CHAPTER ONE
WREN
This is a funeral. I expected rain and black umbrellas. Instead, the sky is a clear, Turkish blue straight out of a children’s book.
I expected I would be sad on a day like this, but I’m not.
I’m not happy either.
I’m angry—painfully, tearing-me-open-from-the-inside angry, and I hate it.
That’s what happens when your husband dies in a car crash… his mistress in the passenger seat (miraculously unharmed)… his mistress who turns out to be his secretary (in the world’s biggest cliché)… both of them on their way back from a hotel… on our wedding anniversary… the one he said he couldn’t attend because he had such a pressing meeting at work.
I hate it and I hate him for doing this to me, for making me feel like this when he should have been the one person I could count on.
I stare at his family gathered on the other side of the grave. They don’t stare back. They can barely make eye contact with me, least of all David’s father. He doesn’t look sad either, just disappointed.
The priest continues his spiel. My best friend, June, squeezes my hand. Thank god she’s here. I need someone to prop me up lest I collapse in a puddle of self-pity.
“Amen.”
I remember it being cold growing up in Vancouver, but you wouldn’t know it today.
And that’s the thing. Deep down inside myself there is a sliver of sadness because of those memories. I grew up with David and his brother, Carter, in Shaughnessy, our neighborhood full of giant homes and giant trees, its gallery-going, grey-haired occupants halfway into their own grave.
Our fathers were wealthy businessmen, mine in logistics, theirs in commercial real estate. We wanted for nothing and we made the most of it. As an only child, I pined for kind of sibling bond David and Carter shared. I’d be over there day and night, through middle school and high. We shared everything—our secrets, our stupid teenage desires.
And then things changed.
Carter began to spend less and less time with us. He started to act out—fighting and shoplifting, much to his parents’ horror. He fast became the black sheep of the proud White family.
All the while David, always the brother with the drive, the focus, started to woo me. It was silly stuff at first—cheesy plastic flowers and teddy bears—but it was the first time a boy had shown me any interest. Ka-ching. I was sold.
In truth, Carter was the brother who kept me up at night, my awkward fingers exploring. I longed for his brooding touch, his lips, but without any reciprocation, I turned to David, and so it went.
Carter moved away from home not long after, focused on ice hockey, his sole passion. Of course, his father wouldn’t let it go, more or less ostracized him completely, even when he managed to get into the NHL, to score a position with the Vancouver Canucks. God, he could fly out there on the ice. He had wings, a sixth sense for where the puck would be.
That was before the injury.
After that, he went off the grid completely. David wouldn’t even speak of him. It’s like he never had a brother at all.
I watch with calculating eyes as they lower David into the ground. It’s a good thing that bitch of a secretary didn’t decide to show her face today. Not even a six-foot drop would have stopped me launching over there and clawing her eyes out.
She’s not to blame.
Who is? Me? Because I sure as shit didn’t deserve this, just like I didn’t deserve the constant verbal and sometimes physical abuse in my marriage, because I wouldn’t play the good housewife, because I actually wanted a career.
I don’t think I ever truly loved David. I wasn’t even keen on marrying him in the first place, but my father had his grand plan. He slowly talked me into it, lots of ‘Be smart, Wren,’ and ‘Think of your future’s.
I wanted to run to Carter, to see if there could be something between us, something I missed, but all the while Dad just kept on about how David was the right, smart choice. “He’ll be CEO of the White Group soon,” he told me. “You’ll be set for life.”
But money’s not everything, and so the cliché train rolled on—the late nights, the mysterious texts, the… smells. I knew what it all meant, but I foolishly held onto my ignorance.
I add my handful of dirt.
It’s done.
June leads us away from the others. She’s wearing dark burgundy. As the only person here not dressed in black, she sort of stands out.
She lights a cigarette, the grand oak we’re standing under allowing shade. “Jesus, talk about awkward.” Good ol’ June telling it like it is. “You doing alright, kid?”
We’re only a year apart, but the whole ‘kid’ thing has stuck.
I nod, arms crossed. “I’ll survive.”
She takes me by the shoulders. “You want to be happy that scumbag’s dead? You should be. Personally, I’m glad the fucking prick is gone.”
“June…” I begin.
She’s the only person who knows the full truth. A limited few know about the cheating, but not what I went through at home.
“What?” she stammers. “You owe that family nothing, you hear?”
As if on cue, my father-in-law, White Senior, cuts in.
June glares at him, flicking her cigarette towards a patch of grass. “I’ll be over here if you need me, Wren.”
Magnus waits until she’s gone before speaking. He finally makes eye contact. “Wren, I am so, so sorry.”
I nod, unsure what to say.
He looks down, clears his throat. “It isn’t easy, I know.”
You don’t say. Ten points to Gryffindor.
He scratches his chin. “David was a good man,” he continues, “a well-respected figure in the industry, a fine CEO”.
It sounds more like a resume than a eulogy.
He draws in a breath. “Look, you lost a husband. I lost a son, but we cannot allow our feelings to corrupt his image, his… memory.”
I narrow my gaze, a little unsure at what he’s getting at.
