THE TOWEL RUBS ALONG the steamed up glass, squeaking as it wipes away the moisture. After a few swipes, I can make out my foggy reflection.
Hair up turban-style, my body wrapped in a soft pink robe, the streaks of dirt and dust from Crank are only a distant reminder. My cheeks are still rosy, though, and I wonder if it’s from the heat of the shower or the fantasy of being pinned against the wall by Walker I just indulged while rinsing off the grime from the day.
My grin stretches from ear to ear, and with just me in the room to witness, I don’t try to hide it. There’s no point in pretending I’m not utterly perplexed by Walker Gibson.
Closing my eyes, the heat of the bathroom makes me remember the fervor zipping between us when he walked me back to the wall. There was an intensity etched on his face, lines dipping deep into his skin as he wrestled with whatever was causing the browns of his eyes to spiral like a storm. Each step towards me both a warning and a promise, a message that I couldn’t quite grasp.
I wanted him to touch me, kiss me, break this barrier he’s so obviously constructed between us. Most guys have no problem trying to see what they can get away with. Walker? I’m not sure I could beg him to.
As I take in my reflection again, the apples of my cheeks are even redder. The fabric tucked around my chest is unforgiving and I have to loosen it to breathe.
“Sienna?” Delaney’s voice sounds from the other side of the door. “I’m going to grab some takeout. You want anything?”
“No,” I say, blowing out a breath. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”
“When I get back, you’re gonna tell me all about your day. Right?”
“I’ve already told you everything,” I lie.
“Sure you have. Be back soon and then you can for real.”
Her steps soften as she heads to the doorway and end when the front door snaps shut.
Sagging against the counter, I really just want to go to bed. My body aches from all the mopping and wiping and sweeping. I did more cleaning today than I’ve ever done, despite the distraction Walker and Peck delivered through the window.
Peck, on his own, would be hard to not watch. He has this boy-next-door sweetheart thing going on and a personality like a magnet. But next to Walker, he doesn’t exist.
I open the door, letting the warm, wet air trickle into the rest of the house. Everything is quiet as I make my way to the living room and plop down on the chair. The blue and red plaid material is rough against my legs. I’ve hated this chair since Delaney had me help her carry it in from a swap meet when I first moved here.
A few boxes sit half-packed against the wall and reality bowls me over. In a few days, Delaney will be gone. I’ll be here. Alone.
Tears well up in my eyes as I take out my phone and pull up social media. My friends from back home smile from Tybee Island. My girlfriends are posting loop videos of themselves at dinner at one of our favorite restaurants there. Right before I click off, I see a picture my sister posted of her holding my father’s hand. It’s innocent with a text saying, “I love my daddy,” but there’s nothing in the picture that I recognize besides the scar running from his index finger down the top that happened one Christmas morning a long time ago. But there is the edge of what I suspect is a hospital bracelet and a blue and white checked fabric faded into the background that looks eerily like a hospital gown.
The longer I look at the picture, the more I can’t shake the fact that something isn’t right: Camilla posting something so intimate on social media. The odd location, the way the photo blurs and shows really nothing to the naked eye.
A chill tearing through me, I call Camilla. It rings twice, my heartbeat soaring with each tone, before she answers.
“What’s going on?” I ask immediately.
“Did Graham call you?”
“No. Why would G call me?” I spring to my feet, my heart in my throat. “What’s happening, Cam?”
“Calm down. It’s nothing or I would’ve called you already. You know that.”
“It’s something or we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”
My tone almost reaches the level of panic, a ball of tension taking root at the back of my neck. Every possible situation that could be wrong screeches through my mind.
“Dad didn’t feel well today,” Cam says gently. “Mom took him to the emergency room to be safe. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” I ask, aghast that she would downplay something as serious as a trip to the ER. The fact that he allowed Mom to take him has vomit threatening to spew from my mouth. “What did they say? Is he okay?”
“They said it was angina and he should make some dietary and exercise changes. He has to see a cardiologist sometime soon.”
Red-hot tears dot the corners of my eyes, a ball lodged in my throat making it impossible to talk.
“He’s going to be okay, Sienna.”
“Do I need to come home?” I say, my voice sounding all gulpy.
“No. We’d love to see you, but don’t race home because of this. He’s irritated tonight. Graham showed up and tried to tell Dad what he was going to do, so that went over well.”
“I bet,” I chuckle. “Who won?”
“Mom,” she laughs. “She told them both to settle down in that voice she keeps for the two times a year she actually gets mad.”
Imagining my sweet mother’s face angry, I’m able to catch my breath. When she goes into that mode, she gets shit done. She fixes the problem. It’s where my siblings and I get our need to step in and take care of things.
“So Dad’s okay?” I ask, taking a long, calming breath.
“He’s fine right now. If anything comes of it, you know you’ll be my first call.”
