No Accident (5 page)

The next day Alison stepped out of her grandmother's town car and closed the door. She knew the driver, Fernando, would give her grandmother the full report on this little prison visit, but this time she didn't care. She was sick of the secrets. She wanted Grandmother Diamond to know exactly where she was.

Helen Rose looked pale as she gazed at her daughter through the thick pane of glass. Alison still wasn't used to seeing her mother without makeup. She wondered if she slept at night, and what they fed her. Was her bed comfortable? She felt a twinge of guilt as she considered the queen-sized bed, the ironed sheets, and the
European goose-down comforter she'd been sleeping with at Grandmother Diamond's.

“How are you?” Alison asked, realizing that for the first time she really wanted to know. Her mother was so stoic, so concerned with “looking good,” it was nearly impossible to tell.

“I'm fine,” Helen replied, straightening her shoulders and tucking a lock of hair behind an ear. “I wasn't expecting you,” she added with a smile. “Thanks for coming.”

The “thank-you” threw Alison and almost made her let down her guard. She was not used to hearing her mother express gratitude. It made her want to confide in her. She resisted the urge to blurt everything she'd heard the night before on the phone. She'd come here to ask a question, to really begin to try to piece things together for
herself
. Not for anyone else. She took a breath.

“Why would Grandmother Diamond want to frame you?” she asked simply.

“It's complicated,” Helen replied.

Alison wasn't going to be dismissed so easily. “Try me.”

Helen Rose stared blankly at her daughter for
exactly six seconds. Then she spoke. “She's trying to take away the only thing I really care about,” she said.

Alison stared at her hands in her lap. She knew exactly what her mother was talking about. Her career. It was the thing that she devoted herself to—the thing that drove her to get up in the morning, to work eighty-hour weeks for years on end, to step on whoever and whatever got in her way. The thing she ignored her own husband, her own—

“…my daughter,” Helen finished.

Alison's head snapped up. She looked into her mother's face. Her wide-set blue eyes looked damp, and her lower lip trembled slightly. Alison had never seen her mother's lower lip move at all, and felt her own heart squeeze. Those words were by far the nicest her mother had ever said to her.

Wow
, Alison thought. She suddenly believed that she could break free of the web, of those strong, sticky threads of deception and loathing that held the Diamonds all so fast.

Alison felt her fears and confusion melt
away. She knew what she had to do. She knew what she wanted to do. She knew whose side she was on.

“She can't take your daughter away,” Alison promised. “Because I'm not for sale.”

Zoey stepped into the foyer of her house and let out a scream. Through the archway in the living room she could see Debbie #5 getting pinned into a hideous white wedding gown, complete with fluffy pink feathers at the cuffs, hem, and ridiculously revealing neckline.

“What?” Deirdre exclaimed, nearly falling off the little podium she was standing on. She stared at Zoey with her doelike eyes, waiting for an explanation. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Zoey said, recovering. “I thought we were being invaded by flamingos.” She stared, unable to take the sight in front of her
seriously. Was Deirdre really going to be seen wearing that in public? Did her father know?

Deirdre giggled, and her chest bounced up and down behind the mass of plumage. “Isn't it gorgeous?” she cooed. “I feel like a swan.”

More like an ugly duckling,
Zoey thought.

“Ivan, this is my fiancé's daughter, Zoey,” Deirdre said to the tailor. She stared at the air for a moment, then squealed in excitement. “Ooooh, let's show Zoey
her
dress. She's going to love it!”

Zoey was horrified. Deirdre had chosen her dress for her? This couldn't be good. When Ivan unzipped the garment bag and pulled out the bright pink, puffy-sleeved bridesmaid's gown even
more
covered in feathers, she actually gagged and had to put her hands over her mouth.

“I almost think it's more beautiful than mine!” Deirdre cried, clapping her hands together like a cheerleader. In her deluded state she obviously thought Zoey was stunned with delight, not disgust.

Speechless, Zoey looked from Deirdre's
beaming face to the monstrosity on the hanger. Even though the dress was pink, Zoey saw red.

“I'm not wearing…that,” she stammered, unable to find a word for the frosted bit of fluff.

“But it's so elegant,” Deirdre said, stroking the dress. “Feel the feathers—they're as soft as a kitten!”

“Excuse me.” Zoey kept her voice calm despite the fact that inside she was screaming in horror. “I have to get ready for a tutoring appointment,” she said, turning to leave. They would have to “discuss” the dress later. She hurried up the stairs to her room and barely resisted slamming the door. Showing respect to Deirdre was getting harder and harder as the wedding plans progressed.

Thank God for Jeremy
, Zoey thought as she rummaged through her closet for something to wear. She'd never thought she'd be
happy
about going to a father-imposed tutoring session— but Jeremy could take her mind off anything, even an indescribably hideous bridesmaid dress.

