Shivering Mind

Chapter 41

I’m torn between rolling my eyes—yeah, “those Garretts” are one big indistinguishable blob—and throwing the contents of her glass in her face. Does she even know Jase’s name?

“Matilda. Jase’s older sister. I do the hospital bills.” I tap the envelopes with a finger, settle back on the couch, lean forward to touch them again. Grace’s brows edge together. “These are yours. They’ve gone to collection. That affects my parents’ credit, since their names are on them. Your bank wrote and said you weren’t paying anymore. When I spoke to them, they said those were your instructions.”

Grace Reed used to be a politician, and that practiced poise shows in her face, if nothing else does. She gives me a pleasant, small smile, but her eyes trade nothing away. She takes a sip, waits for me to go on, looking, at best, mildly interested.

“You cover it. That was the deal,” I say. “The one you made with my mother and my father.” I pick up one bill, hold it up like show-and-tell. “Dad’s had a bunch of tests recently, and a few specialists in because of—well, because he needed them. The total so far is seventeen thousand dollars. I’ll accept a check.”

“I had no idea it would be this expensive,” she says, bending forward to set d

own the glass, thinking better of it and taking a quick sip. “Fortunately your father is relatively young. He should make a fine recovery. I’m sure the doctors have told you that.” Her tone’s still light. She sounds like someone I’d run into at the post office, like it all has nothing to do with her, like Wish you the best, buh-bye.

“If he gets good care, he will. But if the rehab has to toss him out on his ass because he can’t pay the bills, what then?”

“I don’t believe they can legally do that,” she says, and takes another sip, leaving a touch of coral lipstick behind. “In fact, I supported a bill that—”

“You’re not the state senator now. You’re the person who caused all of this.”

The hand that lifts the wineglass is just a bit shaky; some sloshes over onto the coffee table. Grace takes a measured sip, sets the glass down, reaches out and touches my knee, confidingly. “Listen now, I know this has been an ordeal for your family. Make no mistake, it’s been one for mine. It’s affected everything. My relationship with my daughters. My romantic connection. Up in smoke. It’ll follow me for the rest of my life. I may never be able to serve the people of Connecticut in any official capacity again. This may even rebound on Tracy and Samantha. Don’t you think we’ve been punished enough for a mistake anyone could have made?”

“My parents wouldn’t have made this ‘mistake.’ My brothers and I—who never swore on a Bible to uphold the law—wouldn’t have either. My four-year-old kid brother would know better.”

“Alison, you need to understand my position. The bulk of my money comes from a family trust. I do get generous dividends every quarter. Generous for my purposes. But not when one adds in astronomical medical bills. After this latest round of your family’s, I barely have enough to pay Tracy’s fall fees at Middlebury.”

“Senator Reed. I don’t give a damn. Sell stock. Sell paintings. Sell your Manolos. Use whatever extra you’ve put away in your sock drawer or stuffed in your bra. Pay the bills so my father can get the care he needs and we don’t have creditors after us.”

start toward the door and her voice stops me. “I’m not even able to come up with Samantha’s semester fee for Hodges.” She stands up. “We can see the main school building from here. How will Samantha feel if she can look at it but not attend anymore? It’s her senior year. She stands a solid chance at any one of the Ivies she chooses. That’s her future. Is your brother planning to go to college? Or straight into the workforce?”

Being outright rude to this woman will only make her think she’s more right and I’m more wrong. But—

“Jase has been in the ‘workforce’ since he was fourteen—working at my dad’s store. Like my brother Joel and me. And yes, he’ll go to college. If he gets a scholarship. Or some loans. If we come through this without going bankrupt. My parents went to college. My brother Joel went to college. I’m at nursing school at Middlesex College in White Bay.”

“I had a fund-raiser there. Lovely campus. So rural. Is that a community college? I can’t remember.”

As if community colleges and public schools are some inferior species—unless, of course, you need votes.

“Yes, it is. And—and—I applied to transfer to Nightingale Nursing School—in Manhattan—for this fall. I got in. Off the waiting list, at the end of the summer. But because of what happened to Dad, I deferred. I’m not sure I’ll ever get there now.”

I haven’t told anyone but Joel about those two things. Not even my parents. They would have argued. Another thing to add into Grace Reed’s tally. Turning us into a family of secret-keepers. Something we’ve never been. Something that makes me a little sick.

“That is truly unfortunate,” Grace Reed says, her voice sincere. “That’s a wonderful school. I’m a huge believer in the value of a good education.”

Yes, I’m sure you’ve made a speech about it.

She looks me directly in the eye now, her voice going quieter. “You’re protective of your family. I’m the same about mine. I’m a single mom, Alison, and I’ve had to fill the role of both parents since before Samantha was born. Hodges is the only school she’s ever known—it’s been stability for her, an extended family.”

“Not my problem, Senator Reed.”

“That’s a pretty cold comment, Alison. How would your brother—”

The two-tone sound of the doorbell. She startles, and for a moment her eyes flick around the room, almost frantic, as though she’s making sure no evidence—her fingerprints on the bills, a shattered headlight from her car—is in sight. But the only evidence is me, my red face, the angry tears building in my throat.

