I went over James’s first scene one more time, this time on paper (I went over all of Act One on paper because once you print it out it looks entirely different and you find things you’d missed before, and yes, I’ll fix the dates, I swear) and the first chapter rose from 6880 to 6925 because of cuts plus clarifications, but it’s still under 7,000, so I think I’m okay for a first chapter. I like chapters to get shorter as I move through the book, so a fairly long first chapter actually helps with the future pacing.

And then I did some timelines and turning points and whiteboard planning to slot in the scenes I already have. Yes, most of them are in the first act. Which can’t go much over 35K, which means by the end of this I’ll have cut my 60K to about 30K because I still have first act stuff to write. Well, it’ll be a good 30K. It’ll make sense this time.

And since you asked, and everything I did today was boring charts and diagrams, here’s James’s first scene followed by the 7225 words it came from. Okay it lost about 2600 of those when I cut the first scene entirely, but it’s still a lot of cutting:

Seventy miles west of Rosemore on a snowy Cincinnati street, James Entwhistle kicked himself for listening to his family again. The roads were growing steadily worse, his cousin Mike was in a bad temper, his cousin Ruby was whining that the accident that had required him to drive two hours from Columbus to pick them up wasn’t her fault, and her latest fiancé, Keith, was being a pretentious boob.

“It wasn’t my fault, James,” Ruby said for the tenth time.

“Oh, can it, Rube.” Mike shifted in the passenger seat. “You were going too fast, you hit the ice, you slid into my car, it’s your fault. End of story.”

If only it were, James thought. The snow was really coming down now. God, don’t let me get stuck in a drift with these people.

“It’s not my fault there was ice there,” Ruby was saying, the pout clear in her baby-sweet voice. “It’s not my fault you told me the garage was open. It was dark and the ice was black. I couldn’t see it. Could I, James?”

“Well, you just keep bitching about it,” Mike said to her. “I’m sure that’s what James came to hear.”

“Look, it’s done,” James said. “Move on.”

There was a short silence and then Ruby said, “I’m sorry, James. Keith and I really are grateful you came and got us. In fact . . . ”

Mike shifted in the passenger seat. “This should be good.”

Ruby leaned forward into the space between them, attaching herself to the edge of James’s seat, and he remembered that Rose had always called her Ivy, saying that she was the epitome of an Awful Inglethorpe because she had their edgy beauty, like one of the more attractive poisonous plants that begged you to pick it and then left you covered with rash and regrets.

Ruby put her hand on his shoulder, and James knew he was going to regret letting her into his back seat. “You really are the family hero, everybody thinks so,” Ruby said, her voice syrup sweet. “We all look up to you. So Keith and I were wondering—”

“No,” James said.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Ruby said, suddenly sugar-free.

“You have some business proposition that you want my time, money, or influence for.” James squinted at the road. “No.”

“You’re the only one of us who has any money,” Ruby said, entitlement strong in her voice. “You and Angela.”

“That’s because I always say no when you try to take it from me.”

“He’s got you there, Rube,” Mike said.

“It’s a sweet investment opportunity.” Keith was leaning forward now beside Ruby. “I’ve designed a development that’s going to make big waves in the architectural community. I’ll show you the plans when we get to Rosemore and explain anything you don’t understand.”

“Like why you should care,” Mike said under his breath.

James watched as the car in front of him slid through a stop light. “No.”

“Oh, just fine,” Ruby said and leaned back to whisper with Keith again.

“Sorry,” Mike said to James. “She won’t give up, you know. Especially with God’s gift to brick egging her on.”

“I know.” James frowned at the windshield. “This storm is not good.”

Mike squinted out at the snow, too. “You think we won’t make it in?”

“Oh, we’ll make it in,” James said. “I don’t know if we’ll make it out again.”

“James,” Ruby began again.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Mike snapped. “Leave him alone. He already fixed one of your screw-ups tonight, he doesn’t deserve any more.”

Keith leaned forward. “He doesn’t deserve the chance of a lifetime?”

If I had a roof rack, James thought, I could tie Keith to it.

“James doesn’t take chances,” Mike said, and James thought, I take chances. A gust of wind blew snow across the windshield, and he slowed down a little.

“Of course James doesn’t take chances,” Ruby said, giving up on her snow job. “James Darling never does anything wrong, that’s why he has all that money.”

“Shut up, Rube,” Mike said.

“In fact, I’m surprised James Darling didn’t just fix both cars while we waited,” Ruby said, on a roll now. “I’m surprised he didn’t just unbend my grill with his bare hands.” Her voice rose to a teeth-grating shriek. “I’m surprised—“

James pulled off to the side of the street, plowing through the piled up snow. “You want to walk?” he said to Ruby without turning around.

After a short silence, Ruby said, “No.”

“I know that’s a joke,” Keith said to James over the back of the seat, “but that’s out of line.”

“It’s not a joke,” Mike said. “James has no sense of humor. And Ruby’s being a pain in the ass.”

“Now, listen—“ Keith began.

“Want to walk?” James said to him.

Another short silence, and then Keith said, “No.”

“Okay.” James put the car in gear and pulled back out onto the street with more difficulty than he’d anticipated. So much for all-wheel drive. Probably shouldn’t do that again, he thought. Unless there was a chance Ruby and Keith really would get out. That would be worth the risk. Who said he wouldn’t take a chance?

He took the ramp onto 275 as Ruby began to talk to Keith again, keeping her voice low.

Mike was silent for a long while, and then he said, “It must be tough for you with Francis and your mom and their divorce right now. I’m sorry. I should have been there for you–”

“He was her fourth husband,” James said, squinting at the road. “He knew the job was dangerous when he took it.”

“Well, yeah, but still, it must have been a shock for him. Life’s been pretty good to old Francis. Plus him being your senior partner has to be tough.”

Soft soap, James thought. He wants something, too. “He’s says he’ll shoot you if you come back to the office.”

“But you’re doing my divorce,” Mike said, bewildered.

“And you did our receptionist.” The snow was definitely getting heavier now. Don’t turn into ice, James thought. Cut me a break here.

“Astrid?” Mike said, faking innocence badly. “How is Astrid?”

“Living in southern California because you broke her heart. I paid for her plane ticket. It was either that or listen to her weep for the next ten years.”

“Hey, she knew my divorce wasn’t final and I wasn’t ready for anything serious.”

