Variation: Chapter 36

MelChelBarre: Anyone else refreshing the MBC website to see if the cast sheet changes?

I stormed into the house, replaying Hudson’s confession in my mind and completely overwhelmed with the enormity of what he’d revealed while somehow simultaneously wishing he’d never told me.

Maybe we would have had a shot at being happy.

He saved your life. And he’d carried the guilt of it ever since.

But he’d also lied . . . at least by omission.

Anger was the easiest emotion to deal with, so I clung to it like a security blanket as I walked through the house and into the kitchen. Sadie wagged her tail and went back to massacring her latest squeaky toy.

Eva, Kenna, and Anne sat at the island, eating a late breakfast in front of a stack of manila envelopes, and all three of them fell silent and stared as I went to the refrigerator.

“You ready to start handling paperwork?” Anne asked. “You don’t have to decide which company—”

Fuck it. It wasn’t like I needed to plan my life around Hudson anymore. “I’ll sign with MBC. I need something normal in my life.”

Eva’s shoulders dipped with relief.

“Make Vasily wait a week or two,” Eloise suggested, peeling her orange. “Let him sweat it out.”

“Good idea.” I took a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

“Didn’t see you when we got home after the reception,” Kenna noted, her gaze leery. “Or at all this morning.”

“Nope.” I twisted the top and drank half of it down. How was I supposed to explain any of this to them when I didn’t even know for certain that what Hudson told me was true . . .

“Okay, did you want to run the papers over to Caroline?” Anne asked. Anne. She’d been put in charge of the family paperwork.

I leaned back against the counter next to the sink. “Anne, did you see Hudson with Lina the morning of the Classic?”

Eva’s eyebrows hit the ceiling, and Kenna and Eloise both shifted their attention to Anne.

She cleared her throat and set her spoon down in her bowl of oatmeal. “Yes.”

“And they looked all secretive, like they were up to something?” I took another drink.

“Yes.” She nodded slowly. “And I told him if he did something to hurt you that I’d tell you. I wouldn’t keep my mouth shut this time.”

“This time?” I sputtered a wry laugh. “God, if any of you had told me the truth the first time, none of this would be happening.”

“Did he hurt you?” She stiffened.

“Did you read the accident report?” I ignored her question entirely. “From when Lina died?”

The entire room fell silent.

“Yes.” She put her hands in her lap. “About a year ago. I found it in Dad’s office.”

“And when they found Lina’s remains, was her seat belt still fastened?” I tilted my head. “Not the cloth—naturally that would have burned. Was the metal still connected?”

Anne glanced at Eva.

“Eyes here.” I tapped my chest.

Anne gasped. “Is that Lina’s ring?”

“Yes. Was her seat belt still fastened?” I had to know.

“Yes,” Anne answered, looking me in the eye.

My chest constricted. Lina had never gotten out of the car. Hudson had told the truth. “And my door was open.”

“Yes.” She shifted her weight. “It wasn’t your fault, Allie. I know what Mom says, but that’s just grief talking. The detectives noted that the frame was mangled. It was a miracle you were able to force your own door open. Had to have been adrenaline, because none of them could figure out how you did it in your state.”

Anger. Hold on to the anger.

“Simple. I didn’t.”

Anne’s brows rose in silent question.

“We need to see Mom. Right fucking now.”

“Her advisory team met this morning, and it’s just not a good day,” Rachel warned me as I strode down the hallway toward Mom’s suite, Anne scurrying to keep up while Eva took her time.

“It never is,” I replied. The doors didn’t do much to muffle the sound of Tchaikovsky.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?” Anne asked in a rush. “You were silent the whole way here.”

“Nope. Saving it all for Mom.”

“If you’re sure . . .” Rachel turned the handle and hurried in ahead of me. “Mrs. Rousseau, your daughters are here.”

I walked in behind her, then stared.

Mom was dancing in a black leotard and pale-pink skirt, her left side in perfect alignment, but her right leg wasn’t quite as steady. The incoming weather must have been wreaking havoc on her knee again. But there was no mistaking her grace and elegance as she moved through the choreography. She was still a beautiful dancer.

“Swan Lake,” Anne whispered as she reached my side.

I nodded, watching Mom’s arms, admiring the clean lines, the delicate splay of her fingers, which had never come naturally to me.

“She’s still on demi-pointe,” Eva noted with a touch of wonder.

“You sure you want to interrupt her? She usually uses this time as a reset before her afternoon sessions.” Rachel’s fingers hovered over the stereo system on my left. “One of the staff quit yesterday and she bit off two girls’ heads earlier, screaming in French when they were late to a session. Even I’m only getting one-word answers out of her, and her day is booked.” She clutched the clipboard in her right arm.

