Felicity
Thirteen Years Ago
I’ve been sweating under the blanket in the trunk less than five minutes when Iris gets in the car and starts the engine. Thinking of how grounded I’ll be if she finds me, I almost lose my courage and reveal myself, but decide not to. I have to know what’s going on.
Trying to stay still as the car bumps over potholes and sloshes through rain puddles, I lose track of the turns she’s making after a few blocks, but when the road smooths out and she hits the gas, I figure we must be on the highway.
After what feels like forever but is probably only ten minutes, she exits and makes a few turns on roads noticeably more even than the ones in our part of town. She stops and lowers the window, and I hear her keying a code into a security box, then a gate opening. She pulls through the gate, parks the car, and gets out.
I count to one hundred before daring a peek out the window.
It’s twilight, and we’re parked in the driveway of what I immediately recognize from the picture in Celebrity magazine as Cole’s house. It’s sleek and modern, all white and glass, surrounded by tall white walls and lush greenery. Relieved she wasn’t lying, I carefully push back the blanket and lift the hatchback just enough to roll out onto the pebbled driveway.
The carport is empty; my mom’s car is the only one in sight. Terrified that Cole will drive up at any minute, I dart around the side of the house and flatten my back against the wall, panting. What if she decides to leave? Then I’d be stuck here. This was a bad idea. But I’m in now, so I might as well carry through with my plan. Only, I don’t have a plan. I didn’t think this through.
Okay. Think, Phoenix.
I want to see what’s going on. That means I need a window. I move away from the wall to check out the side of the house. It’s nearly all windows. The entire back of the place is like a greenhouse. I crouch behind a row of palms just taller than I am and inch toward the backyard. A wide deck extends off the back of the house with steps down to a rectangular pool, and beyond that a narrow bay channel with what looks like a park on the other side.
The sliding glass door that leads to the kitchen is open; my mom is spotlighted under the bright lights over the island, chopping vegetables. I creep closer, fascinated. I’ve never in my life seen her do more in the kitchen than make spaghetti from a jar. But here she is with a glass of red wine (since when does she drink red wine?), humming along to something that sounds like jazz, and when she tucks a wisp of blond hair behind her ear, I can see she’s smiling.
It’s the weirdest feeling, watching her. It’s like she’s not my mother at all, but some happy rich lady in the movies.
She puts a pot of water on the stove and turns on the burner, then checks her phone and darts from the room as though she’s forgotten something. I track her across the dark living room, but lose her once she goes into the part of the house where I’m guessing the bedrooms are. The curtains are all drawn on that side, but I figure she’ll be back; she left the water boiling and her phone on the counter.
I hear the gate open and a car with a deep thrumming motor drive in. After a minute, Cole enters the kitchen. My heart flips, seeing him in real life. He’s even more hunky than he is on-screen, just being himself in ripped jeans and a black T-shirt. He notices the pot of boiling water, the vegetables, takes a slug of wine. “Honey?” he calls out.
Honey. That’s what people in love call each other.
He turns off the water and moves in the same direction Iris disappeared. “Hello?”
It’s dark now, so I don’t have to worry as much about hiding as I scurry around the pool in search of a window with a view of Cole and my mother. But the curtains at this end of the house remain drawn, and the glass must be thick because I can’t hear anything. I crack my knuckles, frustrated. I’d wanted to see them together for peace of mind, and now I can’t see either of them. But they’re probably having sex, and I don’t want to see that anyway. I got what I wanted: I know she’s been telling the truth about coming here to Cole’s house. I still haven’t seen them together, but at least they looked happy.
I slink back to my hiding place with a view of the kitchen and sit behind an azalea bush to eat my protein bar.
“What are you doing in my yard?”
I spin to see a scrawny, dark-haired boy about my age towering above me. He pushes his glasses up on his nose and crosses his arms.
“Shhhhh!” I put my finger to my lips and pull him down beside me. “Are you Jackson?”
He jerks his arm away. “Yeah, so what? Why are you in my yard?”
“My mom’s dating your dad,” I whisper.
He looks confused. “Stella has a daughter?”
I shake my head. “No. My mom is Iris. The car that’s parked in the driveway is hers. I’m a stowaway.”
He tilts his head and squints at me, then laughs. “That’s pretty crazy.”
“So can you please get out of sight? She’ll kill me if she catches me.” He crouches next to me. “Your dad hasn’t talked about my mom?”
He shrugs. “I live with my mom in South Beach. She just sent me over here because she’s having a party tonight.”
“Did your dad know you were coming?”
Again he shrugs. “Stella said it was okay.”
My eyes go wide. “Stella’s gonna be home tonight?”
“I think so. I mean, she told my