“You told her you loved her.”

“No, I didn’t. Well, maybe once when we were in bed. But no woman should take seriously anything a man says in bed.”

“And yet, they do,” James said. “Try to stay away from nice women, will you?”

“Yeah. That’s probably best.” Mike was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Thanks for getting her the plane ticket.”

“You’re welcome.”

James left him alone with his thoughts again, grateful for the silence as he concentrated on the fast disappearing road, but when Mike hadn’t said anything half an hour later, James glanced over at him in the light from the dash. He looked miserable. Oh, hell, James thought and sacrificed the beautiful silence. “You okay?”

Mike looked back over the seat to Ruby and Keith, but they whispered on, oblivious to them.
“I didn’t mention this before,” Mike said, keeping his voice low. “But I’ve got a deal cooking, too. Rose wants to turn Rosemore into a bed and breakfast, and she wants me to run it.”

Hell. The ways that could go wrong were endless. “It’d be a lot of work,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral and the car on the road. “It’s one of those pie-in-the dreams that turns into twenty-four hour drudgery.” And you’ve never been much for drudgery.

“I need a new start, James,” Mike said, his voice suddenly earnest. “I don’t like myself much. I don’t want to be the guy who doesn’t go out with nice women.”

There it was, the crack in Mike’s life where Rose had stuck the thin end of her wedge. “Then don’t be. Start over.”

Mike nodded. “That’s what I’m going to do. Rose says I can have the manager’s job if I buy into the business.”

Money. Of course, Rose wanted money. “Mike, I’d think twice about anything Rose offered me, especially if it involved inves–”

“You think twice about everything.” Mike leaned closer. “Look, it’s not much, only fifty thousand. She’s . . . ”

He talked on, his voice picking up speed as he outlined his bright future greeting guests and being charming, but James had stopped listening as soon as he heard, “Fifty thousand dollars.” Fifty thousand wouldn’t put a dent in what it would take to renovate Rosemore, so why would Rose lowball him like that? Especially since Mike was due to get his trust fund on January first with the rest of the Inglethorp heirs, including grasping little Ruby who evidently hadn’t told her fiancé she was about to inherit a bundle.

Unless that was Rose’s plan, to lure Mike in with fifty thousand and bleed him for his entire trust fund. His share had to be at least half a million by now. That would go a long way toward making Rosemore livable again.

“Of course, fifty thousand is just a start,” Mike was saying. “Rose told me to look for outside investors.”

And she mentioned my name. James focused his attention back on the road because it was safer than thinking about strangling Rose.

“I’d really like you to come in and talk to her with me,” Mike said. “I always see things clearer after you’ve talking to me.”

James began to watch for the Rt. 52 exit sign through the slanting snow, knowing he was going to spend an extra hour at Rosemore talking Mike out of losing his entire trust fund to Rose. “I can stay for a couple of minutes, but then I head back to Columbus.”

“Great,” Mike said.

“What’s great?” Ruby said, popping her head between them.

“None of your business,” her brother said.

“Oh, so only James can hear your secrets,” Ruby said. “James the big hero–

James slowed the car and put on his turn signal.

“You wouldn’t leave me in the middle of nowhere all by myself,” Ruby said.

“No, but I’d leave you in the middle of nowhere with Keith,” James said.

Ruby sat back, and James took the exit for Rosemore.

“You know, it’s a good thing that you’re staying at Rosemore for awhile. You’ll get to see Zelda.”

“Who?” Then memory clicked and nineteen years evaporated, and he was a clumsy fifteen-year-old, staring at tangled black hair and dark eyes like razors and a body like a whip that made him mute with terror-stricken lust–

“Zelda Banks,” Mike said to James. “You remember. You had it bad for her that last summer at Rosemore.”

“No, I didn’t,” James said. Zelda Banks in her rainbow-striped T-shirt, standing on her head in the attic hallway, dancing on the pool table in Rose’s red cowboy boots, rising up wet from the Ohio. “I barely remember her.”

Except for the time he’d tried to kiss her when she’d been sitting on the terrace balustrade and knocked her into the river, and she’d hit her head, and he’d gone in after her, pulled her unconscious body out of the water and tried to give her mouth-to-mouth while the adults gathered because of her scream–his mother repeating hysterically, “Just like Charlie”–and then she’d come to flailing and broken his nose.

Or the time he’d put the car in the ditch and she’d said, “That was amazing, James.” Or the time he’d tried to fix the elevator and got the table leg jammed in it instead while she watched and sighed. It’s a miracle I never killed myself, he thought. Instead he’d ended up in military school. Because Zelda had liked the buttons on the uniform his mother made him try on. If you looked at the situation just right, say from his point of view, she owed him.

“—broke his nose,” Mike was saying to Ruby.

“She broke James’s nose?” Ruby said, leaning forward, delighted. “Why?”

“He tried to kiss her,” Mike said, “and knocked her into the river. Which I’ve always considered a baseline. Whenever I do something really awful to a woman, I think, ‘Well, at least I didn’t knock her into a river.’”

“What I remember,” James said to Mike, “is you and Scylla, the housekeeper’s beautiful daughter.”

“Scylla?” Ruby said, her head swiveling to Mike.

James put his attention back on the road as Mike began to wax rhapsodic about Scylla and her polka dot bikini. Zelda had worn cut-offs that had frayed up beyond a PG rating and that striped T-shirt that went almost invisible when it got wet. He’d spent the entire month of August 1989, following that T-shirt around, and now he thought, Poor clueless kid. If only he’d known then what he knew now . . .

“Is the housekeeper the one who makes the cherries?” Ruby said. “Because I haven’t had those cherries in years.”

“She died,” James said.

“Scylla’s mother died?” Mike said, shocked.

“No cherries?” Ruby wailed.

“In September,” James said to Mike. “I sent flowers. So did you, I put your name on them.”

“What cherries?” Keith asked.

“Special family dessert,” Ruby said, her voice petulant. “She marinates cherries in some secret sauce and then coats them in chocolate. They’re insanely good and we haven’t had them for years. And now she’s dead and I’ll never have them again.”

She sat back again, overcome by her misfortune, and Mike took a deep breath. “You should have told me.”

“I did,” James said. “You were starting the divorce, so I’m not surprised it didn’t register.”

