I dropped out of college when my football scholarship money ran dry and then I went back to work for my dad’s construction business. Took me a few years to learn the ropes, but I quickly decided that I didn’t want to erect personality-free new-builds for the rest of my life. I was also tired of working for someone else.
Last year I filled out the paperwork for a business loan, and now I’m the owner-slash-operator of Burke Builders LLC. Remodeling is my favorite part of the job and the one I try to do most. It’s rewarding to take what isn’t working and make it work. Knocking down a wall to widen a living room or adding on a screened-in porch not only changes the physical space, but also infuses it with new life. It changes the feel of the place, is what I’m trying to say.
I know, I know. I’m a blue-collar poet.
I continue sawing, drywall dust blowing around me like a sandstorm.
When I’m done, I tug off my mask and safety glasses and toss them on the floor. The bedroom furniture is crammed into a guest bedroom while we work. During moving that furniture, I couldn’t help peering into the bedroom across the hall. Allison’s bedroom.
It’s not exactly like it was when she lived here, but the bed is one and the same. The other day, while holding the ass end of a bureau and using my legs to lift, Tommy and I backed into the other guest room across the hall. In that moment my eyes lingered on Allie’s double bed for longer than I intended, and I remembered the things we used to do on it.
All the things we used to do on it.
My phone buzzes with a text from my sister, Julieann. I had a feeling she’d call me today—not that she calls often, but sometimes I have a sense that she will. We’re twins and have that weird superpower of finishing each other’s sentences and reading what’s on the other’s mind by simply sharing a look.
There are two words and an acronym on my cellphone’s screen.
Holy shit. OMG.
OMG pops onto the screen again before the phone rings in my hand. “Hel—”
“Holy shit. Oh my God,” Jules says into my ear, the words bursting from her mouth. She’s out of breath like she ran a mile.
“So I gathered from your texts,” I tell her calmly.
“I didn’t tell you this, but Nina stole an Oscar from Millie Duncan.”
I understand those words individually, but I’m having trouble with them together in one sentence. “What?”
Also, let me catch you up: Allison’s internship in California turned into a walk-on role that became permanent for the Emmy Award-winning drama America’s Sweetheart. She changed her name when she went to Tinseltown to Nina Lockhart.
“I know you don’t like to hear news about Nina—er, Allison, so I didn’t tell you that part. Her stealing an Oscar isn’t new news to anyone but you. You don’t know, right?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before plowing on. “Anyway, I’d heard about it when it happened last week, but I made Mom and Dad swear they wouldn’t say anything to you in case it was gossip. I didn’t want you to have to deal with it, you know?”
“Jules—” But she’s on a roll and doesn’t stop talking.
“Well. Get this. Xavier McCormack just gave a statement and Millie was standing right next to him. Like, supporting him! The accusations they’re making about Nina are—”
“Jules,” I repeat more forcefully. She’s like an active volcano spewing lava and I’m the ill prepared villager at the bottom of the hill. “Back up. Way up. I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
Jules takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Okay. So, you know how I feel about her because of what she did to you.”
“Over ten years ago,” I say, less in Allison’s defense but in my own. I’m not a fragile piece of china. A guy can get his heart decimated and live to tell the tale.
“Since this Oscar thing has blown up on the internet, I didn’t want someone to mention it to you and catch you off guard. I know how well you’ve trained yourself to ignore magazine covers at the checkout lines.”
Like a Jedi. I stare at gum instead to avoid spotting Allison’s face splashed across a cover.
“And the news again is...?” I prompt.
“Nina stole an Oscar from Millie Duncan,” Jules says, calmer now. “You know, three-time Academy-Award winner, Millie Duncan? The original America’s Sweetheart, Millie Duncan? Everyone loves her and now Allison’s become the town pariah since McCormack turned on her.”
That pinch of pain in my chest is general empathy. I’d feel that for anyone.
“Last Saturday night, McCormack and Nina were at Millie’s house for a party, and Nina swiped one of Millie’s statuettes. There are pictures of Allison taken by the paparazzi. She was hiding it under a coat the whole time. It’s alarming.”
“I’m alarmed we’re having this conversation,” I say drily.
“I wanted you to be prepared.”
“For what?”
“Anything!” she exclaims, exasperated. “McCormack gave a statement—”
“Stop saying his name,” I warn between clenched teeth. In the restroom in the hallway, I balance the phone on my shoulder and wash the drywall dust from my arms. The mention of Xavier McCormack makes my neck muscles go tight. I don’t know what Allie, or the rest of the world, sees in that walking void. Doesn’t the fact that he won his own Oscar only prove he’s a really good liar? The press calls them McNina, which is as stupid as McCormack himself.
“Jax. They broke up.”
I pause, towel in hand, my eyes on my reflection in the mirror. My hair and beard are dotted with dust, making the brown strands appear gray. My face is drawn and white—-partially from the dust and partially from this conversation. I towel off my hair and face and turn from the mirror, cellphone in hand as I repeat what my sister just told me.
“They broke up?”
“Yeah. He said that Nina stole the Oscar in a fit of jealousy and that she boarded a plane this morning for a rehab facility. I don’t like her, but I can’t help feeling sorry for her. If it’s true, it’s intensely private and not his story to tell. Do you think it’s true? He seems full of shit.”
“Because he is,” I snarl.
I’ve always hated Xavier, and not only because he’s dating my ex. From the second I saw his smug, pretty-boy face in the movie Legends and Bygones, the title that won him that treasured statuette, everything about him rang false.
“She’s better off without him,” I add, walking to the stairs.
My stomach interrupts with a mighty roar. I tug my too-long hair out of the elastic holding it back. I’ve let it grow, and as a result it’s in my way a lot. Since I’m doing it to impress no one at all, I’m considering a haircut.
“Thanks for the update. I have to grab something to eat. Call you later?” I ask as I jog down the stairs.
“Yes. But...you’re okay?”
Since I know what she’s really asking, I answer the unspoken question instead. “Jules, I’ve been working in her parents’ house for a week. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about her.”
I know Jules is less concerned about someone telling me about what happened and more concerned that I’ll catch sight of a magazine cover or an entertainment blip on TV and lose my shit.