“One-word answers work fine for me.” I walked forward, and Mom met my gaze in the mirror.

“Fifth,” she ordered, halting her own dance with a sigh of frustration.

“No.” I stood my ground once I was a few feet away from her.

The music died.

“Fifth!” she shouted.

“Hudson pulled me out of the car that night, didn’t he?” There was no point mincing words.

Anne gasped for the second time that morning.

“Oh my God,” Eva whispered.

Mom’s arms fell to her sides, and her eyes flashed with anger.

“Yeah, the secret is out. I’ll make this easy on you,” I offered. “Let’s stick to yes or no answers. I’m not interested in your excuses, anyway.”

“Allie,” Anne whispered, but I kept my eyes on our mother.

“He pulled me out of that car. He stayed with me. And you knew.” I folded my arms.

“Rachel, if you wouldn’t mind giving us a moment?” Anne asked, and the door clicked shortly after.

Lines bracketed Mom’s lips as she pursed her mouth.

“You knew!” I snapped at Mom. “All the years you told me I left Lina for dead. All the times you told me that I owed her because I saved myself. You knew!”

“Yes.” Mom looked out the window. “I chose—”

“Yes or no only, Mom,” I interrupted, my blood rising to a boil. She’d kept me tethered to her wants, her dreams, for decades, binding me with little ropes she’d declared were love. But now I knew they were guilt, shaping me into someone I hardly recognized anymore, and I’d let her.

“Oh, Mom,” Anne whispered. “How could you?”

Eva sat on the arm of the couch toward my right.

“He came with me to the hospital soaked in my blood from trying to stop the bleeding, and you threw him out.” Each truth snapped one of those ropes, the rebound stinging my soul.

“Yes,” she answered, almost bored as she folded her arms.

“He came back, too, didn’t he?” My fingernails dug little half moons into my palms. “And you told him that I’d never forgive him for not saving us both, so he should go. That if he didn’t, you’d tell me he’d had ample time to save us both but had left her there to die.”

“You didn’t.” Anne sagged to my right, landing on the edge of the couch next to Eva.

“Holy shit.” Eva’s gaze darted between Mom and me.

Mom lifted her chin, her eyes focusing somewhere beyond the window as rope after rope splintered and broke.

“But really, you meant that you’d never forgive him. I mean, how could you know if I wouldn’t if you never told me?” My voice rose and I didn’t care. I clung to that anger like a life raft.

She swallowed and reached for a water bottle, then started chugging. Ironic that we handled our panic attacks the same way.

“Maybe she doesn’t understand,” Eva whispered.

“Allie, talking about Lina has always been hard on—” Anne started.

“I don’t care.” Rage colored my vision. “Why, Mom? Because you saw him—saw my feelings for him—as a threat? Realized that I had a year before I turned eighteen, and then you wouldn’t have control anymore, that Hudson would give me the strength to be who I was instead of who you wanted?” I stepped forward, but kept watch on the bottle in case she decided to throw it. “Or did you punish him—punish us—because he saved the wrong daughter?”

“Yes.” She swung her gaze to mine and crushed my heart in a one-word fist.

“Yes to which?” I demanded.

“He . . . Lina . . .” She shook her head. The muscles in her neck flexed, and she glanced beside me, to the picture on the wall. “Just. Left. My. Daughter.”

“I’m your daughter!” I shouted, slamming my hand over my chest.

She flinched.

“Anne”—I gestured to the couch—“is your daughter! Eva is your daughter! You had four daughters, Mom, not just one. Losing Lina did not give you the right to break us down so you could try to pour our pieces into her mold.” Snap. Snap. Snap. Ropes broke and others frayed.

“No.”

“Oh, right.” I nodded. “It was never her mold. It was yours. You wanted us to live out your dream, and you never once asked us what ours were. Did you even ask Lina if she wanted to keep Juniper? Offer her support? Or was that relationship just another casualty of your relentless selfishness?”

“Lina.” She swallowed. “Wanted.” She shook her head like the thought was ludicrous. “Baby.”

My stomach lurched. “And you made her give her up?”

“You could have told us,” Anne said. “We would have helped her.”

“Too weak . . . to do . . .” She struggled for the words. “I. Made. Lina. Principal.” She lifted her left hand and jabbed it my direction. “And you.”