The ice was coming down faster now, and the tires crunched on the road as Mike sat in silence for miles, Ruby and Keith whispering in the back seat. Then finally he took a deep breath. “I really want to talk to Scylla again.”

“So talk to her.”

“And say what? ‘Hi, I’m Mike, I was crazy about you nineteen years ago, my business just folded, my wife left me, and my sister just totaled my only asset, but I’m really glad to see you again?”

“Jesus,” James said, taken aback. “Where did all of that come from?”

“I don’t know.” Mike sounded tired. “Rose kept talking about her, and now she’s back at Rosemore. Maybe I’ll get a second chance.” He looked over at James. “Haven’t you ever wanted a second chance?”

“So James,” Ruby said, leaning forward again. “About our development plan–”

James slowed the car.

“Okay, okay,” Ruby said. “I don’t want to walk.”

“You’re not walking,” James said as he turned down the long icy lane. “We’re here.”

The lane was pretty bad, and he thought, You’ll never get out of here if you don’t leave soon. They inched around the last curve, and the house came into view in the snow-dimmed moonlight, the ugly square brick towers at the corners making it look like a kid’s idea of a castle.

“That’s the masterpiece your grandfather designed?” Keith said to Ruby, the horror in his voice plain. “That’s the place you want to make the center of the development?”

“I think we should put rose-trees on the terrace,” Ruby said happily.

“There’s no way,” Keith said. “We’re going to have to tear it down.”

“Be sure you tell Rose that,” James said as he pulled up by the front steps. “Just wait until I’m there to watch.”

Keith and Ruby got out as soon as the car stopped, but Mike stayed where he was, and James shut off the engine and waited.

“They’re in there,” Mike said, finally. “Scylla and Zelda.”

“Yep,” James said.

“Think we’ll do better this time?” Mike said.

“Well, I can’t do any worse,” James said, and got out of the car.

