-1Prologue:

My life wasn’t a fairytale but as evil stepmothers went, Rachael Walsh was perfection. Far from the classic stereotype, she wasn’t the type to demand housework, didn’t send me away to a foreign boarding school so as to not interrupt her life, and wasn’t trying to marry me off to some arrogant prince charming wanna-be. At least not yet anyway.

When describing Rachael, people used words like; strict, organized, and nurturing, which really meant authoritarian, controlling, and over protective of territory - like female lions in the wild. But the worst thing about Rachael was that no matter how hard you fought her, in the end she was always right. She was right about what colleges to apply to, what colors not to wear, what friends were acceptable and which weren’t and worse, what was in your best interest, because in the long run, it was acknowledged that if she was happy you were happy and if she wasn’t, you were left to carry the brunt of her dismay.

“Natalie, I thought I told you to be awake bright and early this morning. Your father’s finally home and I’m having guests over. I don’t want you embarrassing anyone so wake up and get dressed.”

I could hear her walking through my room from beneath the thick duvet of my bed. Rachael could always be heard before she was seen, the click clacking of her heels against the hardwood floor a dead giveaway. I allowed myself a few more minutes of drowsiness before she offered a last warning and finally left.

During the school year most of my days had started out like this one, Rachael entering into my room - it was hers she’d told me once, I was just allowed to live in it - and going through my things, picking out uniform skirts and shirts and socks until all I had to do was mechanically put these things on and make my way into the dining room where coffee and consciousness awaited. Now that it was summer, the last few days of June after acceptance letters, and prom, and graduation, I’d naively assumed that the unwanted tradition had been nullified. But after three days of being lured into a false sense of security this didn’t seem to be the case. Still, whoever these guests were that she’d been so worried about, they were important, or at least important enough for to wear formal attire in the early hours of the morning.

Placed neatly on my bed was a semiformal yellow dress, Rachael’s favorite color on me I knew, and a necklace she had given me last Christmas, an expensive white gold chain with small white diamonds on a tiny pendant. It was classy and respectable, the way she liked things. Sitting on the floor impatiently mocking me were tall wedge -type sandals that I’d wished never to walk in again.

The ensemble was nice and feminine in a way that used to make my insides burn. But like most things, with time the ache and anger faded away until all that was left was an odd pang to the stomach, a reminder that once upon a time, things were different. But then as quickly as it came, it passed and I put it all on anyway.

The apartment was quiet as I stepped out into the dinning room for the coffee that sat at the table. I poured a cup into my late grandmother’s favorite china - another sign that important guests were coming - and inhaled deeply before taking a sip. Maybe my only true addiction, I swallowed too quickly and burned my tongue. But the pot was freshly made and I instantly felt better and more awake.

This was probably how smokers felt when they finally got their nicotine fix. The longer the habit the worse the necessity and I’d been drinking coffee since I was eight years old. Now, without at least two cups I was practically comatose.

“Please come inside. We’ll have tea until Henry wakes up,” I could hear Rachael say as she click-clacked her way through the foyer and into the dining room where I stared at Sylvia Bronstein and her son Travis in confusion. Sylvia, a New York City chairman of the E.C.S (Elite Charity Society), and second wife of Eric Bronstein, publishing executive of a popular men’s magazine, looked perfectly at ease as she caught sight of me, smiled, and sat down at my side without a word. Travis just looked almost as confused as I felt.

It was weird to see him here in his too tight pants, too-fit suit, and dress shoes. Not to mention the styled hair and eyeliner. Something about him just went against everything I knew about boys growing up. He was completely foreign to the jeans, clean t-shirt rule my friends had lived by and something about him being different from those boys of my childhood made him impossible to get close to. Not that he hadn’t tried. He’d ambushed me at Melissa Groban’s graduation dinner as I was coming back from the bathroom.

“Hey Tali.”

“Hey Travis.”