“You made me a guilt-stricken mess who only finds joy in dancing when I’m not with your precious company. These last few weeks have been the first time I’ve enjoyed it in years.” I seethed. “I never wanted the Company. I wanted out, to dance freelance all over the world, and you told me I owed it to Lina. You twisted my guilt for your purposes and told me I had to take the MBC contract, that it was my fault Lina had been out that night at all, and MBC wouldn’t be MBC without a Rousseau onstage.” The truth of that last sentence bit into me until I bled. “You twisted all of us. Lina kept her pregnancy a secret while you bribed Everett to make it easier to leave Juniper. Anne’s a damned lawyer who uses her degree to plan Company events because we all know if you aren’t dancing, you should support the ones who do, right? And Eva . . .” I laughed. “Eva stabbed me in the back and stole the role that had been created for me!”

Mom recoiled, her gaze flying toward Eva.

“I said I was sorry,” Eva muttered, picking at her cuticles. “And Vasily gave it back.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t care.” I cocked my head to the side at my mother. “After all, we’re interchangeable parts in her little machine, right? Who cares which one of us is up there, as long as her last name is Rousseau.”

“Allie,” Anne warned as Mom’s water bottle crunched in her grip.

“You. Are. Rousseaus,” Mom said slowly.

“She’s gotten so much worse,” Eva whispered.

“It’s happening quickly,” Anne replied.

Mom shot them a look that dripped malice, but it was the edge of confusion that made me want to scream. Why couldn’t all this have come out last year, when we could have had real answers?

“I’m starting to hate that name.” I hated that I couldn’t tell if she really understood, hated myself for being unable to stop. For the first time, I could tell her exactly how I felt without fearing the repercussions. But without the ropes binding me to her model of perfection, my emotions whipped out with a cutting, dangerous sense of freedom that I couldn’t begin to fathom, let alone regulate.

Betrayal. Shame. Pride. Hope. Loss. Grief. Anger. They all warred for supremacy, but it was the ache in my chest that overruled them all.

“Rousseau made you.”

“You didn’t make me, Mom. You ruined me.” My eyes watered and my nose burned. “And maybe I could forgive you for that, if you even cared. But you ruined Hudson. You put him in an impossible situation and decimated any chance we ever had at happiness!”

“His . . . choice.” She had the fucking nerve to shrug.

“Mom,” Anne chided.

“His choice!” she shouted, and the water bottle flew, hitting the mirror to my left.

“He had no choice!” My voice broke. “He was an eighteen-year-old kid, and you were supposed to be an adult, supposed to be my mom. You convinced him I’d never forgive him. That I’d blame him the rest of our lives for Lina’s death.” That was what had played in my mind over and over on the drive, after I’d left him standing on the beach, looking as shattered as I’d felt. “In his mind, he’d already lost me. Of course he left. He was my best friend, Mom, and I loved him! I loved him before I understood what that word really meant.”

“Orange.” She shook her head. “No.” Her fists clenched. “Crush. River boy is crush.”

“Not a crush.” That ache swelled until my ribs strained under the pressure and my vision grew blurry. I didn’t need to remember my response to his declaration on that beach to know with the utmost certainty what it had been. And now? He fiercely protected his family, protected strangers every time he jumped into the water, protected me time and again. He showed up even when I didn’t realize it, tugged me out of my comfort zone without breaking my boundaries, declared his intentions without forcing me into an ultimatum. He told me exactly what he wanted from me—from us—and never demanded the same, giving me the space to figure it out instead of forcing me into another mask, another role, to fit into his idea of perfection. His smile melted my common sense, and his touch set me on fire, but it was the way he listened that broke through every wall I’d built. “I love him.” I said the words out loud and the last rope snapped, setting me completely free and terrifyingly adrift. “I’m in love with him.”

She scoffed.

“Maybe you can’t comprehend the emotion, but it’s when you would give up everything for that person’s happiness. When their smile is essential to your heartbeat. When you know the gnarled, darkest, ugliest parts of each other, and you don’t turn away.” I glanced at my sisters and found Eva’s hand firmly ensconced by Anne’s.

My heart twinged. I hadn’t given Hudson the same grace I always gave my sisters. He’d offered me truth, and I’d shut him out. But there were some wounds that even love couldn’t heal.

“Lina!” she argued, her eyes bulging.

“What is she trying to say?” Eva whispered.

“I’m not sure,” Anne answered. “Mom, what about Lina?”

“Wrong.” Mom glanced at the ceiling, then breathed deep. “Choice.”

“Lina knew about my choice!” I held up my right hand, and her gaze darted to the ring like a magnet. “She gave the ring to Hudson for me as a message to you that I wouldn’t let you twist me like you did her, that I could make my own path, that I could follow my heart and choose love.”