***************************************************************************

One hundred and forty miles north of Rosemore, James Entwhistle sat in his Columbus law office as a perfectly good day went to hell, thanks once again to the Awful Inglethorps.
In this particular case, hell was the blonde Inglethorp cousin who was also his half-sister. “Come on, James,” Angela said, clearly aware that she was beautiful and clearly unaware they were more than cousins. “You’re a tall, smart, successful man, and I could use one of those right now. Aren’t you tired of all those little brunettes you keep dating and dropping?”
“I have a short attention span.” James kept the desk between them and the exasperation out of his voice. Why hadn’t his aunt Mary ever told her daughter the family secret? Although to be fair, that would be some conversation.
“Oh, stop running away.” Angela tossed her purse on his desk, almost knocking over the only thing on it aside from his leather desk set, a bright, fragile hummingbird made of paper-thin wood that shuddered as her bag touched its base.
“Easy.” He moved it away from her.
Angela frowned at it. “That’s one of those things you always give Rose, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” James said. “Mexican folk art. I get her pieces that look like her.”
“And you thought that looked like her.” Angela shook her head. “Not even close.”
“No.” James looked at the multi-colored pinstripes of the bird’s wings and its sharp, dark eyes. Nothing depraved or blue-eyed or otherwise Rose-like about it. “I bought it for the office because it was bright. People who come here are usually depressed.”
“Yeah, divorce’ll do that to you.” Angela slumped in her chair, and he remembered she’d gotten trounced in court that day. “Forget the bird, James, and think about me.” She leaned forward so that everything shifted under her gray cashmere sweater dress, advertising her complete lack of underwear and moral restraint. “I know it’s taken me awhile to notice how attractive you are, but I had a lot of maturing to do before I could appreciate you.”
James looked at the ceiling, trying to ease the tension at the back of his neck.
“And let’s face it.” Angela nudged her purse as she leaned closer, making the bird shudder again. “You were sort of fat when you were a kid. Plus you had that big, lunkheaded look that doesn’t really work when you’re a teenager.”
“Thank you. Aren’t you taking your mother to Rose’s tonight? Shouldn’t you be going? Now?”
“Oh, but now that you’re older, it’s very attractive.” Angela must have seen that he wasn’t buying it because she crossed her legs, letting the heel of her sharp-toed pump dangle off one shapely, bouncing foot.
Family secret or not, if Angela didn’t give up pretty soon, he was going to have to tell her, which would mean he’d be in the middle of a family war, and they’d all complain to him and snipe at each other, and then someone would drink too much. and his Aunt Mary would probably throw something, since the only thing that had kept her from killing his mother all these years was the pretense that none of it had happened and his mother had gotten him at Sears.
“You know, that must be one of the reasons you’re so successful,” Angela was saying. “The other lawyers look at you and think, ‘Big dummy,’ and then you take them by surprise. And now that you’re older and taller and all muscled-up—” Her eyes flirted with him. “–it’s more broken-nose tough guy, so it’s very hot.”
Her come-on was too heavy. Even if she hadn’t been off limits, there was nothing reckless in her, nothing free. She’s as tired as I am, he thought, and felt sorry for her. “You’re my cousin, Angela. I can’t.”
“James, we’re cousins by marriage, not by blood. My grandfather married your grandmother. There was no genetic mingling.”
Skip down a generation. There was mingling. “Look, Ange, you’re upset about your divorce–”
“James, I decided this at lunch a month ago. I watched you eat your BLT and decided I wanted you. And if the sex works out, I think we should get married.”
James squinted at her to see if she was kidding. She had to be kidding. “Because of the way I ate a BLT.”
Angela nodded at him approvingly. “There aren’t a lot of men who can eat a BLT well.”
“Right.” James relaxed. “This is a joke. Good job. You can leave now.”
“I’m serious, James. You’re the kind of man who can take care of a woman, and . . . “ Angela stood and tested the edge of the desk with her hand, imperiling the bird again. “. . . I’m the kind of woman who can take care of a man.”
He stood and moved the bird away from her, and she sat on the desk, drawing her long fingernails across the polished surface. “Have you ever had sex on this desk?”
‘Yes, but not with a cousin. Knock it off, Angela, you’re scratching the finish.”
Angela straightened, frowning at him. “You’re being stupid,” she said as James’s senior partner and former stepfather appeared in the doorway, looking like an aging, depressed frat boy.
James straightened. “Francis!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Angela said, not botehring to turn around.
“Hello, Angela,” Francis said. “Bad luck in court today. Never divorce anybody James has done the prenup for.”
“So I have learned.” Angela went back to her chair, her face sulky.
Francis came around Angela to hand James a pink message slip. “Our new receptionist put this on my desk instead of yours.” He collapsed into James’s desk chair. “Her writing is awful.”
James took the slip. The new receptionist did have vile handwriting, but it wasn’t illegible; he was pretty sure the name on the “From” line was “Mike,” one of the better Inglethorps, which, James thought, was really faint praise.
“I have to return this message,” he said to Angela. “Family stuff. Francis will walk you to your car.” Seduce him. He could use some cheering up.
“What family stuff?” Angela said as James picked up the phone, and Francis jerked his head up.
“Not Mom,” James said to Francis.
“Are you sure?” Francis rolled the desk chair closer. “Because if Issy needs me, I can go to Rosemore with y–”
“She’s fine.” That was all he needed, Francis following him around Rosemore, mooning after his mother. He punched in Mike’s number, keeping the phone between him and Francis, and then took pity on him when he looked depressed again. “Look, I’m not staying at Rosemore Christmas night, so I’ll be back in Columbus by eleven. If you’re still up, I’d like to stop by for a nightcap.” Listen to a few carols, hear about how miserable you are without Mom, remember why I’m never getting married . . .
“Certainly.” Francis brightened again. Then he hesitated. “Are you sure Issy is all right, because it would be really no trouble–”
“The message is from Mike.” James listened to the phone ring. Come on, Mike. “Mom’s fine.”
“Mike,” Francis said with sudden loathing. “If he shows up here again, have him shot.”
Angela perked up. “What did he do now?”
“He seduced and abandoned our receptionist,” Francis said bitterly while James listened to the phone ring, “and she quit.”
“That may be overstating the case,” James said and then Mike answered and he said, “Mike, it’s me. What’s wrong?”