It had felt weird to say hi to him again, as though the meeting had been largely coincidental, when we’d just been sitting across from each other at the dinner table. Ignoring this, I made to go around him and return to the dinner party.

“Um.” It was his hesitation that stopped me.

“You okay Travis?”

“Yeah I’m great,” he said slowly and then, “actually I wanted to talk to you about something.”

I looked over at the table where everyone sat, talking loudly about college acceptances and how happy they were that they’d finally be leaving the city behind to see someplace new without their parents. And even though I didn’t know anyone very well except Brendan Blakeley, the valedictorian, and even then only because of our academic bond, I wanted to be there at the table because leaving was a conversation I knew I could be a part of. I looked at the table wistfully and then turned back at Travis.

“Alright, shoot. What is it?”

The last thing I’d expected was for him to tell me in as few words as possible was that he’d liked me for the past year, much less the kiss he’d planted on me, wet and sloppy, unlike all the others I‘d had since the first. It was like the preteen kiss I’d never wanted and I did everything I could not to wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand when he pulled away. Then we stood there for a few minutes, him waiting for me to say something, me not knowing what to say.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “So?”

Travis Bronstein was the first person I was encouraged to befriend at Elizabeth Beacon Preparatory School and though we’d been acquaintances throughout most of high school, we’d never spent time together outside of school. To say that his confession came as a shock was an understatement.

“Well…” I still didn’t know what to say. Just then I felt so much younger than I was. I’d never been awkward with boys when I was younger and it was impractical to grow worse at something with time. I took a breath and forced it out. “Travis you’re really nice but we’re already graduating and I don’t think that it would be a good idea for you and me… for us… to um…” I fumbled with the words. Losing momentum, I took in the embarrassed flush of his skin, the tightening of his fists as he stood there. “It’s just that…”

“Fine. You’re not into me. Whatever.” It as obvious he’d been angry and that I’d hurt him. I instantly felt bad about rejecting him until two days later at gradation when I found out he’d told the entire senior class that I cornered him outside the bathroom and tried to have my way with him. That was the day I’d lost all respect for him because as far as rumors went, it wasn’t even a very good one.

“Don’t fidget Travis. Sit down,” his mother ordered him and I allowed myself a pleased smile. I could only hope that that had been the reason he’d been called here.

Travis sat across from me, clearly panicked as Rachael offered him coffee. He accepted with a nod but said nothing else.

“Sylvia thought I might be interested in the E.S.C’s new project,” Rachael shared as Martin, our shadow of a butler, materialized in the dining room, like magic, with a tray of tea.

“Yes,” Sylvie elaborated, “we’ve decided to start offering scholarship money to a few arts students across the country. Technology is all well and good but not at the expense of culture and the fine arts.”

Rachael had been setting up meetings for charity raisers and backers since she’d retired from being headmistress to a prominent all girls school in the outskirts of London. Other than keeping track of my father’s business ventures and meddling into my life, there wasn’t much else for her to do. Contributing and organizing charity events with Manhattan’s social elite gave her a purpose, I guess. Similar to the responsibilities she had when she was in charge of two hundred and fifty teenage girls. But this event, unlike the others, didn’t sound like Rachael. Rachael didn’t like “creative artsy bums who drew pictures because of their incompetent lack of education”.

“I mean, what’s the point of being technologically advanced if all these advances numb down things like innovation and creativity.”

What was even weirder was that Rachael was eating it all up, nodding along to every artistically enriching word Sylvia Bronstein said. Rachael who had majored in philosophy and gotten a masters in psychology, couldn’t have cared less about art. In Plato’s words art was deception and in her own, a drug for momentary euphoria. Music if classical was tolerated, art if photographic was useful, but anything outside the scope of efficiency and order only caused anarchy in the mind.

Still Rachael was nodding her head, agreeing wholeheartedly with a spiel about how children with artist backgrounds thrived in education and how she had seen to it that Havisham, her ex-school, had an accelerated program because of it. And I wondered not for the first time, what her motive was. Rachael was not the kind of person to do things that didn’t definite her in some way.

