CHAPTER 31
CASSIE
What in actual tarnation …
I stare at my mother. I’m not the only one.
Everyone has been stunned to silence.
Well, not everyone. All around us, other people are still enjoying themselves. They’re laughing and chatting. They’re nibbling on hors d’œuvres and drinking their champagne. Even the band is still playing. I long to be one of those blissfully oblivious people. I miss my old life, the one from five seconds ago before I heard my mother utter those inexplicable words in that ice-cold yet oddly smug tone.
Her shocking admission hangs like a cloud in the air, lingering, refusing to dissipate.
I’m the first one to find my voice, though it comes out hoarse and unstable.
“Mom.” I shake my head a few times, unable to formulate any more words.
“What?” She is completely unbothered, cheerful even, as she drains the rest of her glass before signaling a passing server for another.
Is she fucking drunk?
I look at Gavin and Gemma. Tate’s dad is paler than the crisp linen napkins being handed out with the hors d’œuvres. Gemma, on the other hand, is flushed, her cheeks stained a deep, dark red. Whether from anger or humiliation, I don’t know.
Mom’s amused gaze flicks my way. “Weren’t you the one who was so curious about my past the other day?” she reminds me. A mocking note colors her tone. “And now, not a single question?” She tsks. “Really, Cass?”
“Victoria.” Grandma’s sharp voice slices the air.
“Oh, Mother, don’t look at me like that. You knew about it.”
My gaze flies to Grandma, flashing a hundred different questions at her. She says nothing to remedy my bewilderment. Does nothing to assuage my distress. Her shuttered expression is vexing and it’s all I can do not to growl at her.
“Okay, what is happening right now?” I finally shout, and this time we draw some attention. Several startled gazes. Curious eyes.
Mom takes another sip.
Gavin, who hasn’t uttered a single word yet, doesn’t meet my gaze. His jaw is stiff, a muscle twitching.
“Gavin?” The distrustful voice belongs to Tate’s mother. And it succeeds in getting a reaction from him. His blue eyes shift, locking on to his wife. I see nothing of note in his expression, but Gemma must, because her cheeks turn redder. Lips tightening.
“Her?” she demands in disbelief. “That’s who it was?”
Tate stares at his parents, his face darkening. “Seriously, what the hell is going on? What baby is she talking about?”
My stomach begins to churn. An eddy of disgust and shame. I’m looking at my mother and I realize she’s enjoying this. She stands there smirking, unruffled, sipping her drink. She doesn’t care to expound on this tale. She’s not purposely delaying the payoff to keep everyone on the edge of their seats. That wasn’t her intention. All she wanted, I realize, as she aims her satisfied smirk at a visibly sweating Gavin Bartlett—was that. She wanted to make Tate’s father squirm. Wanted to put him in this position of having to explain himself to his family.
Without addressing his son’s question, Gavin touches Gemma’s arm. “Why don’t we go speak privately, darlin’?”
My mother doesn’t like that one bit. Whatever her original plan, I see the moment she mentally adjusts it.
With a harsh laugh, she says, “What’s the matter, Gavin? You don’t want to take a trip down memory lane among friends? Why on earth not?” She pretends to think it over. She’s the star of this sick movie and she’s relishing every second. “Is it because you don’t want your son and your wife and the good people of Avalon Bay to know the kind of man you really are?”
Anger twists and cuts at my insides. “Stop it,” I snap. “That’s enough, Mom. Time to go.”
I plan on getting this whole story, damn right I do, but not now. Not here, in a ballroom full of people. I notice Mackenzie starting to make her way toward us, Cooper at her heels. But they stop when I give a slight shake of my head.