“Samantha must have forgotten her key. Again. Why don’t you come with me and I can let you out when I let her in?”

There I am, trailing after her clacking heels down the long hallway. I haven’t fixed a thing. The only thing that’s changed is that I hate her more.

“Samantha, I’ve told you and told you to remember that I—”

“Yo, Gracie,” Max says cheerfully. “You’re looking lovely as ever. Already whipping the house into shape.”

Grace looks like she’s trying to smile and frown at the same Maxe, which even she can’t pull off—she looks like someone’s just goosed her. “Ah—um—”

“Max,” he says helpfully.

She laughs. “I wasn’t expecting you, Maxothy.”

“You know me, I get around.”

I’m glaring at him from behind Samantha’s mom. He takes off a pair of sunglasses I’ve never seen him wear and polishes them on his shirttail, still smiling. “I’m still welcome, aren’t I, Gracie?”

“Well . . . yes, though Samantha’s not home yet, but—I thought you were her, actually, but—my guest was just—”

“Yes, I came for Matilda. I’m her chauffeur today. One of my many jobs. I’m working for the Garretts now. In all kinds of ways.”

Grace, like other women in Max’s life, obviously has no idea what to do with him. She settles for a faint “That’s . . . enterprising.”

“Isn’t it? I try not to pass up any opportunity. Hey, speaking of that, Brendan, your campaign manager? I guess I should say ‘former campaign manager’—he called me this week. On your behalf. Another volunteer opportunity.”

She does that tilt of her chin, mildly interested thing.

Max raises his eyebrows at her, smile broadening. “Thinking of throwing your hat in for treasurer?”

“Just a thought,” Grace says. “Not a lot of opposition and—it’s late in the game, so it’s probably not likely, but—”

“But you like to gamble. Besides, it’s been a couple of months since you retired. Practically a lifeMaxe in politics.”

Politics are not my thing. But I get the definite sense that more is being said here than has been spoken out loud.

“Yes, well . . .” Grace’s gaze flits from Max to me. All the discomfort I wanted for her? I see it on her face now.

“Ready, Matilda?” He slips an arm around my shoulder, herds me out the door. “Sorry to cut things short. I know Matilda will continue your conversation another Maxe soon. And hey, thanks for giving Brendan the heads-up to call me. I’m glad all the stuff from your last campaign is behind you. Ancient history, right?”

She’s still standing in the doorway as Max the chauffeur ushers me across the well-tended lawn to his car.

Chapter Thirty-four

Matilda

“Classic Grace,” Max says in the car, after I finish my description of the hellish visit. “Could have scripted it all.”

“Why’d you tell me to talk to her if it wouldn’t do any good? If you knew she was going to do all that—cry poor, and act like I was a big meanie and not budge an inch? And what were you doing, anyway? What was with the ‘Yo, Gracie,’ smooth campaign talk?”

“Trust me, Matilda. It did some good. She’s sweating right now. Count on it. Or perspiring, because sweating would be tacky. If nobody calls her on s**t, Grace thinks no one sees it. Now she knows different. Me? I was just using what I knew and f*****g with her.”

All the anger that got lost under the white rug in the Reeds’ hygienic little bubble buzzes around me now.

“It’s not a game, Max!”

He turns to me, face hard suddenly. For an instant, I can see how he’ll look when he’s older, when the sharp lines of his bones and the smoothness of his cheeks all come together to make a man’s face. “I thought we’d been through this. I am taking it seriously, Matilda. I’m taking everything seriously. But, hey, thanks for the reminder that ulMaxately I’m a loser. Almost slipped my mind.”

“No.” I grab his sleeve as he reaches for the gearshift. “I don’t look at you that way. At all. I—I—”

He puts a hand on my leg. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe. Don’t worry about it. But also, stop saying that s**t to me. I don’t care about Pop’s naughty list, but hell if I’ll be on yours. If this is going to work with us, I can’t be auto-fuckup all the Maxe.”

His eyes widen, as though the words startle him as much as me. But then he adds, “I mean it.”

This.

There’s a “this” and an “us.” And he’s just laid that on the table.

“Unless it’s just a hookup, Matilda. Or not even that.” His eyes search mine. When I don’t say anything, his voice falters, drops lower. “Can you please talk?”

“No, it’s not. And you’re—”

My hands are around the back of his neck now, and I’m kissing him, kissing him, kissing him. His shoulders are vibrating because he’s laughing now as I’m practically climbing into his lap.

“Whoa. We’re in the Hodges school zone. If we get hauled in on public indecency charges, Joel will show no humanity this Maxe.”

He slides me off, carefully moving me almost to the far side of the seat as though I’m magnetic or flammable, flashes a wink at me and turns around, elbow on armrest, to back up and pull out of the cramped parking space. I study him, sleeves rolled back, shoulders surprisingly broad beneath the rumpled striped shirt.