I was floored by her eager cooperation.

“Maybe you can get involved too Natalie? Keep you occupied before you leave for college? Which ever college that may be…”

The comment was subtle but easy to pick up on. I’d gotten into my top choices and a few other schools but had yet to reply back or choose which school I’d be attending.

“Maybe…”

It wasn’t something I was interested in but there were people I knew who would have been perfect candidates; talented, hardworking, and most of all eligible. But the more I thought about it, the less I liked the idea. The person I had in mind must have been in college for two years already and seemed to be managing. My help probably wasn’t even needed.

“Well that’s that, add her name to the list Sylvia. It’ll be good for her,” Rachael said, sipping her tea slowly as if savoring the taste or her victory at getting her way once again. Either would have annoyed me.

“So Travis, what are you doing here? Volunteering for E.S.C as well?” I asked pristinely, confused at his reason for being here. If the whole breakfast was to be about the scholarship program, it would have been considered woman-talk and Travis probably would have wanted to chew his own arm off than to sit through it. Maybe he had come to apologize, I thought with doubt as he sat up straighter at the mention of his name and pressed down his suit.

“No. Actually, I’m here to talk to you father about am internship opportunity. I didn’t even know you’d be here.”

Had it been anyone else, I would have been hurt by the barb. But after his lie to our peers, I didn’t put much thought on anything he said.

“Good luck with that,” I said and found that I actually meant it. It was barely nine o’clock in the morning and there was very little on my father’s day off that would get him up before eleven thirty from his hectic private practice. If anything, he’d be more critical on a day like today especially for an intern. The likelihood was that Travis wouldn’t get a position at Zuckerman Walsh’s. My dad was first and foremost a businessman, second a husband, and third a father. After one look at the carefree aristocratic Travis Bronstein, my father wouldn’t even let him take out the trash, let along work as an intern.

“Good morning,” my father’s voice rang out from behind me, not dressed for work but in khakis and a polo shirt. This was a casual as I’d ever seen him. “Rachael, you didn’t tell me we were having guests.” He wasn’t angry. He never was when it came to Rachael.

Immediately, Travis shot up from his seat, as though he’d been shocked and extended his hand nervously.

“Hello, sir.”

“And you are?” Dad sounded intimidating without even trying.

“Travis Bronstein, sir.” Dad looked to Rachael with a tired expression and back at Travis. “I’m a friend of Tali’s. I was hoping to talk to you about getting an internship at your company.”

Dad was skeptical to say the least. “Bronstein? Why not work for your father?”

“I was hoping to pursue law, sir,” he said in determination.

“Well….” Dad hesitated for a second, not sure what to do with Travis as the rest of us looked on, Sylvia still, as she waited for father’s decision. When he didn’t answer, Rachael took a sip of her tea and said, “Oh come now Henry, it wouldn’t take too long.” And just like that it was decided. Dad would speak to Travis about his internship opportunity in the sitting room while Sylvia and Rachael finished their planning for the E.S.C calendar events in the dinning room.

No one was surprised at how easily Rachael maneuvered the situation. It was just the way she was.

“Well then let’s get started shall we,” Sylvia said, pleased that her son had actually managed an interview with my father.

The planning for the society was as boring as advanced calculus. Venues were chosen for charity fundraisers having to do with disabled children, abused animals, and poor children in Africa. Then, caterers were called, evening gowns were planned, seating charts were arranged… it was an ongoing parade of expensive planning that was probably more than double the cost any of the donations would have pulled in for any of the causes.

After fifteen minutes of sitting and watching silently, I’d finally had enough and asked, as politely as possible, if I could be excused from the room to use “the powder room”. As I made my way back to my room, I made sure to walk past the sitting room, curious as to how Travis’ interview was going.

“I have to say, it was the fact that you didn’t take a position with your father that intrigued me,” dad said as he closed a folder and looked up at Travis with a small sense of respect.

