"My mom just let him get away with it. All she did was start dressing in more expensive clothes, ask for a new car, and get her real estate license. He'd never let her get a job until then. She started taking me shopping a lot after that, like it was some kind of consolation. For me or for her, I don't know."
It sounded to me as if Cathy hadn't let Charles get away with it at all. Instead of putting a stop to it, she'd used it as leverage against him. No wonder Tiffany had issues with her dad and with money. As a pre-teen, Tiffany had learned that material things meant more than a healthy marriage. More than love. It hit me suddenly that Lake would've been just as young, just as impressionable when this had happened. "What about Lake?"
"She doesn't know. I thought about telling tell her so many times, just to have someone to talk to, but . . . I didn't want her to feel as bad as I did."
I put my arms around Tiffany's waist and hugged her closer for her selflessness. She'd saved her sister in many ways, even though it hurt her to keep it inside. It reaffirmed the many things I'd known to be true about Tiffany-she cared about her sister, about her family, and wanted to be good to them. She didn't always show it in the right ways, but maybe that was something I could help with. "Well, I'm not your dad . . . I think we've established that."
She smiled a little. "I know. I've just been wanting to tell someone for a long time, and my friends would just treat it like gossip. I wanted you to know, because, well, if we're getting married, it's kind of important. Cheating, and stuff."
"It's very important," I said, readjusting her on my thigh. "And it's wrong. I know that, Tiffany." There were enough ways to hurt people in the world, physically and emotionally. Some of it was intentional, like abuse. Some of it wasn't, like how Charles pressured Lake or ignored Tiffany. "That's not the man I am, and it's not the man I want to be."
I didn't know exactly the kind of man I wanted to be, but I did know it was the opposite of my dad. And apparently, Tiffany's, too.
19
Lake
June had been a month to celebrate. My birthday had barely passed before senior class events and graduation parties began.
At the house, streamers hung everywhere, tied off with balloons. Red and gold for my new school, blue and gray for my old. Mom had transformed the backyard into a fiesta with cloth-covered tables and a catered buffet of Mexican food fit for royals. Members of her family and Dad's had driven in for my graduation ceremony, and I was being passed around like a hot potato, forced to answer the same questions over and over:
Was I excited for USC?
What would I major in?
Had I met my roommate?
A table by the door had been filled with presents, including stacks of envelopes I was pretty sure contained money. The sun lowered over our house as everyone under the age of twelve splashed in the pool. Vickie and Mona nibbled on taquitos. Val had been trying to sneak a margarita for twenty minutes while her mom flirted with dads.
I ducked into the kitchen and found Manning opening and closing cupboards. He'd attended my graduation ceremony with Tiffany in the morning, but we hadn't been alone together since my birthday on the beach a couple weeks earlier. "Hey."
He glanced over his shoulder. "I've been sent by your mom to find Tupperware so Clancy Stevens can take frijoles to go."
It was likely the most domesticated thing to have ever left Manning's mouth. I grinned ear to ear and held up the empty bowl I'd grabbed on my way in. "I'm refilling chips."
"Doesn't the caterer do that?"
"I needed a few minutes of refuge."
He opened another cupboard. "Keeping you busy, huh?"
I leaned my stomach on the island and set my chin in my hand, watching him. "You won't find them in there."
He paused, picked a gold-rimmed, leaf-patterned plate out of the cupboard and turned to show it to me. "Guest dishes."
Those two words were enough to send my imagination spinning into the future. Once, before he'd gone away, we'd talked about guest plates and the kind of wife he pictured for himself. Even with Tiffany yards away, I saw myself in Manning's kitchen, experimenting with new meals every day, made with love for him. That had to mean something. Tiffany would understand eventually, once she saw how right we were together. She would be mad, but she couldn't deny the unshakeable truth about Manning and me-this story was ours.
Maybe reading my mind, Manning put the dish away and turned to me. "Did you say hi to your sister?"