“No, we can’t have that, can we?” Mom doesn’t heed my warning. She’s laughing again. Cold and punishing. “You’re Mr. Congeniality of the Bay. Mr. Perfect who can do no wrong. Perfect Gavin who can have an affair, screw another woman behind his wife’s back, knock that woman up, and still smile to all those people who walk into his place of business and talk about how much he loves his boats and let me tell you about the time I sailed to Hawaii! Right, Gavin?” Scorn drips like tar from her every word. “Well, I’m sorry, you don’t get that luxury anymore. You don’t get to pretend anymore.”
“Victoria.” It’s Grandma again. She touches Mom’s elbow. “This is neither the time nor the place.”
“Why not?” Mom flashes a mocking look. “This is the last time I’ll ever be in this fucking town, so why not now?”
I flinch at the expletive. Mom is usually a lot classier than this. There’s nothing classy about her now. The contemptuous smile. Those gleaming eyes, aimed at Tate’s parents. It’s insidious. Everything about this is fucking insidious.
And Tate. God, I can’t even look at Tate. I see him in my periphery and I’m diligently trying not to let our eyes meet. I don’t want to know his expression. Nobody wants to see what their sort-of boyfriend’s face looks like after you both find out your parents had an affair. Allegedly. I’m still not certain what the whole story is here, but it’s evident they were involved in some way.
“Mr. Perfect has nothing to say?” Mom seems almost disappointed that Tate’s dad isn’t taking her bait.
The man hasn’t even acknowledged her since she dropped her bomb. And that’s a problem. Narcissists can’t handle being ignored. That’s usually when they go for the jugular. And Mom is no exception.
“Perfect Gavin Bartlett, who has his cake and eats it too. Who flashes a huge smile to the world and then sits down and offers to pay for the abortion.”
Someone needs to stop this. But nobody is. Grandma has gone deathly silent. Tate is motionless. Gavin just stands there taking it. And I’m too stunned, my heart pounding too fast. Too loud. I can barely hear my own thoughts, let alone string some together and verbalize them. I feel nauseous, bile burning like acid in my throat.
The person who finally puts an end to our collective torture is Tate’s mom.
It’s a testament to her southern upbringing, the way Gemma Bartlett wipes her palms on the front of her dress before taking a breath and stepping closer to my grandmother.
“Avalon Bay will be sad to see you go, Lydia. I’ve enjoyed running into you around town and chatting with you, and I do wish we’d gotten to know each other better over the years. I hope Boston treats you well.” With a soft smile, Gemma clasps Grandma’s hand, then releases it. “Now, I’m afraid I must take my leave. I’m feeling a wee bit under the weather.”
Without sparing a glance at my mother, Gemma drops the proverbial mic like a fucking rock star and walks away.
It’s chaos after that. Not the kind of chaos where people are screaming and running and making a scene. A quiet chaos, where everyone disappears in the blink of an eye. Tate’s father goes after Gemma. A stricken Tate follows Gavin. My mother drains her glass and hands it to a waiter, then calmly saunters toward the arched doorway.
I stare at her retreating back, the casual sway of her hips in that black cocktail gown. I remain frozen for a moment. Before the rage propels me into action.
Heart rate dangerously high, I hurry after my mother. She’s walking at a fast clip, and I don’t catch up to her until she’s gliding through the lobby doors to step outside.
“Are you kidding me?” I grab her arm before she can approach the valet. “No way. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Don’t speak to me in that tone.” Mom flings my hand off.
“Me? You’re unhappy with the way I’m speaking to you? How about the way you spoke to everyone in there? What the hell was that?”
My voice is shaking wildly. A leaf in a hurricane. My palms feel numb, pulse racing. And through my blood surges the kind of rage that produces tears. That makes you sob like a helpless child because the ferocity of the fury is too strong for even an adult to handle.
As my throat tightens to the point of pain, I snatch Mom’s hand and drag her away from the valet station.
“Cassie! Let me go.”
“No,” I snap.
“Cassie,” she says sharply as she stumbles on her heels.
I slow down to allow her to regain her balance, but I don’t stop moving until we’re well out of earshot of the Beacon.