“It‘s just that I’ve heard Tali and my father refer to you and your company in nothing but the highest of regards. Since then I’d made up my mind to work here for you.” He sounded sincere in his wanting to work for the company but half of the facts he’d uttered, anything to do with me and probably his father too, were fabricated.

“Well Travis, everything looks good so far, now all I have to see is where to place you. I just need to get a few files from my office and - Natalie, were you looking for me?”

I was so surprised when I heard dad call my name that I jumped from behind the door post in shock. Travis looked at me nervously, probably worried I’d come to rat him out but all I said was, “No dad, I’m just on my way back to my room.”

“Alright then. If you’ve got nothing better to do than to stand behind doorposts then maybe you’d like to get these files from my office for me? They’re either on my desk or in the filing cabinet left of the desk.” He didn’t say this in the teasing way I always hoped he’d use when reprimanding me. He used the same tone he always did, the one he used with his clients. I left the room with a quiet, “yes, sir” and trudged to his study, a well sized room inside the library.

The library had always been my favorite room of the house. Most of the books were unreadable, large, intimidating encyclopedias and tedious case studies that were enough to make even the most collegiate person bored silly. Still, the book spines glowed prettily from their places in the stalls, reds, greens, and blues. And in the very last stall of books was my personal collection, an array of color and glee within the poignant rigidity of the room.

I walked into the study quickly, dad would not be happy if I kept him waiting, and shuffled through the papers in his desk for the file name he’d given me. All of the files on his desk were the cases he was working on and I tried not to mess up the papers or the order as I shuffled through them and stacked them back nicely in the center of the desk. Next I looked into the file cabinet that was so much a mess that I knew Rachael hasn’t organized it. No matter how well put together my father looked, he was a mess without having someone tell him what to do or organize his things for him.

As I leafed through the file tabs I could, the ones closest to the top of the disheveled pile he’d created inside the filing cabinet, I found nothing. Annoyed, I slammed the file cabinet closed and walked back to the desk. If I didn’t find it, he’d be annoyed that he’d have to come and get it himself and I saw him too infrequently to want him to be mad at me on a day when he was finally home.

Desperate, I opened his desk drawers looking for the file. Maybe he’d stored it in one of the drawers and had forgotten about it. The first drawer held no files at all, just a large stack of papers with bills in them that related to the company. Probably, dad was looking into his own accounting or was double checking the company account balance. One of his best traits as a lawyer was that he was nothing if not thorough. Te next drawer held tons of filed but none of them were what I was looking for and as I opened the third drawer, I stopped dead cold. I hadn’t found the filed yet but the envelop that sat on top of the file of stacked folders had me forgetting what it was that I’d come to get in the first place.

The envelop was a letter from St. Sebastian, South Carolina. The seal had already been broken and the letter already read although it was addressed to me, me name large and round in middle of the envelop. Without hesitation, I pulled the letter out of the envelop and read it. Once. Twice. It was only after the third read that the information began to sink in. That my uncle was calling for me and that my father had hidden the letter.

A same empty pang hit my gut, hard this time, as I kicked the drawer shut and stomped my way back to the sitting room. As I entered, my father looked at me impatiently.

“Well?”

“Why didn’t you give this to me?” I demanded. The letter was crushed inside my fist as I glared at my father. It was a matter of seconds before recognition finally lit his eyes.

“Where did you find that?”

“In your desk drawer. Why would you keep my letter from me?” I asked again, my voice getting louder and I lost my patience.

For a while he said nothing, just looked at me, annoyed but dejected as I glared, waiting, demanding an answer. It wasn’t right that he keep this, of all things, from me.