“James!” Mike’s voice sounded too cheerful, as if he were gritting his teeth behind a smile. “We’re in Cincinnati, my car is totaled, and we need a ride to Rose’s. Ruby made me call.”
“What does Ruby—” James stopped as a picture of Mike’s little sister—tiny, dark-haired, short-tempered, and reckless as hell—came to mind. Family, the gift that kept on giving. “That’s how the car got totaled.”
“You know Ruby.”
“Oh, for the love of God.” Angela got up and began to pace, swinging her arm so that her sleeve brushed the hummingbird, and James caught it with one hand as it began to topple.
“Will you stop that?” he snapped, forgetting he was still on the phone.
“Stop what?” Mike said, sounding confused.
Angela rolled her eyes. “It was an accident, James.”
Like hell it was. He righted the bird, noticing that a couple of feathers were loose. Nothing a little glue wouldn’t put right, but still a pain in the neck.
“Mike’s just blaming it on Ruby,” Francis said, leaning back in James’s chair. “If you look into it, it’ll be Mike’s fault. His divorce was his fault, too, I don’t care if we did represent him.”
James went back to Mike. “If you can wait two days, I’ll come get you on Christmas.”
“I can’t,” Mike said, and then dropped his voice. “I can’t tell you about it now, Ruby’s here and Rose wants me to keep this quiet, but she has a business proposition for me and we’re finalizing it tonight. It’s the deal of a lifetime, James. I’d really like to run it past you.”
A business proposition with Rose that she doesn’t want talked about. Like you don’t have enough trauma in your life, you idiot.
If he went to Cincinnati to get Mike, he could get rid of Angela, talk Mike out of getting swindled by Rose, and come back home blessedly alone, five hours on the road tops.
On the other hand, he really didn’t want to go to Rosemore.
“Rent a car.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “There’s one other thing.”
James closed his eyes and thought longingly of being an orphan, all alone in the world. “What?”
“Rose invited extra people to stay for Christmas.”
“I don’t care.”
“One of them is Zelda.”
“Who?” Then memory clicked and James said, “Oh,” and nineteen years evaporated, and he was a clumsy fifteen-year-old, staring at tangled black hair and dark eyes like razors and a body like a whip that made him mute with terror-stricken lust–
“Zelda Banks,” Mike said to James. “You remember. You had it bad for her that last summer at Rosemore.”
“No, I didn’t,” James said.
“Right,” Mike said. “It wasn’t Zelda, you had a thing for striped T-shirts.”
Zelda Banks in her rainbow-striped T-shirt, standing on her head in the attic hallway, dancing on the pool table in Rose’s red cowboy boots, rising up wet from the Ohio—
“She’s there now,” Mike said. “I just wanted to warn you in case you changed your mind about coming to get us. Which I’d really appreciate because I think it would be good to have a lawyer look over Rose’s stuff before I sign it. I know it’s a lot to ask, but even if you could just come in long enough to look at the papers . . . ”
Zelda, clean and straight and sharp and strong.
“Don’t sign anything. I’ll pick you up in two hours.” James hung up and turned back to the others, thinking, Zelda again. Jesus.
“James.” Angela sounded dangerous. “You’re ignoring me.”
Francis sat up. “James, is something wrong?”
Zelda. James shook his head. “Francis, I have to go get Mike, but we’ll have dinner tomorrow. Go home and get some sleep. You look awful.” He waited until Francis had reluctantly gone, and then he turned to his other problem. “Angela? No.”
“You know, James, any other guy would have ripped off my clothes by now, but you’re being the Good Boy, just like always.” Angela leaned closer. “Doesn’t that get old? Don’t you just want to explode sometimes?”
Zelda. “Not with a cousin.” James took his jacket from the back of his chair. “Go get your mother.”
Angela’s nostrils flared and she looked odd, like a very slender, very pretty bull, but he shrugged on his coat and came around the desk, pointing to the door. She stood, her face flushed. “I can’t believe you’re saying no to me,” she said as she turned to pick up her coat.
“I can’t believe you asked.” Zelda Banks.
“Get used to it, James, it’s going to happen. And you’re going to love it.”
She leaned back into his chest, and he remembered Zelda on the terrace, her skin hot where she’d leaned her back against his shoulder, touching him, not even realizing she was touching him, blanking out every thought he’d had except that Zelda Banks was touching him. He closed his eyes and felt the heat and the sun, tasted pomegranate and vodka, smelled suntan lotion and sweat and the vanilla from her shampoo and the licorice on her breath, saw all that dark, tangled hair fall in her dark, sharp eyes—
God, I really had it bad for her. Good thing he was over her now.
“James,” Angela said softly, and he opened his eyes, surprised she was still there and startled she was so close.
He stepped back and said, “Out,” pointing to the door, and her face twisted. She grabbed her coat and swirled it around her shoulders, catching the hummingbird full on this time and knocking it to the floor before he could grab it.
“Sorry,” she said.
He bent and picked up the bird, and feathers dropped out of the broken wings and fell to the floor. Its beak had cracked off, and he went down on one knee to find it.
“James, it’s just a bird,” Angela said. “You—“
He picked up the beak and stood, looking at her with ice in his eyes.
“Come on, James,” she said, smiling. “Lighten up.”
“Go. Away,” he said, and Angela lost her smile.
“All right. But when you’re over this snit about your bird, remember my offer still stands.”
Oh, yeah, you’re something I want. He put the bird and its broken beak on his desk and gathered up the feathers and put them beside it. Then he picked up his jacket and turned out the light and went down to his car, telling himself to get over it, it didn’t matter. But as he opened the door, he stopped, remembering it was the night for the cleaning crew. If they found the bird and knocked the pieces off the desk or threw away the feathers . . . You might need therapy, he thought, but he got a box from the back of his car and went upstairs to get the bird, gently packing all the broken pieces in crumpled paper to shield them. It was dumb, but he felt better as he carried the box down to the car. Things left unfinished just nagged at you. Much better to fix the bird, get closure, not obsess over what might happen, what might have been.
Zelda, standing in the river in her wet T-shirt, laughing up at him, strong and sure, everything he’d ever wanted. . .
And nineteen years older now, he told himself as he put the box in the cargo hold. That skinny, scary girl was gone and a damn good thing, too, because if she wasn’t, if she was anything like she’d been in 1985 . . .
Be fat, Zelda, he thought. Be fat and stupid and married with fifteen kids and nothing like I remember you.
Because I remember you.
Then he slammed the hatchback and went to get more Inglethorps.
#