Yanking a black-and-gray skirt off its hanger, Zoey slipped it on and pulled on her gray boots.
She was already wearing her favorite black sweater, so she was pretty much ready to go. A quick hair check was all she needed.

Shielding her eyes from the scene in the living room, Zoey headed out the door. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. She put up her umbrella and walked briskly toward the sidewalk. Hardwired, the café where she and Jeremy usually met, was not far from her house, but she didn't want to be late. The more time she had with Jeremy, the better. She was almost there when her phone rang. It was Alison.

“Hey, girl,” she said when she picked up, suddenly feeling a little guilty. She hadn't yet told Alison about her crush on Jeremy, and for some reason she didn't really want to.

“Hey, can you talk?” Alison asked. She sounded serious.

Zoey checked her watch, trying not to lose her grip on her umbrella or slacken her pace. Two minutes till and Hardwired was just around the corner. “Not really. I have to meet my tutor,” Zoey said. “Can I call you when I'm done?”

“Oh, sure,” Alison said. Zoey could hear the disappointment in her voice but did her best to
ignore it. She could see Jeremy though the steamed-up glass door of the coffee shop.

“Great. As soon as I'm done, I promise.” Zoey snapped her phone closed, opened the door, and dropped her drippy umbrella in the bucket just inside. The best part of her day was about to start.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Zoey said, taking a seat in the chair across from Jeremy. His eyes looked especially blue today and she had to force herself to look away and dig through her bag. She pulled out her already-finished homework assignment—an essay on Henry David Thoreau—and slid it across the table.

Jeremy's eyebrows shot up. “Is this what I was supposed to help you with today?” he asked.

“Yup,” Zoey replied as he started to read. She'd finished the essay last night and she knew it was good. She was kind of into Thoreau —dropping out of society to live on your own in a cabin by a pond sounded pretty cool to her. Zoey had never been much of a scholar— Tom was the family brainiac, and their dad didn't make the same academic demands on his daughter—but she had to
admit that if she let herself think about her schoolwork for half a second, it was a snap to complete. And even though she'd never been competitive about grades before, she really liked the way her test scores bugged that Audra girl. And pleased her tutor.

Jeremy turned the page and chuckled—music to Zoey's ears. She loved the way he looked at her when she'd done a good job on an assignment. He looked impressed but not surprised, like he knew she had it in her. Most people thought all she had in her was trouble.

“This is excellent work Zoey. Totally insightful…Your tutor must be really great,” Jeremy added with a laugh.

Zoey nodded.
He's great, all right
, she thought. “He's no dummy,” she said aloud.

“Got anything else for me to look at?”

Zoey shook her head. The essay was it for today—everything else had been finished during their last session.

Jeremy pushed his bangs off his forehead and leaned across the table. “You make my job easy. I almost feel guilty about charging your dad. So what should we do for the next hour?”

Get to the good stuff
, Zoey thought happily. She shrugged. “Talk?” she suggested.

The dimples appeared again. “Something else you're good at.” Then Jeremy's smile faded and he looked at her earnestly. “So, how is Alison?” he asked.

“Great,” Zoey replied, feeling a little deflated. Alison was the one subject she would rather not talk about with Jeremy—he was always a little too interested in her and her family. Like one of those nutty, obsessed celebrity stalkers. “She's fine,” she said in a bored tone.

“Good,” Jeremy said. “And what about her mom? Has Alison been visiting her? I heard they're supposed to set her arraignment soon, but who knows…”

Zoey tried not to glare as Jeremy trailed off. First she had been forced to look at the dress that looked like a feather boa wrestling a wad of bubble gum, and now she had to put up with Jeremy's weird obsession with the Rose family. Her day was taking a serious turn downhill.

By the time Alison got home from the jail the rain had stopped, but the day was still gray.

In spite of the weather, Alison felt strangely elated as she walked into the Diamond estate. Her mother actually cared about her. For the first time in her life Alison felt sure of that. Now she just had to figure out what to do about it. And, she reminded herself, just because she was currently caught between two worlds—neither of them hers —that didn't mean she had to stay there forever. In fact, she had a feeling that an open door would present itself before too much longer.

“I'm home.” Alison poked her head into the
library, where her grandmother liked to spend her evenings.

Grandmother Diamond was seated at a large walnut desk looking over some papers. Behind her the walls were covered floor to ceiling in bookcases filled with expensive volumes. Tamara did not smile when she saw her granddaughter. “Where have you been?” she asked, rising.

“I went to see my mother,” Alison said softly. She braced herself for her grandmother's reaction. But Alison could not have anticipated what happened next. Not in a million years.

Tamara let her papers drop to the desk. She moved across the room to the leather couch and nearly fell into it. Her elegant hands covered her face, but not before Alison saw her grandmother's eyes scrunch up and her mouth turn into a grimace. Alison stared, dumbfounded, as Tamara's shoulders began to shake and an ugly sound escaped her throat.