“Henry, what’s the matter? We heard yelling from the other room.” Rachael and Sylvia stood at the doorpost, so close to me that if I put out my arm I could push them out of my way and get to my room where I would pack my things before I left for St. Sebastian. It was as she spoke though that she caught sight of the letter in my hands and turned to Sylvia, the epitome or calm. “I’m sorry Sylvia, we’ll have to reschedule the rest of the meeting. You too, Travis,” until she’d said his name, I’d forgotten he’d still been in the room, “Tali just got some unfortunate news about a family member and she’s very distraught. We’ll see you sometime soon?”

Sylvia looked stunned, as though she hadn’t seen this coming but nodded muttering her condolences as she ushered her son out of the room. Just outside the door, Martin was waiting to escort them out. It wasn’t until the front door clicked shut that I started again.

“You knew about this too and you didn’t tell me?!”

“We thought it was for the best that you not know,” Rachael answered simply, as though I were just some child throwing a tantrum.

“You thought it was for the best that I didn’t know my uncle was almost beaten to death three weeks ago?” I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice.

“If we’d told you, you would have missed graduation. You were salutatorian, you had a speech to give. We couldn’t let you out of that responsibility.”

I could feel my eyes widening in disbelief. “You didn’t want me to go visit the man who raised me because I’d miss my graduation?”

Rachael nodded. “And after you were done with prom and graduation, we didn’t see a point in telling you anymore so we thought it would be best if you just didn’t know.”

I stared at them for a few more seconds, waiting for their reasoning to come into light and when it didn’t, left the them, in a hurry to get to my room.

“Where are you going?” Rachael asked, with what I imagined was the same voice she’d used with the girls at her school.

“I’m going to pack and then I’m buying a train ticket to St. Sebastian. I‘m staying the summer.”

I slammed the door to my room open and ran to my closet. My backpack and suitcase were at the very bottom to the left of my shoes and I zipped open the pack, filling it to the brim before moving on to the suitcase. It fell open on the floor in my haste and I threw as much clothes in it as would fit. I sat on the suitcase attempting to close it and had just found the zipper when Rachael came in, not a hair out of place, and she watched me. Dad was no where to be seen.

“You’re not going.”

“Yes I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

I looked at her. Really looked at her, my eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “He deserves for me to go. You’ve only had me for four years. He’s had me for fourteen. I’m going, Rachael.” I zipped up the bag and pulled on the handle, ready to force my way out if I had to.

I stood there, waiting for her answer, hoping that just this once, she’d be sympathetic, that she’d understand.

I was sorely disappointed.

“We’ve worked too hard to get you to where you are today. I won’t have everything squandered over something like this. You are not going Natalie and that‘s final,” she said and there was a pause before she added an unfeeling, “I’m sorry”. I could only stare as she closed the door behind her and the door locked with a click before the click-clacking of her heels could no longer be heard down the hallway.

I could feel myself deflating. Without much strength left in my body I crumbled onto my bed, drained. It’d be much harder to leave New York without Rachael’s permission but I was good at leaving unannounced. Beyond exhaustion, I reached under my bed for my laptop, an old PC my uncle had gotten me for my birthday just before I’d left St. Sebastian. It took me ten minutes to book my plane ticket to Charleston, a trip that required a transfer in Atlanta, Georgia, and the final train transfer to St. Sebastian Square, one of the few still running railway stops along the southern states.

Once I was done, I put the computer back where I’d found it and lay on my bed waiting. This wasn’t the first time Rachael had locked me in my room, usually for the remainder of the day. And it wouldn’t be the first time that, like today, Martin would open the door for me, quiet as a church mouse, before disappearing again. I hadn’t bothered to ask him why he’d done it. Martin never spoke to me or anyone else unless he had to but I was thankful, something I felt he somehow knew.

It twenty more minutes before the gears at the door handle clicked quietly and I knew I was free. I lifted my backpack to my shoulders, leaving all the rest behind, and walked as quietly as I could down the hallway, through the foyer, and out the door.

St. Sebastian had been my hometown, my mother’s hometown but it wasn’t a place I’d been planning on going to ever again. There were too many things there that I’d been running from. But I guess it really was only a matter of time until the past catches up with you.