#

Seventy miles west of Rosemore, James pulled down an apartment house drive and saw Mike, tall and dark, arguing with Ruby, short and dark, being watched by an average twenty-something man with none of the blatant good looks of the other two. Rose always said that the only thing that kept the Inglethorps from dying out was the fact they had such edgy beauty, like one of the more attractive poisonous plants that begged you to pick it and then left you covered with rash and regrets. She’d called Mike’s little sister “Ivy” for years based on that, James remembered as he pulled up and Ruby attached herself to the car.
“It’s about time,” she yelled to his closed window and then wrenched open the back door. “It’s freezing.”
“You’ve been in Mike’s apartment,” he told her as he got out. “You are not freezing.”
He went around the car and opened the back, and Mike picked up his bag, his lean handsome face uncharacteristically grim, and said, “Hello, James, thank you for coming to get us. This is Keith Bennet, Ruby’s latest. Keith, this is James Entwhistle, our cousin.”
Keith nodded, trying to be cool while holding a beat-up over-nighter and three pieces of immaculate pink luggage, and James felt sorry for him, caught in Ruby’s clutches and about to be sacrificed to the family for Christmas.
Ten minutes later, on the road and heading for the 275 exit, the only person he felt sorry for was himself. The roads were growing steadily worse, Mike was in a bad temper, Ruby was whining that the accident wasn’t her fault, and Keith was a boob.
“It was your fault,” Ruby said for the tenth time.
“Oh, can it, Rube.” Mike shifted in the passenger seat. “You were going too fast, you hit the ice, you slid into my car, it’s your fault. End of story.”
If only it were, James thought. The snow was really coming down now. Please don’t let me get stuck in a drift with these people.
“It’s not my fault there was ice there,” Ruby was saying, the pout clear in her baby-sweet voice. “It’s not my fault you told me the garage was open. It was dark and the ice was black. I couldn’t see it. Could I, Keith?”
“No, absolutely not,” Keith said.
“Well, you just keep bitching about it,” Mike said to her. “I’m sure that’s what James came to hear. I wouldn’t bother asking him any more favors if I were you.”
“Look, it’s done now.” James said. “Move on.”
There was a short silence and then Ruby said, “I’m sorry, James.”
“It’s all right.”
“In fact,” Ruby went on from behind him, syrup softening the edge in her voice, “Keith and I really are grateful you came and got us.”
Mike shifted in the passenger seat. “This should be good.”
Ruby leaned forward into the space between the seats. “You really are the family hero, everybody thinks so.”
James glanced at her, registering the odd effect that the green light from the dash had on her lovely, vivid little face. She looked half dead.
“We all look up to you,” Ruby said. “So Keith and I were wondering—”
“No,” James said.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Ruby said, suddenly sugar-free.
“You have some business proposition that you want my time, money, or influence for.” James squinted at the road. “No.”
“You’re the only one of us who has any money,” Ruby said, entitlement strong in her voice. “Well, besides Angela.”
“That’s because I always say no when you try to take it from me.”
“He’s got you there, Rube,” Mike said.
“It really is a sweet opportunity,” Keith said from beside Ruby. “I’ve designed a development that’s going to make big waves in the architectural community.”
“Oh, there’s a place I’d want to live,” Mike said to nobody in particular.
“I’ll show you the plans when we get to Rosemore,” Keith went on. “I’ll be glad to explain anything you don’t understand.”
“Like why you should invest in this,” Mike said under his breath.
James watched as the car in front of him slid through the intersection. If it was this bad here, it was going to be hell when they hit the two-lane stretch of Rt. 52 outside Rosemore.
“It’s the chance of a lifetime,” Keith said. “Of course there are a lot of people who want in on this—”
“Which is why he’s hitting you up,” Mike said.
“—but Ruby thought we should give you the first shot. She didn’t want you to miss–”
Mike turned in his seat to look at Keith. “If I were you, I’d stop annoying James and think of a way to make Rose forget she didn’t invite you. She hates gate-crashers.”
“She didn’t invite me?” Keith’s voice went up. “Ruby?”
“You’re my fiancé,” Ruby said to him. “You’re family. She invited the family.”
“I don’t think so,” Mike said. “James? What do you think?”
I think it’s going to be a long drive.
“James?” Mike said again, clearly looking for some back-up.
If he had to pick sides, he was definitely picking Mike. “It’s not going to help that Keith’s an architect.”
“That’s true,” Mike said. “She hates architects.”
“She hates architects?” Keith said, disbelief strong in his voice. “Why would anybody hate architects?”
“It’s all right, Keith.” Ruby dropped her voice again and James felt his seat ease back as she stopped leaning against it. “Ignore them. They’re always like this when they get together.”
“Sorry,” Mike said to James when Keith and Ruby started whispering again. “She won’t give up, you know. Especially now that she has God’s gift to brick egging her on.”
“I know.” James frowned at the windshield. “This storm is not good.”
Mike squinted out at the snow, too. “You think we won’t make it in?”
“Oh, we’ll make it in,” James said. “I don’t know if we’ll make it out again.”
“James,” Ruby began again.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Mike snapped. “Leave him alone. He already fixed one of your screw-ups tonight, he doesn’t deserve any more.”
Keith leaned forward. “He doesn’t deserve the chance of a lifetime?”
If only I had a roof rack, James thought, I could tie Keith to it.
“James doesn’t take chances,” Mike said, and James thought, I take chances. Sometimes. A gust of wind blew snow across the windshield, and he slowed down a little.
“Of course James doesn’t take chances,” Ruby said, giving up on her snow job. “James Darling never does anything wrong, that’s why he has all that money.”
“Shut up, Rube,” Mike said.
“In fact, I’m surprised James Darling didn’t just fix both cars while we waited,” Ruby said, on a roll now. “I’m surprised he didn’t just unbend my grill with his bare hands.” Her voice rose to a teeth-grating shriek. “I’m surprised—“
James pulled off to the side of the street, plowing through the piled up snow. “You want to walk?” he said to Ruby without turning around.
After a short silence, Ruby said, “No.”
“I know that’s a joke,” Keith said to James over the back of the seat, “but that’s out of line.”
“It’s not a joke,” Mike said. “James has no sense of humor. And Ruby’s being a pain in the ass.”
“Now, listen—“ Keith began.
“Want to walk?” James said to him.
Another short silence, and then Keith said, “No.”
“Okay.” James put the car in gear and pulled back out onto the street with more difficulty than he’d anticipated. So much for all-wheel drive. Probably shouldn’t do that again, he thought. Unless there was a chance Ruby and Keith really would get out. That would be worth the risk. Who said he wouldn’t take a chance?
He took the ramp onto 275 as Ruby began to talk to Keith again, keeping her voice low. James heard Keith say something about Rose, and Ruby said, “Yes, but we’re bringing her James Darling two days early. Rose will give us points for that.”
If she smashed into Mike’s car on purpose, James thought, temper spurting, and then he shelved the idea and the anger. Ruby was selfish as all hell, but she loved her little Miata. She might have run over a pedestrian to get him to Rosemore, but she wouldn’t have crunched her car.
“I am really sorry about this,” Mike said to him. “Although it feels good, you and me against the world. Like the good old days.”
Right, the good old days. Well, they probably had been for Mike, who’d never had an awkward day in his life.
The car struck a patch of ice and slid, and Mike said, “Careful, don’t put her in the ditch,” and James twitched, remembering the last time he’d heard that from Mike, right before he’d put Rose’s car in the ditch that summer. They weren’t supposed to have the car, they weren’t old enough, but Rose didn’t care, she’d send them out to buy cigarettes for her—we weren’t old enough for that, either, James thought—and on that day he’d lost control and they’d gone into the ditch. And Mike had taken Scylla into the woods, and Zelda had sat beside him, watching him, while he took an hour to get the car out. He remembered telling her that the key was to back the car into the same ruts they’d made going in, pretending he had everything under control while he sweated buckets, and then when he finally got the car back on the road, and she’d said, in that flat, cutting voice, “That was amazing, James,” and he’d wanted to kill himself.
