Family Secrets

Her stomach clenched at the possibility he might be telling the truth, then reason asserted itself. “Grandmère just told you that to talk you into coming all this way,” she said. “I saw Grandpère in July and he looked great.”

“I hope you’re right.” Dev looked genuinely concerned. “In case you’re not, your grandmother wants him surrounded by all his loved ones, and that includes you. Is it too much to ask?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. Give it up, Dev. I won’t be manipulated like this.” But she felt a twinge when she said it. What if she was wrong?

“Dammit, Sharlee!” For the first time his poise slipped. “Whatever your complaints and grudges against your family, you owe them some consideration. They’re not a hundred percent wrong, you know. Life isn’t all black and white.”

“It is to me,” she shot back. “If they’d treat me like an adult, maybe. But that hasn’t happened so I’m not going back.” She stood up. “I don’t want to argue with you. I’m ready to leave if you are.” For a minute she thought he was going to argue. Then he, too, rose. “Whatever you say,” he agreed in a tight voice that wasn’t an agreement at all.

ALL THAT PERFECTION just naturally wears down an ordinary person.

He thought about her words on the drive down the mountain; he might as well brood because she wasn’t talking. Eventually it occurred to him that she was right about one thing: the family had kept her in the dark about their oh-so-very-human failings.

But she’d been their baby for a long time, right up until Andy-Paul’s birth. Did the middle child feel as if her place had been usurped by her parents’ midlife baby? She’d been spoiled before Andy-Paul; was she simply jealous now?

Somehow he didn’t think so. There were many Lyon-family secrets, things known by some, but not talked about. Had Sharlee’s family deliberately excluded her from that knowledge?

“we’re there.”

She spoke, as if she couldn’t wait to get away from him. He pulled to the curb but reached across to stop her from jumping out. She turned a rebellious face toward him.

“May I come in for a drink?”

He was sure she’d refuse him. He saw “no!” in her face, saw her lips moving to form the word.

And heard her say carelessly, “Sure, why not? Even us poor folk can afford to keep a bottle of cheap vodka around.”

He could hardly believe it when she led him inside the building.

DURING THE DRIVE HOME, questions had trembled on the tip of her tongue, but she’d bitten them back. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing her plead for explanations.

Besides, there probably weren’t any. He couldn’t possibly know more about her side of the family than she did, even though she’d been gone for such a long time.

She knew all the important stuff: how her great-grandfathers, Alexandre Lyon and Wendell Hollander, had started the radio station together; how Alexandre’s two sons, Paul and Charles, had been drawn into the business while their sister, Justine, was left out entirely; how Paul Lyon had married Margaret Hollander and carried on the family dynasty.

Sharlee’s grandparents had seen the opportunities and launched the television station in 1949 while Charles took over the radio side. Twenty-five years later, Sharlee’s mother, Gabrielle, had met the heir, André, and fallen in love.

It had all been sweetness and light and smooth sailing, as far as anyone had ever indicated to Sharlee, everyone doing their duty while leading exemplary lives of public and private service. It raised her blood pressure just thinking about it. Hadn’t anyone ever wanted to kick up their heels?

Or maybe it was sitting next to the man who’d done her wrong that was raising her blood pressure. Because something was sure making her palms damp and her chest tight.

So when Dev asked if he could come in for a drink, she was all set to turn him down cold when she realized that would be a cowardly response. She was his equal now, a grown woman, instead of a starry-eyed kid. She didn’t have to run and hide from Dev; she could meet him and beat him at his own game.

Whatever the hell that was.

Once inside her apartment, she mixed a couple of vodka-and-tonics, then pointed him to the love seat, misnamed piece of furniture that it was. She herself perched on the folding chair.

He’d taken off his jacket and unbuttoned his sleeves. Now he raised his glass and said, “Cheers. To an evening I’ll never forget.”

She arched a brow and lifted her own drink. “Cheers. To an evening I never thought would happen.”

They drank. She could feel her tension rising. She wouldn’t have thought that she’d ever have another civil conversation with him, let alone share a dinner and allow him into her apartment. What he’d done to her had been utterly unforgivable. Even if she was the forgiving type, he’d be beyond absolution.

She’d really like to give him a taste of his own medicine, though. She started to speak, started to ask him straight out, Dev, why did you do it? Why did you turn your back on me when—

“I’ve got to give it one more try.” His words cut right through her thoughts. Setting his glass on the floor by his feet, he unbuttoned his shirt collar and tugged off his tie. “Isn’t there anything I can say to convince you your grandmother isn’t playing games, isn’t trying to trick you, is worried sick about your grandfather?”

“No.”

“How about my chances to convince you your parents love you and want you back in the fold?”

“No.” There went the old blood pressure again.

“That your sister would like to share her happiness with you, and your brother would simply like to get to know his big sister?”

“No!” She gulped down a big mouthful of her drink.

“Dammit!” He picked up his own glass but simply held it before him between both hands, a picture of frustration. “What is it about Colorado you’re so crazy for? Wanna explain that?”

“It isn’t New Orleans.” She glared at him. “Besides, I went to school in Colorado. I feel comfortable here.”

“So? I went to Harvard, but I couldn’t wait to get back home.”

“I also have a job, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Is it a great job?”

“How do you define ‘great’? I’m a journalist, which is what I’ve always wanted.”

“WDIX hires journalists.”

“WDIX hires pretty faces.” She’d long since convinced herself that the pencil press was vastly superior to electronic talking heads.

For a moment he just looked at her, his disappointment clear. Then he said, “Sharlee Lyon—”

“Hollander.”

“Whatever—you’re a snob. In fact, you’re a reverse snob, which is even worse.”

She couldn’t believe he’d be so unfair. “I’m probably the only member of my family who isn’t a snob.”

His mouth tightened. “You really don’t know your own people, do you?” Draining his glass, he set it on the floor again and rose. “At least think about your grandmother’s request.”

“It wasn’t a request. It was an order.”

“I don’t care what you call it. I want you to think about it.”

“Not a chance.”