"I can't wait to see the rest of the family too. Boyd, what's your hunk of a cousin up to lately?"
"Making money hand over fist, I'd guess. We haven't seen much of him lately," Boyd answered as he tipped back his drink.
"You know he always disappears at the end of the year. It's a very busy time for him. We haven’t seen him at the Bookmark for . . . I don't know probably since before Raina started working there."
"You'd think," added Boyd, "that he'd stop to see you once in a while, Gramps. He lives right in the neighborhood."
I was suddenly listening to the banter a little harder and took a big gulp of my wine.
"He's a strange young man. He was terribly interested in the shop after he returned from the Hills in September. But then he disappeared. I've had a hard time understanding him most of his life." Mr. Clemson shook his head.
"We had great times as kids. But after Aunt Maryann passed away, he and Uncle Brad hardly ever came to the East anymore."
"He takes after his father. It's very rare that I see any of my daughter's soft edges in our Tristan." He paused before asking Boyd, "Didn't he suggest you give me a hand upgrading our system and developing a website?"
"Sure, but it was long overdue."
Gulp. Tristan. Gulp. He had never once come into the shop when it was open and had spent only a few fleeting moments in my little apartment since I moved there. He'd listened to me talk about the job, about Boyd, his cousin and dear Mr. Clemson, his grandfather. And he had never said a word.
I was swimming in a flood of conflicting emotions. It was clear to me that Tristan had deceived me. He had engineered the job and then he continued the deception by pretending he knew nothing about the Bookmark or the people in it. I was feeling a slow, angry burn inside but I was determined to stay in control and not over react. When my phone rang and I saw that it was Tristan, I let it go to voicemail, muted the ringer and stuffed the damn thing into my purse.
It was manipulative and controlling. It was typically Tristan. And, even worse was the fact that he had used my father as a front for his little scheme. We had already stopped seeing one another when my father came forward with the 'friend of a friend' story. I had a fleeting moment of suspicion when I realized how close the bookshop was to the Dakota and another one when Mr. Clemson had told me about his grandson. But the job seemed perfect so I had pushed my doubts to the back of my mind. When I finally met Boyd Clemson, I was able to relax. The grandson behind the push for the new system was plausible.
Of course, it never occurred to me to question Mr. Clemson or Boyd about other grandsons. Grandsons of daughters with married names. And no one at the Bookmark had said a word about Tristan until Phoebe brought him up. That was strange to me. Once his name was out in the open, they didn't seem reluctant to talk about him at all. I wondered how that was possible. Surely he would have told them to keep his relationship with the shop a secret.
I finished my second glass of wine as the conversation turned to dinner plans. The threesome invited me, but I declined. "I have some things I really have to take care of tonight. You guys go ahead." I gave Phoebe a little hug goodbye. "I'm so glad I got to meet you at last. I hope we can see more of one another."
The three of them headed down the block for a pizza joint that had some of the best calzone in the city. Boyd had brought some into the Bookmark. We had shared them at work and I was hooked.
I thought one more glass of wine might help lubricate my thought process and provide some liquid courage. My cell phone tallied three missed calls, all from Tristan. I resisted listening to the messages he left. There were texts, too. He never texted. He said it was a method of communication for kids. But there they were: "Where are you?", "Why aren't you answering me?", "I want to see you now!". In spite of my mood I had to smile at those. He didn't know the abbreviations--'u' for 'you' or 'c' for 'see'--every word was painfully spelled out.
I turned the phone over again and again in my hand as I contemplated what I was going to say to him. It wasn't the best idea in the world, but I ordered a fourth glass of wine as I watched the phone light up with yet another call. Finally, I turned it off.
It was only a few blocks walk to the Dakota. Thinking the cold wind would clear my head, I started to walk toward his building. I wanted the walk to last longer than it did. Too soon I found myself staring up at the imposing old building. Once inside, I had the urge to flee. Suck it up, Raina. Get it done.
The doorman recognized me and gave me a little nod. He was a vigilant gatekeeper who kept the unwashed masses from buzzing the apartments of the luxury apartments of the wealthy and reclusive residents. I pressed the button for Tristan's apartment. He didn't ask who it was. He simply said, "Raina?"
"Yes, it's me."
The door to the inner sanctum sounded a jarring welcome as I let myself in. The elegant elevator slid up noiselessly until I reached Tristan's floor. When the doors opened he was standing there, waiting. I hoped for anger so I'd have an excuse to pit my own against his. But he gathered me in his arms with a fierce protectiveness as a father might embrace an almost lost child.
"Oh God. Oh God," he murmured into my hair. "Jesus I was so worried." He rained kisses on my face clutching me and running his hands over me as if he was trying to reassure himself that I was real. I had been so keyed up with alcohol and anticipation that I hadn't noticed how cold I was. The lightweight coat I wore was no match for the bitter wind tunneling down the streets. I shivered.
Tristan pulled me into his apartment and took my coat. He wrapped me in an afghan and settled down with me on the couch. The room was just as I had left it; decorated and scented with the cinnamon of Christmas. I observed my handiwork as a stranger.
"What happened? Where were you? Why didn't you answer me?"
"I was out," I answered him as I groped for some way to begin.
"You didn't have your phone?"
"Yes, I had it." Tristan looked at me, waiting for more. "I was with Boyd and Phoebe." I paused too long.
"And my grandfather."
"Yes."
"I can explain."
"You lied to me."
"I didn't lie."
"Then what do you call it?"
"A sin of omission."
I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Don't play me for a fool. You lied. I asked you to butt out of my life--to leave me to make my way without your interference. You just couldn't stop controlling me, could you?"