Adolescence, he thought. You never really get over it. That’s probably how she remembered him, too. Sweating like a pig, trying to get the damn car out while Scylla got kissed in the woods.
But she’s back there now, and now you know how to get a car out of a ditch. No, that was insane. The car had been out of the ditch for nineteen years. Get over it, he told himself.
Mike looked over in the silence. “You seemed kind of tense on the phone, like you could use a break. Maybe a couple of days at Rosemore would be good for you.”
“A couple of days at Rosemore would finish me off.” Just driving there is making me nuts.
“Right.” Mike sounded disappointed. “I’m being selfish. I’d enjoy it a hell of a lot more if you were there. Like the old days. But that’s a lot to ask.”
“Yep.”
Mike was silent for awhile, and then he said, “It must be tough for you with Francis and your mom and their divorce right now. I’m sorry. I should have been there for you–”
“He was her fourth husband,” James said. “He knew the job was dangerous when he took it.”
“Well, yeah, but still, it must have been a shock for him. And he’s not exactly used to shocks. Life’s been pretty good to old Francis.” Mike took another drink from his flask. “So how’s he doing? Driving you crazy?”
“He’s says he’ll shoot you if you come back to the office.”
“But you’re doing my divorce,” Mike said, bewildered.
“And you did our receptionist.” The snow was definitely getting heavier now. Don’t turn into ice, James thought. Cut me a break here.
“Astrid?” Mike said, faking innocence badly. “How is Astrid?”
“Living in southern California because you broke her heart. I paid for her plane ticket. It was either that or listen to her weep for the next ten years.”
“Hey, she knew my divorce wasn’t final and I wasn’t ready for anything serious.”
“You told her you loved her, you jackass.”
“No, I didn’t. Well, maybe once when we were in bed. But no woman should take seriously anything a man says in bed.”
“And yet, they do,” James said. “Try to stay away from nice women, will you?”
“Yeah. That’s probably best.” Mike was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Thanks for getting her the plane ticket.”
“You’re welcome.”
James left him alone with his thoughts, grateful for the silence, and concentrated on the fast disappearing road, but when Mike hadn’t said anything half an hour later, James glanced over at him in the light from the dash. He looked miserable. Oh, hell, James thought and sacrificed the beautiful silence. “You okay?”
Mike looked back over the seat to Ruby and Keith, but they whispered on, oblivious to them.
“It’s this deal with Rose,” Mike said to James, keeping his voice low. “She wants to turn Rosemore into a bed and breakfast, and she wants me to run it.”
Oh, hell. There were so many ways that idea could go bad that James was hard pressed to pick just one, especially while navigating on ice. “You’ve never done anything like that,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral and the car on the road.
“I could learn,” Mike said. “I mean, I’m nervous about it, but it sounds like a good chance.”
“It’s a lot of work,” James said. “It’s one of those yuppie dreams that turns into twenty-four hour drudgery.” And you’ve never been much for drudgery.
“I need a new start, James,” Mike said, his voice suddenly earnest. “I don’t like myself much. I don’t want to be the guy who doesn’t go out with nice women.”
There it was, the crack in Mike’s life where Rose had stuck the thin end of her wedge.
“Then don’t be. Start over.”
Mike nodded. “That’s what I’m going to do. Rose says I can have the job if I buy into the business.”
Money. Of course, Rose wanted money. “Mike, I’d think twice about anything Rose offered me, especially if it involved m–”
“You think twice about everything.” Mike leaned closer. “Look, it’s not much, only fifty thousand. She’s . . . ”
He talked on, his voice picking up speed as he outlined his bright future greeting guests and being charming, but James had stopped listening as soon as he heard, “Fifty thousand dollars.” Mike didn’t have fifty thousand dollars. Everybody knew Mike didn’t have fifty thousand dollars. Rose, you knew I wouldn’t give it to you, so you sent Mike to get it from me.
“Of course, I don’t have fifty thousand,” Mike was saying. “But Rose thinks I can get my dad to give me my trust fund early.”
“He can’t,” James said.
“Rose is sure he can.”
“Rose is wrong. The terms of the trust bar him from it.” James took a deep breath. “Look, you’ll be thirty-five in May and he’ll have to give it to you then. Wait—”
“We can’t,” Mike said. “Spring is prime guest season. We have to have Rosemore renovated by the first of April.”
Fifty thousand dollars wouldn’t put a dent in what it would take to renovate Rosemore. Unless Rose was planning on bleeding Mike for his entire trust fund. His share had to be upwards of half a million by now.
And that would go a long way toward making Rosemore livable again.
“Of course, fifty thousand is just a start,” Mike was saying. “Rose told me to look for outside investors.”
I bet she did. James focused his attention back on the road because it was safer than thinking about strangling Rose.
“What do you think?” Mike said.
“I think it’s going to be very hard to find anybody who’ll invest in a broken down potential bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere.”
“Oh,” Mike said. “Well, what would somebody need to see to be convinced?”
“To begin with, one hellacious business plan.”
“Rose has one,” Mike cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you’d consider staying for awhile tonight and looking it over for me. Just to make sure it’s a good one.”
James began to watch for the Rt. 52 exit sign through the slanting snow, knowing it wouldn’t kill him to spend an extra hour at Rosemore talking Mike out of losing his entire trust fund to Rose, but hating the idea just the same. “I can stay long enough to look at it, but then I head back to Columbus.”
“Great,” Mike said.
“What’s great?” Ruby said, popping her head between them.
“None of your business,” her brother said.
“Oh, so only James can hear your secrets,” Ruby said. “James the big hero–
James slowed the car and put on his turn signal.
“You wouldn’t leave me in the middle of nowhere all by myself,” Ruby said.
“No, but I’d leave you in the middle of nowhere with Keith,” James said.
Ruby sat back, and James took the exit for Rosemore.
“I really appreciate you staying,” Mike said, as they merged onto 52.
“Only for an hour,” James said, not wanting him to get his hopes up.
“Right,” Mike said. “You know, it’s a good thing for you that you’re staying awhile. You’ll get a chance to see Zelda.”
“I don’t want to see Zelda,” James said. “I have no good memories of Zelda.” He had no good memories of that summer whatsoever. Dumb, clueless kid.
Like the time he’d tried to kiss her. But it was hard to blame James the kid for that one. She’d been sitting there on the balustrade, that T-shirt plastered to her, laughing up at him, and it had been dark, the adults all inside clinking glasses, and Mike was farther down the terrace necking with Scylla, so it wasn’t out of line for him to lean in . . .
You lunged, you dumbass, his merciless memory grated.
But he couldn’t help it. She was like gravity, she sucked him in, but when he went for her, she’d jerked back, and he’d put out his hands to catch her and knocked her off the balustrade and into the river, onto the steps that were covered by the flood, and she’d hit her head . . .
The humiliation of it all made him cold now at thirty-four. He’d gone in after her, put her down on the terrace, all blue-white skin and wet black hair, tilted her head back–the adults were out by then because of her scream, Rose saying over and over again, hysterically, “Just like Charlie”–and then he’d bent to give her mouth-to-mouth, and she’d come to flailing and broken his nose.
It’s amazing I never killed myself, he thought.
Instead he’d ended up in military school. Because Zelda had liked his buttons.
If you looked at the situation just right, say from his point of view, she owed him.
“—so I don’t believe it,” Mike was saying. “You were happy with Zelda.”
“Who’s Zelda?” Ruby said from the back seat.
Oh, hell, James thought.