“You had an affair with Gavin Bartlett?” I demand.
She looks amused by the question.
“Don’t smile at me like that.” I clench my teeth. “Are you getting pleasure out of this?”
“A little bit, yes.” She chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so angry. You can relax. It was a long time ago.”
I gape at her. “You want me to relax? You cheated on Dad.”
“We were already separated.” She pauses. Mulling. Then she amends that. “Talking about separation, anyway.”
“But you weren’t separated.” I drag a tired hand over my eyes, willing myself not to cry. “When did this happen? The year before the divorce?”
“Yes. I was trading in your grandfather’s boat and dealt with Gavin at the dealership. And, well…” She shrugs. “You’ve met the man. He’s charming. Not to mention gorgeous.”
My head is spinning. I don’t want to know the details, and yet I do. “Who initiated it?” I ask warily.
“He did.”
For some reason that surprises me. I pictured Mom as the instigator, strutting into the dealership in a tight dress, set on ruining a man’s life.
“And it took a lot of persuasion on his end. I’d never cheated on your father in all the years we were married. If we hadn’t already been having problems, I’m sure I would have remained faithful.”
I feel sick again. “How long did it go on for?”
“Four months. Then I got pregnant.” The humor and indifference finally abandon her, replaced by bitterness. Dark and acute. It fills her eyes, burning hot. “The thrill of an affair fades awfully fast when real life creeps in. He asked—no, he demanded—that I get rid of the baby. Said he couldn’t do that to his family.” She shakes her head angrily. “It was perfectly acceptable for him to be sleeping around on his wife, hurting her every single day by betraying the vows he took. Getting his rocks off in hotel rooms on his lunch break and then going home acting as if he was the perfect husband and father. So long as he was having a good time, then I was useful to him. And then, when his perfect little bubble burst, I became an inconvenience.” Mom laughs without a shred of humor. “Victoria Tanner is nobody’s inconvenience.”
“So, what, you were going to keep his baby out of spite?” Oh my God. I want to throw up.
“No, I was keeping it because it was mine.” She sounds offended I’d even voice that question, yet doesn’t realize her answer is equally disturbing. As always, she talks about people, including an unborn child, like they’re possessions. Tools for her to use whichever way she wants.
My eyes well up again. I feel the tears on my lashes and when I blink, a streak of moisture slides down my cheeks.
“Cassie. Stop it. You’re acting like a child.”
“I’m acting like a child?” I start to laugh. I’m so fucking astounded. I’m astonished that I’m related to this woman. “I shouldn’t cry when I find out my mother cheated on my father? Got pregnant by another man. Decided to keep that baby. Did you really have a miscarriage?”
“Yes,” she says stiffly.
“And Dad knew.”
“He did, yes.”
“He knew it wasn’t his?” I challenge.
“Would’ve been hard for him not to guess when we hadn’t been intimate in months by that point.”
“And Grandma knew too?” I ask, remembering the way Mom snapped at her in the ballroom. “That you had an affair?”
“She only found out after the divorce. She and I weren’t seeing eye to eye on something, and it came out during an argument.”
Of course it did, because apparently my mother doesn’t behave like a normal human being. She saves up all her ammunition and shoots it at you when it suits her. When she wants to hurt you, or needs some sort of validation.
Grandma’s ears must have been burning because she appears then. Her gait is slower than usual, exhaustion lining her eyes. But her features sharpen when she reaches us, her shoulders straightening as if fortifying her for a fight.
“Not now, Mother,” Mom snaps. “I really don’t need your input at the moment.”
“You’re right, Victoria. You don’t need my input. You don’t need anyone’s input, do you? Because you’re always right.” Grandma focuses on me, all but dismissing her own daughter. “Are you okay, dear?”