“His choice.” Her eyes bulged. “Wrong. Girl.”

“Mom!” Eva surged to her feet. “Allie, she doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“Sure she does,” I answered. “Her memory’s just fine, and it’s not the first time she’s made her feelings known.” Without her tethers, her words fell into the ragged space between us, harsh and ugly, but unable to touch me. I took a single step toward Mom. “I’m done trying to prove myself to you, pushing myself until I break, tearing my body to shreds, done trying to win your approval like it’s some kind of game where you keep moving the goalposts. I’m done.” My hand fell. “I have loved you, worshipped you, idolized you my entire life, but I no longer want your approval. Whatever I do from here on out is for me.”

I took one last look at her, then turned my back and headed for the door.

“Fifth!” she shouted.

“Bye, Mom.” Anne stood, then came to my side.

“I’ll come up more often,” Eva promised, then hurried our direction.

“Fifth!” A painted canvas hit the wall to our right.

I slowly turned. “Oh, and Lina’s daughter dances. She’s beautiful and smart and tenacious . . . and talented. Eloise and I teach her, and it gives me so much hope for her future knowing you never will.” Anne took my left hand, and I held on to her for dear life as we walked away from our mother, Eva following close behind so we’d fit through the door.

“Sloppy feet!” Mom screamed.

“Sloppy parenting,” Anne retorted over her shoulder.

I took my first full breath as Eva shut the doors behind us. Anne made our apologies to Rachel for agitating Mom as Dr. Wakefield approached, and I concentrated on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth so I didn’t vomit after letting all that out.

Eva rubbed my back. “Hey, Doc. Nice bun.”

“Thanks.” Dr. Wakefield patted her glossy black hair. “Sometimes it just makes it easier to meet your mother wherever she is.”

“She’s worse than she was even a few weeks ago, and miles from where she had been in January,” Anne noted. “It’s taking her longer to find words. Her sentences—when she has them—are choppy too.”

Dr. Wakefield nodded. “Unfortunately, her scan shows significant progression in that cortex. Lucky for us, neither her memory nor her mobility seems to be impacted yet, though we’re seeing more frequent outbursts of violence. We’re doing what we can to keep her safe and active in physical therapy sessions, art classes, everything we talked about.”

“Writing? Reading?” Anne asked, and Eva tensed.

“We haven’t gotten her to cooperate in months, so I’m not sure if she’s incapable or stubborn,” Dr. Wakefield responded, then glanced at us each in turn. “At this stage . . .” She sighed. “I can’t estimate how much longer she’ll be herself. You girls have done everything she asked to physically prepare, but it’s progressing quickly.”

We thanked her, then slowly made our way past other patients’ rooms and down the wide staircase.

“Have to give it to Mom,” Eva said as we reached the first floor. “She picked the bougiest assisted living facility known to man.”

“It’s not known,” Anne replied with a sad smile. “That’s why she chose it.”

We walked over the Brookesfield Institute crest, and walked out into the August humidity.

“Feel better?” Anne asked, digging the keys out of her purse.

“No.” I shook my head. “That wasn’t exactly a fair fight.”

“She’s never been a fair parent,” she countered.

“Hudson really pulled you out that night?” Eva tucked her thumbs in her front pockets.

“Apparently,” I said softly. “Only three people really know, right? Lina’s gone. Mom isn’t reliable, and Hudson . . .” My throat tried to close. “I guess I have to trust his version of the events or make peace with never really knowing. He kept it from me all these years, and I don’t know if he ever would have told me if it hadn’t been for Gavin.” Or maybe he would if I’d simply told him the truth about Mom.

“You love him,” Eva reminded me gently.

“That doesn’t mean we’re right for each other.” We stepped from pavement to blacktop.

“You could forgive him.” Anne hooked her arm through mine.

“I just need some time to think about everything.” The secrets, and the guilt, and the fact that his love had determined who lived that night. If Gavin had been the one behind us, Lina would have lived.

“You? Taking the time to overanalyze every possible outcome before picking the one that feels safest?” Eva snorted and made her way to the back passenger seat. “Imagine that.”

“Take all the time you need.” Anne shot our sister a look. “The same goes for the contracts. Screw the deadlines. Every company in this world will wait if you’re not sure. There are plenty of them, but only one Alessandra Rousseau. Just have to decide what you want.”

“That goes for you too,” I reminded her.

She nodded, then patted my arm and headed for the driver’s side.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly free, and yet I had no idea what to do with that freedom. I knew what I wanted. I just couldn’t have him. Eva was right. I’d choose whatever felt safest, which meant sticking with the decision that made the most sense.

I was going back to New York.