My surfboards were hidden under heavy brown fabrics in one of the garages, where guests couldn’t see them, even by accident, and all the family pictures I’d hung on my coral walls had been taken down the same day I’d put them there, the only evidence to the fact this room was once warm and mine were the naked nails hammered to the wall.
No one knew a thing about the real me, because I wasn’t perfect, and the Van Der Zees were.
At least on the outside.
We were The Brady Bunch, sans the gazillion kids. Blonde and beautiful and with the biggest, whitest smiles in our zip code.
I slipped into an orange bikini, a matching wetsuit, and a black hoodie, and texted Bane. We didn’t get to surf together now that I was working a dead-end job, but I still offered. It sucked to surf in the pitch black, not to mention it was exceedingly risky. But I didn’t have much choice. I started work at seven in the morning and didn’t get off until seven in the evening. And when I did, I had to check on my mom, cook for her, make sure she was okay. Someone had to, after all, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Jordan.
I entered the kitchen for some coconut water and a granola bar. Blood-red granite countertops and stainless steel appliances shone from every corner. The kitchen was one of my favorite places in the mansion because my father rarely ever wandered there. He had his food delivered to his room by one of our housekeepers whenever he was home. When he did make an appearance, it was to make my mother some tea, which was the only thing that seemed to have soothe her troubled mind.
“Mom?” I gasped when a frail, hunched back greeted me, wrapped in an off-white sateen robe. “What are you doing up?”
She was sitting at the marble dining table, staring at an article in a local newspaper. I walked over and pressed my lips to the crown of her blonde head.
“Hey,” I said softly. “Late night?”
“Who is April Lewenstein?” She pressed a thoroughly-chewed fingernail onto an image of Dad hugging a young businesswoman, both smiling to the camera at one of FHH’s functions. She dragged her finger across their picture and ink smeared both their faces. I allowed myself an indulgent sigh, my shoulders loosening.
“April’s in accounting, seventh floor. Married, five-months pregnant. You have nothing to worry about. Go back to bed.”
She whipped her head in my direction. Her lips were unnaturally plump, her skin too tight from endless injections, and her red-rimmed eyes told the story of another unbalanced cocktail of medication which we’d have to get replaced and prescribed.
“You would tell me if you knew he was cheating on me.” She grabbed the fabric of my wetsuit and balled it, pulling me into her face.
I offered a non-committed shrug. “Sure.” No chance in hell. At this point, Lydia Van Der Zee couldn’t deal with the simple fact that our pool was going to stay closed for the rest of the summer for maintenance. But I told her what she wanted to hear, because white lies paved the path to living with her brand of instability in relative peace. For me, not her, of course.
“How’s work for you, my darling girl?” She relaxed her grip on my wetsuit. My eyes flicked to the clock above the fridge, knowing I owed her the company, if nothing else. I slid onto a chair next to her and unscrewed the coconut water’s cap, bringing it to my lips. “It’s fine. Jordan picked the biggest assholes in town to work with. I can’t wait for him to find another pet project to spend all his time on.”
Fiscal Heights Holdings was just another loop in my father’s corporation belt. He had purchased and taken over so many companies before, I could hardly keep up with the count. He treated his businesses like needy lovers—giving them everything they needed in the first year, then dumping them to fend for themselves once he grew bored and found another exciting venture.
“I don’t know about that,” my mother mumbled, pulling at her fat lower lip. “He likes the idea of brushing shoulders with Baron Spencer and the like. They’re big names in Todos Santos, and he wants to run for mayor.”
Fiscal Heights Holdings was based in Beverly Hills, in big L.A, but we lived in the town of Todos Santos. And Todos Santos was small. Frighteningly so (see also: me trying to steal my boss’ mother’s purse by accident.)
So, Mom didn’t have to remind me Trent Rexroth was a big deal. Recently, I’d found myself thinking about him obsessively, in and out of the office, which was why I made it a point to push him away whenever he was in my vicinity.
“Your dad’s been acting weird. Cheating again, I’m sure. I think it’s serious this time.”
“Doubt it.” I offered a consoling smile. I meant the serious part, not the cheating. He definitely cheated.
She rubbed at her cheek tiredly. “His business trips have never been this long or this often before.”