Slumping back down in the scratchy chair, the adrenaline from thinking there was a crisis starts to wane. “You had me scared with your vaguebook.”
“I didn’t vaguebook. Dominic took the picture and I thought it was nice so I posted it. I didn’t expect anyone to read that much into it,” she laughs. “I should’ve known you would.”
“Of course I would. So Dom was there?”
She chatters on about her new-to-the-family boyfriend, one who I knew about for almost a year before she told everyone. He’s a good guy—he treats Cam like gold and he and I get along great. I know I should be thrilled that he was there for her, for my mother, tonight, but I can’t help but acknowledge the jealousy that stems from him getting to be there and me not.
“He fits so well into the family,” she continues to gush. “I don’t know why I was so afraid of bringing him around. Ford loves having him work at Landry Security. Lincoln loves kicking his ass on the golf course,” she giggles.
“Sounds great.”
Stop. Biting my cheek, I have to remind myself that I’m not there because I chose not to be. I’m the one who opts out of living there. I’m the one who doesn’t want to end up in pearls and heels alongside my mother and sister. I don’t want to be a pawn in a world with reporters and security guards and paid drivers. I don’t want to be a piece of something. I want something I’m a part of. Something that I need as much as it needs me.
“It’s been great,” she admits. “But what about you? What’s happening up there? Tell me your good stuff.”
I consider telling her about Walker’s truck. I think for a brief moment about replaying my day in the auto shop, about Walker and Peck and Nana and all the things I’ve done over the past few days, but decide not to. She’d understand, probably even love it. But the follow-up questions would be too much, and besides, what’s the point? I’m leaving here soon anyway. There’s no sense in making this anything more than a distraction. Instead, I focus on facts.
“Delaney is going to work for her family,” I tell her.
“What does that mean for you?”
“Just that the business will be mine. I’m going to call Graham tomorrow and have him get the papers together for me,” I say, wondering how our brother will take that bit of news.
There is a part of me that hoped I could impress my brother by striking out on my own. I understand design and I understand the business behind it and somehow, by Delaney leaving, it feels like I didn’t keep it together.
“How do you feel about that?” Cam asks.
“She has to do what she has to do. It’s her family, you know? I’d do the same for you guys.”
“I was hoping you had happier news.”
“Well,” I start, an eruption of warmth swelling from deep within me. I can’t stop it. “I met a hot-as-hell car guy.”
“Oooh, car guys,” she squeals. “Tell me about him.”
“It’s not like that,” I warn.
“It is. I hear it in your voice.”
“It really isn’t,” I say, the seriousness in my tone not matching the grin on my cheeks.
“Then tell me about him that’s not like that,” she laughs.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The words get jumbled on my tongue, the descriptions, the place to start gets fuzzy as I mentally jump from one thing to another. I don’t know where to begin.
Pacing the room, one foot in front of the other, I search desperately for words that I can’t come up with.
“Got it,” Cam says after a long pause.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“That’s how I got it.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say, rearranging magazines on the coffee table for a distraction. “There’s really nothing to tell. I just hit his truck with a bat and then—”
“Wait. You did what?”
“It was an accident.”
“I . . . I don’t know where to start with that.”
“Don’t, because that’s not where we’re going,” I tell her. “So he owns a car repair shop and somehow I’ve managed to spend a little time down there to pay off my debt.”
“Does he not take cash?”
“He does, but it’s a long and convoluted story, Cam.”
“So, let me get this straight,” she says, clearing her throat to hide the amusement laced in her tone. “You damaged his truck and are now working it off. Like, manual labor? You. My twin sister, Sienna Jane Landry, working in a car repair shop?”
Laughing, because it sounds even crazier hearing it out loud from someone else, I throw up my one free hand. “Basically. That’s it.”
“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”
“It’s crazy, right?” I say, Walker’s face now firmly affixed in my mind. “Thank God it’s only for a couple of weeks. Or, maybe it was just for today. I’m not sure, actually . . .”
The words no more than enter the world and I wish I could take them back. Even I can hear the way my voice dropped off at the end.
“Tell me about him,” she says easily, prying me for information in the most unobtrusive way. “What’s he like?”
Heading into the kitchen, I try, once again, to figure out where to start. As I try to come up with a good description, I grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and take a good, long drink.
Finally, after I’ve put the cap back on and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and stalled for as long as I can, I suck in a deep breath. “His name is Walker. He’s infuriatingly difficult. A total grump. Broody.”
“And . . .”
“He wears a plain black t-shirt almost every day. His eyelashes are the longest I’ve ever seen on a man. When he’s amused but doesn’t want me to know it, the left corner of his lip turns up.” The words come out in a rush and I know I’ve said too much but can’t stop myself from saying more. “Walker tries really, really hard to be an ass,” I say, rolling my eyes, “but I think he’s probably really kind. His grandma, Nana, makes dinner every Sunday like our mom does and expects him to show up, and when he doesn’t, she comes in and gives him hell.”