“The, ahem,” he clears his throat, then continues, “circumstances of David’s death could adversely affect the company, as I’m sure you’re well aware. Its name and reputation could be damaged. Good people have invested in it, Wren, families and couples—wholesome people.”
You’re laying the guilt on thick today, Magnus. “What are you saying?”
“I’m simply saying there is no need to speak to the press, Wren. They’re jackals, simply out for a quick dollar, leaping on tragedy like this for ratings, readership. Besides, we’ll make sure you’re well compensated.”
I break. “Compensated, Magnus? Your son is dead, caught cheating on me with some blonde bimbo, and you’re worried about share prices?”
He puts his hand out. It’s heavy with gold. “Now, Wren, there’s nothing to suggest he was cheating on you.”
I lose it, shouting loud enough for the whole, cursed congregation to hear. “She was in the fucking car, Magnus! The hotel confirmed it. The police gave me his cell. I saw the messages, the videos.”
His ears prick at that. “The videos?”
I shake my head. You want it? You’ve got it. “The videos of him fucking her. He didn’t even try to hide them.”
He reaches out for me. “Wren…”
I shrug him off and pull back. “No. Don’t stand there and act like nothing happened. You don’t know the half of it.”
My own father shows up. I’m surprised he’s here at all. It’s times like this when I wish Mom was still alive. “Wren, easy now.”
I turn to him, tears pricking hot at the corner of my eyes. “No, Dad. I should never have listened to you.” I point to Mr. White. “You’re as bad as he is, only caring for your precious image and reputation.”
My father sighs. “What would you have done, Wren? Go find who? Carter?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
I see June tapping her foot. She’ll turn into an attack dog if I give the word.
Magnus speaks. “Carter’s my flesh and blood, Wren, but believe me when I tell you he would have broken your heart five ways to Sunday.”
“And David didn’t?”
The tears flow now, June rushing to my side, looping my arm in hers in a show of solidarity.
“Carter’s lost,” Magnus continues. “He always was.”
“Not from where I’m standing.”
That voice…
Everyone turns to look up the hill. A shadowy figure stands there against the horizon. I squint as he walks forwards, taking in the leather jacket and jeans, the sharp cut of his jaw.
“Carter?” I whisper.
He stops to my left, looks every bit the Carter I knew all those years ago with his inky hair and atoll eyes. He looks bulkier, too, solid, towering over his father.
Magnus is not impressed. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Carter ignores him and looks to me. “I’m sorry, Wren, truly. You didn’t deserve this.”
Dad looks panicked. Magnus steps in, lowering his voice. “You best be leaving, son, and leaving now. You are not wanted here.”
Carter nods, sliding his hands in his jacket pockets. “Sure, while you stand here and pretend my beloved brother wasn’t a lying, cheating lowlife.”
Magnus shakes his finger at him, face ripe with rage. “You watch your fucking mouth.”
Dad holds Magnus back. “Easy now. This isn’t the place.”
“You’re damn fucking right about that,” Magnus seethes, unable to tear his eyes from Carter. “Why couldn’t you just stay in whatever shithole you crawled out from, huh? The family doesn’t need this right now. It doesn’t need you and your god-damn drama.”
I notice Mrs. White in the distance with the others, hand over her mouth at the scene unfolding.
Carter nods, calm as a summer sea. “Okay, Dad. I have to say, this is the welcome I expected, but Wren here? You leave her the hell alone.”
Magnus clenches his fist. This is about to turn into a Jerry Springer segment. “Or what?”
Carter comes forward, leaning down into his father’s face. “I didn’t come back for this.”
“Your brother is in his grave and you choose now to come back, to fuck it all up again?”
Dad stands between them. “He’s right, son. Now isn’t the time. Think of your mother.”
Carter looks across to his mom. “Tell her I’m sorry, really, but I only came to offer Wren my support. Nothing more.”
He passes me a slip of paper with a hastily scrawled number on it. “If you need anything.”
I take it, still having trouble comprehending he’s here after so long away. “Thank you.”
“Leave!” Magnus shouts.
Carter puts his hands into the air, backing up the hill. “Whatever you say, Dad.”
He turns and walks until he’s enveloped by the sun, lost once more.
Magnus storms off.
Dad stands there just as confused as everyone else. He looks to me. “Will you be alright, Wren?”
I wipe away the tears. “Go, Dad. It’s fine.”
He goes running off after Magnus.
June pulls me around, heading us towards her car. “So that was the infamous Carter White?”
I nod. “Yes, I believe it was.”
June whistles. “I know this is like super offensive and shit given where we are, but damn did you choose the wrong brother, kid.”
I look back up the hill, but Carter’s gone. I pocket the slip of paper, unable to let go of it in my pocket, this tenuous link to the past, to happiness. “Where do you think he’s been all this time?”
June stops, spinning around to stand in front of me. “What, you don’t know?”
I’m clueless. “Don’t know what?”
“Everyone knows where Carter White’s been these last two years.”
Everyone except me, it seems. “June, tell me. Where’s he been?”
She shakes her head. “In prison.”