Remembrance (The Mediator #7)(114)
But of course we hadn’t invited him. I hadn’t wanted Paul to discover we were getting married—we’d had enough trouble from him to last a lifetime.
So I’d taken care not to allow anything about the event to be posted online, and I’d especially not sent an invitation to Paul or his younger brother, Jack, though I’d felt badly about it.
“Er, yes, Susannah,” Father Dominic said, looking slightly embarrassed. “Wasn’t it nice of Jack to come? And all the way from Seattle, where he lives now.”
I gave him a dirty look. Now I knew who’d invited Jack.
“Yes,” I said. “So nice.”
“I see that my brother isn’t here,” Jack said. “I asked him if he was coming, and he said he wasn’t sure. Did he not get invited? He hasn’t caused any more trouble, has he?”
“No, not trouble, exactly,” I said, while beside me I saw Jesse set his jaw. I couldn’t hear him grinding his teeth over the sound of the music, but I was sure that’s what he was doing.
Now we knew how Paul had found out we’d moved up the wedding date, despite the care I’d taken.
The box had arrived via FedEx earlier that day, along with a card from Paul wishing us “many years of happily wedded bliss.”
Inside the box was a framed notification letting the applicant know that, per their request, 99 Pine Crest Road had been determined eligible for the National Register of Historic Places, due to its being associated with “events that have made a significant contribution to the broad pattern of history” and with the “lives of persons significant in our country’s past.” As such, the property could never be torn down or altered in any way.
The request had been made by the Carmel-by-the-Sea Historical Society four months earlier. The notification was dated the day after Paul would have begun demolition on my house . . . if I hadn’t stopped him.
I thought that Jesse and I had already had more than our fair share of miracles. But I was happy to take this one, too.
Jesse took a great deal of satisfaction in prominently displaying the notification over the fireplace in the front parlor. An official seal—the same as the one on the wall outside the Monterey County Jail, another historic landmark in which Jesse had spent time—would be following, according to the notification, as soon as it could be engraved.
To give Paul credit, I don’t think he could have found a better wedding present . . . then again, the text he’d sent me later probably expressed his true feelings about my marriage:
El Diablo Guess you don’t have to worry about your something old, do you, Simon?
When you’re finally ready for something new, call me.
NOV 28 1:24PM
Insulting as it was, it was nice to know he was feeling better. It meant that while his jaw might have been broken, his heart never truly was—if he had one, which I wasn’t sure.
I’d already decided, however, that it would be best not to reciprocate with a framed copy of the results of the paternity test I’d paid an extra thousand dollars (out of my own pocket) to have rushed during a holiday week.
Paul’s probability of paternity for the triplets (or Child A, B, and C as they were referred to by the lab) had come back at a whopping 99.999 percent certainty . . . not that I’d ever doubted it, nor had any intention of telling anyone else, save Jesse. It was just a nice piece of insurance to have in case I ever needed it in the future.
“Yeah,” Jack was going on. “Paul and I aren’t very close anymore. Not that we ever were, really. I basically only see him at shareholder meetings.”
“Oh?” Father Dominic asked. I could tell that the old man was thoroughly enjoying himself. Bored from having been cooped up in the hospital for so long, even a normal wedding would have been very exciting to him. But this one was of particular interest to him. “Did your grandfather leave you a stake in his company?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Jack replied. “Gramps didn’t leave me a dime. I bought into Paul’s company with my own money. I design video games. Turns out I’m pretty good at it. Who’d have thought I’d be good at anything, right, Suze?”
He laughed at himself in a self-deprecating manner that was completely unlike his brother. The laugh, however, reminded me eerily of my stepnieces.
“Video games?” I echoed. “I thought you liked to write screenplays.”
“What? No. Well, sort of. See, it’s a bit stupid, actually. You’ve probably heard of one of them.” Jack said the words aloud even as I mouthed them along with him. “Ghost Mediator.”
Jesse looked astonished. “That’s you?”
Jack laughed some more, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “I know. Weird, right? I mean, I know we’re supposed to keep the mediator thing a secret, but I never expected anyone to see my game, much less take it seriously. I submitted it to a contest. Honestly, I never expected to win. They’ve even made a stupid TV show based off it.”
“I’ve heard of it,” I said woodenly.
“I know, it’s really bad.” Jack looked a bit deflated by my lack of enthusiasm. “It’s taken off, though, internationally, and I get a ton of residuals. That lady who stars in it—”
“She’s fake,” I interrupted. “Her readings aren’t real.”