My laugh is free and easy, my downtrodden spirits now lifted. “He has a cousin named Peck. I have no idea why they call him that or if it’s his real name. The two of them remind me of Lincoln and Ford,” I say, thinking of my two brothers that can be oil and water. “They’re always nitpicking each other, but you can tell if someone messes with either, it’s game on for both.”
Cam gives me a second to catch my breath. “Sounds like you like them.”
“They’re . . . interesting.”
“Maybe they’re more than interesting.”
If Delaney had said that, I’d fire back with some reply as to how I’m not interested in Walker Gibson. But it’s not Delaney, it’s Camilla, the one person in the world I can’t lie to.
“They remind me of being in Savannah,” I admit, looking at the gold ring on my right pointer finger. It’s a thin band with a rustic teepee design. My brothers got Cam and I both one for Christmas. They blamed the whole thing on Ford who deflected any responsibility in getting his two baby sisters something so sweet for the holiday. In truth, I’d bet it was Barrett found the jeweler, Graham funded it, although I’d bet Ford probably did come up with the idea, and Lincoln probably picked it out. But we’ll never know. “They remind me of our brothers in a weird way, but without the expectations. They don’t care if I say the wrong thing, and if I came in with a new tattoo, they’d probably like it or at least find it interesting,” I say, finding a warmth spreading inside me. “They don’t know our last name, but if they did, I don’t think they’d care.”
“That’s hard to find,” she notes.
“Almost impossible, but I think I might’ve,” I say, feeling a swell in my chest. “They’re just easy, even though they’re difficult. It’s hard to explain.”
“Do you think you’ll stay there then?” she asks softly.
“No,” I scoff, running a hand through the air. “No way. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m not staying here. Have you ever seen an Illinois winter?”
“No. Can’t say I want to.”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe you’ll come home then?”
My mind settles back on my father and the image Camilla posted. “Maybe this time I won’t go as far away. Maybe I’ll look into Atlanta or Florida or something.”
“Can I ask you something, sis?”
“Sure.”
“Would it be that bad to come back? To settle down here. Meet me for lunch and go shopping and take yoga at Mallory’s . . .”
I imagine my sister’s face, all twisted in hope like she does when she’s afraid someone is going to tell her no. I sit at the table and feel my spirits drop with my body. “It wouldn’t be bad, Cam. It’s just not for me.”
“What’s not for you?”
“I just . . . Mom gave up everything when she married Dad.”
“She did not,” Cam says, defending her. “She had a role in Dad’s campaigns, in Grandpa’s campaigns. She’s spent her life changing other people’s through her charities and raised six kids.”
“I know that. But Mom could’ve rocked her own political career. Probably better than Dad. Think about what she could’ve done had she not stepped back and fallen into this other role. She could’ve ruled the damn world.”
“I think she does,” Cam says sweetly. “Her world is Dad and us.”
What Cam is saying is true. I know that. But it doesn’t negate what I’m saying. “Isn’t that kind of sad? That her world shrank to the size of the Landry Estate just so she could fill some stupid role?”
Cam sighs. “I get what you mean.”
“No, you don’t,” I scoff. “You’ve wanted to be our mother since we were little girls.”
“That’s true. I’ve always thought our mother was the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
“So do I,” I insist.
“But here’s where we differ,” Cam says gently. “I don’t think she gave anything up. I think she chose a role that could give her heart more than she ever could’ve gotten out of politics or business or whatever else. Look at what Dad accomplished. Look at Landry Holdings. But he never got to do the fun stuff with us, Sienna. He gave up a lot of things to create his legacy for them, for us, while Mom got to do other things. Important things, just in a different way.”
“Maybe . . .”
I see her point, but I still don’t agree. I watched her for years sit back with the answers to my father’s quandaries and only offer them up in the solitude of their bedroom after we’d all gone to sleep. I watched her friends jet off to Europe on vacations and go to see Broadway shows and she stayed behind, raising us. I don’t want that life.
I want ripped jeans, nights with whiskey slurring, and laughing with no regard to who is taking a picture. I want to experience Yosemite on a whim. To live my life without the constraints of someone else’s.
“I need to go, Cam,” I say, taking the towel off my head. My hair falls to the small of my back as I run my free hand through it. “Keep me posted on Dad, okay?”
“Okay. And, hey—don’t call out there tonight. He’s pissy that anyone knows at all. Lincoln showed up when I was leaving and I think the only reason Dad tolerated that was because he brought the baby. Mom has her hands full, you know?”
“Okay. I won’t call tonight.”
“Thanks. Talk to you soon.”
“Goodnight.”