Life and Other Inconveniences(112)

“You what, Genevieve?” I ground out.

“I paid him to stay away from you.”

It was my turn to flinch.

My father sold me. He sold me. I thought he just never wanted me, but it turned out there was money in it for him.

For some reason, that made it worse. My throat was suddenly tight, and—shit. I wanted my mother. She hadn’t sold me. She left me, but she’d loved me. I knew that.

My father just took cash.

“I bet he didn’t argue,” I said.

“No,” she answered quietly. “He did not. I would apologize, Emma, but I’m not sorry. He was a wretched father, and husband. He failed your mother, and I didn’t want him to fail you.”

Not that Gigi had been warm and loving, mind you. My eyes were stinging. “Go on.”

“When you left, I cut him off, but he’d required a great deal. I sold Genevieve London Designs, and I made a hefty profit. But then Hope was born, and I was afraid of what would happen to her. So I set up a trust for her, which will keep her well cared for all her life. And I resumed bribing your father to keep his distance.”

I had always known my father was a loser. I never thought of him as vile until now.

“I still had money, of course,” Genevieve said. “I sold the apartment in Manhattan. I had a share of Genevieve London stock, and I sold that as well.”

“So why is there nothing?”

She looked out the window. “I invested it with a brilliant fund manager. I don’t remember his name. Buddy? Bennie? The . . . the pony scheme.”

“Ponzi.”

“Yes. I’m sure you remember the news. I wasn’t the only one. Everyone was fooled.”

“I’m surprised you were.”

“Well, I was. I was ruined. The new CEO of Genevieve London wanted nothing to do with the actual Genevieve London, and I was too old for anyone else to hire me. Or so I was told. ‘We want someone with a fresh point of view,’ they said. Or ‘You should just relax and enjoy life now, Mrs. London.’ Condescending idiots.”

“But still, Genevieve. I can’t believe you put everything in one investment. You have artwork, antiques, jewelry. You must’ve had savings.”

“I had savings, you’re right. But I had to make sure Hope would be cared for, so I endowed Rose Hill so that they could provide for adults as well as children.”

I drew in a slow breath. That would’ve required a lot of money. More than I could imagine.

Genevieve looked out the window. “The rest, your father drained in bits and pieces. Bribes from me, I suppose, to keep him away from Hope. As for the artwork, your grandfather and I made arrangements to donate our collection to the Metropolitan ages ago. All the great families do. And honestly, I don’t have that much of value. Less than half a million.”

I rolled my eyes. Half a million. Such a pittance. Rich people sucked.

“You still have Sheerwater,” I said.

Her eyes grew shiny, but she raised her chin. “No,” she said, and my stomach sank. “It’s reverse-mortgaged, and so are its contents. My jewelry will be sold on my death. I arranged for Charles, Helga and Donelle to stay on until I pass away, and I get an allowance until my death to continue living at my current standards.”

I put my hand over my mouth. Be a good person, Emma, I told myself. Be kind.

I was tired of being kind.

“So . . . you’re broke.” I paused. “Does my father know?”

“No. He thinks he’ll inherit a fortune.”

“So you lied to your only living child and bribed me back here by pretending Riley would get something.”

“A bribe you accepted.”

“Because I want my child to go to college without being terrified of the debt she’ll rack up. You’re right. I accepted the bribe so she wouldn’t have to do what I did, because I didn’t want her to have to eat ramen noodles and generic macaroni and cheese the way I did. But there’s nothing for her, am I right? You lied, and you’ve been lying all along.”

She didn’t say anything. “If the bank had allowed me to put aside something for her, I would have.”

“But they didn’t, and you chose not to share that little bit of information.”

She looked at her hands. “Correct.”

“Worse, though, Genevieve . . . for ten years, you made me feel like I was damaged goods because my mother committed suicide. You even predicted I’d kill myself because, in your eyes, having a baby at my age would cause me to spiral into despair. Then you ignored me for seventeen years and lied to me to get me to come back here. Why?”

“To . . . to see you again. To meet Riley.”

“How wonderful for you. And now you want me to kill you somehow because getting old is hard. Fuck you.” I stood up. “Did it ever occur to you that your feelings are not the only feelings that matter? How could you do this to me? Because you want to keep up appearances? Because you’re afraid of not being omnipotent anymore? You summoned us out here, made Riley love you and now you’re washing your hands of us. Again.”

She stood. “Emma, please understand. I don’t want to die wondering who I am. Who you are. I can’t lose my dignity when it’s been the only thing to get me through this wretched life.”