Life and Other Inconveniences(43)

“No. It’s not. I’m giving you a chance with my daughter, and against my better judgment,” she said. “Riley had some . . . issues with friends, and I thought a summer here might be helpful. But you can’t buy her love, and I don’t want you to try.”

“I have no intention of buying anyone’s love, Emma.”

“Good. It’s not for sale.”

We eyed each other a moment. “I noticed Riley seems a bit thin. She seems to eat well, but . . .” I let my voice trail off.

“She grew almost five inches this year,” Emma said. “It’s not an eating disorder.” She paused. “But thank you for your concern.”

“Of course.” There was an odd sense of neutrality between us. A cease-fire of sorts. “Do I have your permission to leave now?” I asked, ruining it.

She rolled her eyes. “Be home before ten, please.”

“Have a lovely day.” I checked my reflection—were I going to live a bit longer, I might have some injections done—and left.

But it seemed Emma’s lecture had infected Riley, for once Charles pulled onto 95 South, she asked, “Why did you kick my mother out when she got pregnant with me?”

I suppressed a sigh. “I didn’t exactly kick her out, dear. I gave her a choice. If she wanted to keep you, then I felt I wouldn’t be doing her any favors by continuing to support her so she could pretend to be an adult.”

“She was all alone.”

“That’s not true. She had Jason and the Finlays, and her father, and her grandfather Paul.”

“But you raised her. Also, my dad’s parents are jerks.”

“True enough. And I did raise her, and I’d raised her to be smarter than to get pregnant while still in high school.”

“So you wanted her to abort me.”

“I suggested abortion, yes, but I also suggested that she give you up for adoption.” I felt a flush of shame, for some reason. “Your mother had a very bright future. She was smart—”

“She still is.”

“Yes, I’m sure, but please don’t interrupt, Riley. It’s rude.”

“It’s also rude to toss someone out because she’s pregnant.”

I did sigh this time. “Things are very black-and-white when you’re young, Riley. I forced your mother to address the consequences of her irresponsibility. Birth control is very effective. Somehow, your mother and Jason got it wrong. Coddling Emma was not going to improve her life.” I didn’t mention the part for which I felt the most regret.

“She worked as a cashier, you know,” Riley said. “At a grocery store on the night shift. She worked up until the day I was born and went back two weeks later.”

That was not a pleasant image. “There’s no shame in hard work,” I said. “I imagine she learned a great deal.”

Riley was silent, but her gaze said much.

“I was going to pay for her college, you know,” I said. “And graduate school. I wanted her to come work with me, to pass my business down to her. She made her choice, and it was you. I doubt very much she’s sorry.”

“She’s not. We have a good life.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

She huffed. “It’s just sad. You’re dying, and only now do I get to know you. You could’ve called, you know.”

“She told me not to.”

“Can you freaking blame her?”

I could not. Truthfully, I’d thought Emma would call me. I thought she’d break, even living with that Paul. I thought she’d ask for money, and of course I would have given it. I was anxious to give it, frankly.

But she’d never called. Not once. And while I knew where she was, I had never been able to bring myself to simply send a check. I should have, but I never did.

“Why don’t we try to have a nice day in the city?” I suggested. “I’m eager to introduce you to the staff and have you enjoy yourself. They’re excited to see the next generation of Londons. Can we do that, dear? I was thinking you might enjoy getting a haircut and makeover.”

Her face lit up before she could help herself. “Fine. But you can’t think that throwing some awesome purses at me is going to make everything okay with my mom.”

“I know that.”

“But you’re gonna try? To make things right?”

“Of course.”

I had no intention of trying. Emma had painted me as the Evil Queen a long time ago, and I simply didn’t have the energy to fight with her.

Riley was looking at me, and once again, the resemblance cut through to my heart.

“You okay, Gigi?” she asked, her voice kinder now.

“Oh, yes. It’s just . . . your eyes are the same shade as my son’s,” I said.

“Sheppard?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever get any information about what happened to him?”

“We did not, unfortunately. There were leads, but none ever turned out.” Summer blue. That’s how I used to think of Sheppard’s eyes, as clear as the summer sky.

“Maybe,” Riley said, “maybe we can do something to find him this summer. I mean, not find him, maybe, but figure out what happened to him. I listened to a podcast about that once. We could do a DNA test. And register you on one of those genealogy sites? Maybe there’s someone out there related to you that you don’t know about. I’m really good on the Internet. Stalking and stuff. Maybe I could find something.”