with Storm, the dread I carried in my heart about this conversation with my sister felt a little less heavy. Even when he wasn’t present, Storm somehow managed to make things better.
CHAPTER 27
STORM
Even though it was only a two-hour drive from New York City, I’d never been to Cold Spring Harbor before.
The small town had just over five thousand residents, and it showed. As we drove through it, the town felt calm and still, and I was certain I’d never seen a place as rich and green, even in the end of winter.
Laila echoed my sentiments as we drove along the road parallel to the harbor. The water barely held a ripple, and the sunset painted the docked sailboats on the far side bright white. Behind them, the yacht club danced with lights, and people walked the promenade, their silhouettes looking like black specks from over here.
I’d done a bit of research before making the drive. I wanted to impress Laila, or rather, I wanted to give her a good evening of relaxation after the day she’d had. We hadn’t talked about Casey or her conversation with her father on the drive. Instead, we’d discussed all the upcoming hustle and bustle around the Valentine’s Day Cupid Fashion Show. Laila expressed that, for the first time in her career, she was experiencing some real nerves. She explained that she often got nervous right before shows, but two weeks out? That never happened to her.