“Maybe he is gearing up to become mayor. Meeting donors, yada yada.” Though he hadn’t talked about his political aspirations in a while, and that meant they weren’t on his mind. Jordan Van Der Zee had one true love, and that was the sound of his own voice.
The kitchen door made a soft noise, and I snapped my head around on an instinct, ready to yank a drawer open and chase a bastard with a steak knife. When I saw that it was the devil himself leaning on its frame, I exhaled, but knew better than to relax.
“You’re up, too? What’s up with you guys? It’s half past four in the morning,” I muttered, clutching my drink. The weekend was fast approaching, and I didn’t want to piss off Jordan. I needed this visit on Saturday, so playing nice was crucial.
“Edie and I have something to discuss. Go back to bed, Lydia. I will make you some tea in a moment.” Even though his disapproval was directed at my mother, it didn’t make the burn less marring. She got up on defeated feet, walking out of the room not unlike a ghost. Every step she took screamed negligence, abandonment, and weakness. My mother was abused just enough to break her, but not enough for me to go to the police with it. Balance, Rexroth said. Is everything. And oh, how right he was.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. You will not lose your shit over this, Edie. Screw surfing and his little ego games and making a point. Look at the big picture.
Jordan snatched the coconut water from my hand, slam-dunking the bottle into one of the two giant sinks in the kitchen island.
“I was drinking that.” There was spite in lethal quantities in each of my innocent words.
“Not anymore. That, and the surfing…it makes you look like a hippie. Van Der Zees drink coffee every morning. It keeps us sharp.”
“You make Mom tea twice a day.” I grinned.
“Your mother is not a Van Der Zee. Her claim to fame is marrying one.”
There wasn’t a way for me to acknowledge him that wouldn’t start a third world war, so I kept my mouth shut.
“Edie, we need to talk.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. The grave look on his face told me he was disappointed with me again, though hell if I knew why.
“I saw your exchange with Rexroth yesterday in the break room. The whole floor did.”
My eyes darted to him, my mouth falling open before I could fashion a comeback. If my father suspected I was flirting with Rexroth, he would strip me out of everything I cared about and had left. I couldn’t allow it.
“Listen—” I started, but he cut me off with a wave of a hand.
“No daughter of mine would be stupid enough to fall for his brute charm. I do know that, Edie.” He started slipping on his tie, tying it without even having to look in the mirror. I sat back, folding my arms over my chest.
“But I saw the way he looked at you, and the way he leaned into you, both of which weren’t appropriate considering your age difference and your recent employment with us. I’m not sure what Trent Rexroth has in mind, but he will not get his way, whatever that is. Now, you know your father well enough to understand the consequences of associating with him, correct?”
Was Jordan going to off Trent Rexroth? I wouldn’t put it past him. He was positively certifiable when it came to protecting his family’s honor, with honor being the operative word here. Love, feelings, and general wellbeing were disposable in his world. The realization that this conversation could go in so many different ways—all of them wrong—hit my stomach first, then rolled up to my chest, making my throat close up. My heart was littered with broken promises and half-baked happy moments. A wasteland of hopes and dreams that could never be fulfilled without Theo.
“Rexroth doesn’t interest me, so don’t waste your breath warning me off him,” I said, flicking old sand from between my chipped fingernails. It was always there, no matter how much I picked at it. Truth be told—I loved it there. The sand reminded me of the ocean, of surfing, of freedom.
“Would you like me to increase your hourly rate?” Father lurched forward like a heavy machine, taking my hand in his and clasping it robotically. His skin was cold and dry, a perfect metaphor to the man he was. I considered my words carefully, my gaze gliding over our hands, how unnatural they looked and felt.
“Well, you do only pay me minimum wage.”
“And would you like for me to arrange it so that you could see Theodore on Saturdays and every other Wednesday evening?” He followed, his smile cunning. Theodore. Not Theo. Never Theo.
My fingers were shaking, itching to withdraw from my father’s grasp. They trembled to touch Theo again. To feel his face between my hands. His laugh on my skin. His soul next to mine. At the same time, I knew Jordan well enough to recognize the carrot he was dangling in front of me was poisonous. My hand still stung from his touch, and I wanted to wash it with soap, scrub it until the first layer of skin peeled. He leaned closer, his breath full of minty toothpaste and venom.
“I need you to help me, Edie. There’s a job to be done, and you’re the perfect candidate.”
“I’m listening,” I said, wanting to see where he’d take it.