#

“Zelda was James’s first girlfriend,” Mike said.
“Not true,” James said. “I barely remember her.
“Liar,” Mike said. “She broke your nose. That kind of thing stays with a guy.”
“She broke James’s nose?” Ruby said, delighted. “Why?”
“He tried to kiss her,” Mike said, “and knocked her into the river. Which I’ve always considered a baseline. Whenever I do something really awful to a woman, I think, ‘Well, at least I didn’t push her in a river.’”
“Is that true, James?” Ruby said, practically in the front seat with now.
“I don’t remember. What I do remember is your brother and Scylla, the cook’s beautiful daughter. Have him tell you about Scylla and her amazing red bikini, Rube.”
“Scylla?” Ruby said, her head swiveling to Mike.
James put his attention back on the road as Mike began to wax rhapsodic about Scylla and her white polka dots. He heard Mike say, “The river was really high that summer,” and he remembered Zelda, balancing on the concrete terrace steps, in water up to her thighs because the river was in flood, her hands on her hips, her eyes daring him to come in with her, the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen. Zelda hadn’t had a bikini. Zelda had cut-offs that had frayed up beyond a PG rating and that striped T-shirt that went almost invisible when it got wet. He’d spent the entire month of August 1985, following that T-shirt around, and now he thought, Poor clueless kid. If only he’d known then what he knew now . . .
“There were five of us,” he heard Mike say. “Scylla and me and James and Zelda and Owen.”
“Owen?” Ruby said.
“Great guy,” James said, grateful they weren’t talking about Zelda anymore. “He’s working for the county sheriff now.”
“Owen is?” Mike laughed. “The county must be going to hell if Owen’s the law.”
“Well, he knew more about breaking it than anybody else,” James slowed as a truck passed him going too fast. Idiot.
“What’d he do?” Ruby said.
Mike slipped back happily back to the past. “One time, he stole a boat from weekenders. He said it was the middle of the week and we wouldn’t get caught if we borrowed it.”
“Did you?” Ruby said.
“Nope. We went down river. and the girls brought cake and a tape player, but they’d only brought one tape—”
“Oh, God.” James started to laugh in spite of the snow. “I’d forgotten that. The Thompson Twins.”
“And then what?” Ruby said.
“And we stretched out in the boat and ate cream cake and listened to “Hold Me Now” about four thousand times,” Mike said. “One of the best days of my life. I wonder if that tape’s still up in the attic. I know we took pictures. I bet they’re up there.”
That was a good day, James thought. Except for the music.
“They were something else, Zelda and Scylla,” Mike said. “And now they’re writing a cookbook.” He sounded bemused by that.
“Zelda writes cookbooks?” James hadn’t thought about what Zelda would be doing as an adult, but if he had, it’d have been something to do with knives and biker bars.
“According to Rose, Zelda writes the biography of the cook, and Scylla does the recipe part. They’re doing her life now.”
James was so surprised that he slowed the car again. “Rose’s life? She agreed to that?”
“Yeah,” Mike said. “I’m having a hard time imagining Rose in a cookbook.”
“It’s going to be a damn short one,” James said. “I don’t think Rose even makes her own martinis.”
“They’re using Scylla’s mother’s recipes. She cooked for Rose a lot. Scylla’s cooking for us this week, James. You should stay for dinner.”
“Is she the cook who makes the cherries?” Ruby said. “Because I haven’t had those cherries in years.”
“She died,” James told Ruby.
‘Her mother died?” Mike said, sounding shocked.
“No cherries?” Ruby wailed.
“In September,” James said to Mike. “I sent flowers. So did you, I put your name on them.”
“Thanks,” Mike said, still looking stunned.
“I can’t believe there won’t be cherries,” Ruby said.
“What cherries?” Keith asked.
“Special family dessert,” Ruby said, her voice petulant. “The cook marinates cherries in some secret sauce and then coats them in chocolate. They’re insanely good and we haven’t had them for years. And now she’s dead and I’ll never have them again.”
She sat back again, overcome by her misfortune, and Mike took a deep breath. “You should have told me.”
“I did,” James said, and Mike was quiet. “I told you Rose’s summer cook had died, but I didn’t mention Scylla. You were going through a rough patch with the divorce, so I’m not surprised it didn’t register.”
The ice was coming down faster now, and the tires crunched on the road.
“Rose talked about Scylla a lot when we were talking about the B&B,” Mike said. “She kept saying maybe I could talk Scylla into being the cook at the B&B, that the book would be good publicity and that if we could talk Scylla into staying as chef, that would be even better.”
James slowed as a fresh onslaught of ice hit the windshield, and thought, I wonder what she told Scylla.
Mike took a deep breath. “I really want to talk to Scylla again.”
“So talk to her.”
“And say what? ‘Hi, I’m Mike, I was crazy about you nineteen years ago, my business just folded, my wife left me, and my sister just totaled my only asset, but I’d really like to see you again?”
“Jesus,” James said, taken aback. “Where did all of that come from?”
“I don’t know.” Mike sounded tired. “Rose kept talking about her, and it was such a bright time, that summer. I thought I could do anything. I’ve fallen really far since then. And now she’s back at Rosemore. . . I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get a second chance.” He looked over at James. “Haven’t you ever wanted a second chance?”
James guided the car along iced-over ruts and wondered if he wanted a second chance, go back to Rosemore sitting like a sugar cube on the banks of the Ohio, and to Zelda, who’d owned it all that last summer.
Or maybe she’d just owned him.
And then, out of nowhere, he remembered the day they’d been on the east terrace and Angela had found them talking and told him to come along, that his mother wanted him. He’d felt stuck in place, humiliated, and then Angela had said to Zelda, “He doesn’t belong with you anyway, you’re the maid.” And he’d held his breath, waiting for Zelda to strike her dead, and instead she’d turned to him, her eyes like coals, and said, “James?” and he’d said, without thinking, “She’s not the maid, she’s my girl.”
And Zelda hadn’t said a word. Especially she hadn’t said, “No, I’m not.”
That was a damn good memory. And he’d stayed, too. His mother had come to get him, and he’d said no, and then his stepfather had come–it was the Colonel that year, he remembered–and said to his mother, “Pick your fights, Issy, you’re not going to win this one,” and taken her away.
And Zelda definitely had not said, “No, I’m not your girl.”
He grinned now in the darkness. That was a good memory.
“So James,” Ruby said, leaning forward again. “What happened after she broke your nose?”
James slowed the car.
“I was just kidding,” Ruby said, hastily. “And no, I don’t want to walk.”
“You’re not walking,” James said as he turned down the icy lane. “We’re here.”
The lane was pretty bad, and he thought You’ll never get out of here if you don’t leave soon. They inched around the last curve, and the house came into view in the snow-dimmed moonlight, square and institutional and possibly the ugliest Modernist building ever built which, James thought, was saying something.
“What the hell is that?” Keith said.
“It looks like a home for wayward girls.” James said, thinking of Zelda. “Unfortunately, it’s not. Welcome to Rosemore.”
“That’s the masterpiece your grandfather designed?” Keith said to Ruby, the horror in his voice plain. “That’s the place you want to make the center of the development?”
James raised his eyebrows at Mike, who looked equally surprised.
“I think we should paint it rose-pink,” Ruby said happily. “With rose-trees on the terrace.”
“There’s no way,” Keith said. “We’re going to have to tear it down.”
“Be sure you tell Rose that,” James said as he pulled up by the front steps. “Just wait until I’m there to watch.”
Keith and Ruby got out as soon as the car stopped, but Mike stayed where he was, and James shut off the engine and waited.
“They’re in there,” Mike said, finally.
“Yep,” James said, not bothering to pretend anymore that he didn’t care.
“Think we’ll do better this time?” Mike said.
“Well, I can’t do any worse,” James said, and got out of the car.