Grandmother Diamond was crying.

Alison froze like a deer in the headlights waiting for impact. Never in her life had she seen her grandmother shed a tear. Her Highness
despised shows of emotion, and until now barely seemed to have any.

“I don't want you to see me like this,” Grandmother Diamond choked out. “I'm sorry.”

Another first—Her Highness was apologizing. Alison hurried over to the couch. Sitting beside her grandmother, she reached out a hand. “I…” She wasn't sure what to say.

“Of course you're worried about your mother. I am as well. Did you know that?” Grandmother Diamond took her hands away from her face and looked at Alison through watery eyes. “Honey was always my favorite of the girls,” Tamara said, using Helen's given name. “I know a mother is not supposed to have favorites, but she was so spirited. So good at everything she put her hand to. From the time she was five years old, I dreamed of running the family business with her at my side.” Grandmother Diamond's voice was filled with admiration and longing. Alison was stunned. “I miss her…every day.” A fresh round of tears flowed down Tamara's face, soaking her handkerchief.

Pulling a soft blanket from the chest by the
sofa, Alison draped it over her grandmother's shoulders, overwhelmed by her sudden frailness. Grandmother Diamond thanked her and went on.

“She thinks I'm horrible, I know. Do you know how awful it is to be estranged from your own daughter—to have her think so poorly of you?”

Not exactly
, Alison thought. But she had a pretty good idea what it felt like from the other side.

As she spoke, Grandmother Diamond's tears dried up. But inside Alison they had a lasting impact. Her grandmother was opening up, showing emotion, apologizing. It was like she had been swapped out for her unevil twin.

Drawing a deep breath, Grandmother Diamond patted Alison's hand. “You remind me of her, you know. In so many ways. Perhaps that's why I've always had a special fondness for you, too.”

Alison gulped. She grasped for the warm feeling a granddaughter
should
have at a moment like this. She was the favorite. She should be happy. Triumphant, even. But all she felt was
awkward and embarrassed that even after her recent visit she was cringing inwardly at being compared to her mother. And disloyal to Tamara for having pledged to her mother that she'd help her.

Unable to find any suitable words, Alison mumbled something about homework. Three minutes later she was alone in her room. As she closed the mahogany door and heard the heavy brass lock click, she felt like screaming —she needed to do something to release the crazy feelings that were all stirred up inside her. She needed to talk to somebody about
everything
. But Zoey was still at her tutoring session. And there was no one else.

Or was there? Dialing her own phone number, Alison waited for her father to pick up. On the fourth ring her heart dropped and she waited for voice mail. He wasn't there. He was never there.

“Hello?” Her father's voice was clear and sounded amazingly sober. Alison felt instantly reassured.

“Daddy?”

“Al, it's you! I'm so glad you called. Sorry
I…well, I'm never sure how to reach you without Tamara being around.”

“It's okay.” Alison pardoned him, dismissing the fact that Grandmother Diamond never answered her own phone—the help did it for her—and anyway, he could have called her cell. None of that mattered. She was just so glad to hear him sounding so solid and upbeat.

“Look, Al, we should get together,” he suggested, reading her mind. “Talk about stuff. There are some things going on that you should know about.”

That was putting it mildly. “Like what?”

Jack Rose's voice dropped. “I can't tell you anything over the phone, sweetie. But I'm worried about you. How about if I pick you up after school tomorrow?”

“Sounds great, Dad,” she said, really looking forward to it. Maybe together the two of them could stand strong against Alison's mother and grandmother—or at least duck together under the radar. Maybe they could be a family again.

Alison felt good for a full hour and a half after she hung up with her dad. The good feeling
lasted while she ate a quick dinner (her grandmother had decided to have a tray brought to her room), washed her face, brushed her teeth, and changed into the sweats she liked to wear to bed.

But once she was in bed with the lights out, the good feelings left and the rest of the day's events began to replay on the darkened screen of her closed eyes—sparring with each other for control of her emotions. She saw her mother's face, tense and fragile. Her grandmother's shoulders shaking as she sobbed. It was so strange that both of them would break down on the same day. She wanted to believe their feelings were true, but a voice inside her whispered, “Beware.”

Like a stinging slap, the realization that she was still being toyed with hit her full in the face. How could she have been so naive? Her mother and grandmother had taken the game up another notch and were yanking her emotions with their fake waterworks. And until this moment she'd been buying it!

Sitting up in bed, Alison balled her hands into fists.
Not anymore
, she told herself.
Not for a
single second.
She was sick of being played. Neither her mother nor her grandmother could be trusted. If she wanted the real truth, she needed to stop waiting for them to tell it to her and figure out what it was for herself. And if that meant playing her own game, doing her own snooping, and lying, so be it.

The tug-of-war was over. Alison had chosen a side: her own.