“Not really,” I admit. “I just hope Tate and his parents are all right—”
Mom practically growls at me. “There is absolutely no reason for you to worry about Gavin and his family. He made his own bed. You don’t get to cheat on your wife and lie about it for years, go on with your life as if nothing ever happened. He doesn’t get that, and you shouldn’t feel sorry for that man.”
“I don’t feel sorry for him,” I say sadly. “I feel sorry for you.”
She rears back. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You’ve been a selfish, manipulative jerk my entire life. Nothing is ever good enough for you. The way I look, the way I act, the guys I date—” I stop in horror. “Wait, is this why you’ve been so nice to me lately? Because I was going out with Tate? You knew he was Gavin’s son.”
“Of course I knew. I figured it out the moment I saw him outside the Jackson place. He’s the spitting image of his father.”
“So you were just pretending to be nice to me—”
“Stop being so dramatic, Cassie!” she interrupts, blowing out an exasperated breath. “Nobody was pretending. I’m your mother. I enjoy spending time with you.”
“I don’t think I believe that.” I swallow my bitterness. “But now I get it.” Shaking my head, disappointment embedded deep inside me, I meet her eyes and ask, “Was this some big plan to get Gavin in public and humiliate his family?”
“No,” she scoffs. “I’m not a psychopath. But as I’ve always told you, if an opportunity presents itself, you take it. Tonight, an opportunity presented itself.”
“Really,” I say dubiously. “You didn’t plan it. And you had no ulterior motives for constantly inviting Tate to join us for dinner.”
“Of course not. I enjoy Tate’s company too. It’s completely incidental that it also gave me insight into what his family’s been up to in the years since his father’s indiscretion.”
Incidental, my ass.
“And, I will admit, it annoyed me. Hearing about Gavin’s life. How everyone in town still adores him. Getting articles written about him in the paper, photographed with his oblivious wife and perfect son. Maybe I was a bit out of line in there,” she nods toward the hotel behind us, “but this town needed to know what kind of man he is.”
I stare at her and see someone I don’t recognize. Someone I don’t want to know. I see a bitter, miserable woman who hates herself so much she lashes out at everyone around her. A woman who couldn’t stand seeing the man she had an affair with living a seemingly happy life and thus felt the need to humiliate him and his wife. In public. In front of their son.
I see a woman I don’t want in my life anymore, and I feel a profound sense of loss.
And no matter what she says, I no longer believe the story she fed me about fighting for sole custody because she was feeling vulnerable and longed to keep her daughter close after the miscarriage. She did it to hurt my father, plain and simple. I was a possession to her, something she could use against him and keep from him to make him suffer.
“You’re sick,” I tell her. “You have an actual sickness, Mom. And I’m done.”
“Cassie—”
“No. Stop. Don’t tell me I’m being dramatic. Don’t blast me for not taking your side or whatever else you want to bitch about. You just humiliated my boyfriend and his family at a public event that was supposed to honor our family—” I cut myself off, because she’s not worth it. Not worth the energy I’m expending by even saying any of these futile words. This entire time we’ve been out here, she hasn’t once apologized for her actions. In her mind, she did nothing wrong tonight.
I jerk when I feel Grandma’s hand on my arm. “I think it’s time to go.”
“I think so too,” I say, nodding.
My grandmother glances at Mom. “And I think it’s better if you stay in a hotel tonight, Victoria.” With a look of irony, Grandma gestures to the Beacon. “There’s one right there, dear. Perhaps Ms. Cabot will comp you a room.”
“Mother. Seriously.”
“Yes, seriously. I’m done listening to you tonight. You destroy everything you touch. You always have. I tried to instill the right values in you, to teach you the importance of being compassionate, humble. It appears I failed.” Grandma shakes her head sadly. “I’ll have Adelaide’s husband deliver your bags tomorrow morning to wherever you choose to stay. But for tonight, and for the rest of the visit, Cassie and I would like to be alone. Isn’t that right, Cassie?”
“Yes. It is.”
Arms linked tightly together, Grandma and I walk away.