Variation: A Novel

User45018: Of course they got in. Look who their mother is.

CassidyFairchilde1: Maybe she opened doors but they kept themselves in the room.

“Annelli Myers and Alessandra Rousseau to see Sophie Rousseau,” Anne said to the guard stationed outside the Brookesfield Institute.

His pinched face disappeared beneath a black ball cap as he looked at his tablet, then reappeared. “Go on ahead.”

“Thank you,” Anne replied, then rolled up the window on the Mercedes as the gate ahead of us opened. The lawn was thick and green inside the circular drive, the hedges trimmed to perfection along the right side of the driveway as we drove the quarter mile up to the sprawling estate my mother had determined would be her home. It was a Gilded Age mansion, built by some oil tycoon over a hundred years ago and renovated in the last few decades.

Anne parked in the small lot beside the north wing, and we climbed out, both taking a second to stretch. It wasn’t a bad drive, only about an hour and a half from Haven Cove down the coast, but I had a suspicion Anne had clenched the whole way here, just like me.

“You ready?” she asked, clenching the strap of her purse.

“Ready enough. Let’s go.” I slung my small bag over my head to hang cross-body, and we walked along the winding sidewalk, up the wide stone steps, and through the pillars onto the porch.

My phone vibrated while we were waiting to be buzzed in, and I quickly checked the text message.

Hudson: Still on for the beach tomorrow?

Right, that was tomorrow. Just thinking about it made me tired.

“Everything all right?” Anne asked, lifting her sunglasses to the top of her head.

“Hudson wants to know if I’m still up for family fun at the beach tomorrow.” My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

“Are you?” Her brow knit with worry.

It was hard to explain how the thought of making myself presentable two days in a row, of the effort it took to appear like I was enjoying myself because that’s what everyone expected, was daunting as hell. It was one of the reasons I’d left New York for the beach house. “Yeah. It will be good to see Juniper.”

And Hudson.

The door buzzed twice, and Anne opened it. We walked into the marble foyer, complete with Roman statuary, and handed over our IDs to sign in. There were only four people Mom would allow to disturb her.

Then we waited.

Allie: Will there be verbal fisticuffs involved?

Hudson: Only you would use the word fisticuffs.

Allie: Not an answer.

Hudson: Caroline will be on her best behavior.

Best behavior meaning maybe she’d stick to just glaring at me.

Allie: I’ll be there.

Hudson: Pick you up at noon.

Like a date, because we were supposed to be dating.

Allie: Ok.

I slipped my phone into my back pocket.

“It’s quiet,” Anne noted, glancing down the empty hallway to the right, then left. “Classes must be in session.”

“When’s the last time you were here?” I smoothed the lines of my black blouse, but there was nothing to be done about the wrinkles in my shorts from sitting on the drive.

“Last weekend.” Anne smiled as a woman with a flawless bun and clipboard hurried by. “You?”

“A little over a month.” I splayed my hands, checking that I’d scrubbed all the dirt from under my nails. “She let me stay long enough to express her disappointment, then kicked me out. Said she was late to teach.”

“Sounds about right,” Anne muttered as Rachel—the newest of Mom’s minions—came down the wide carpeted staircase in front of us. “She’s going to be angry that we’re here on a weekday.”

“It’s so good to see you girls!” Rachel exclaimed, her smile crinkling the edges of her eyes and mouth. Her light-blue sweater matched her eyes, and her red hair was pulled into a neat bun. “She has some time before her next session. Why don’t you come on up?” She led us up the carpeted steps, curving at the landing, then continuing to the second floor.

“Anyone else come by?” Anne asked, her knuckles doing their best impression of Casper along her purse strap.

“Miss Eloise stopped up a couple of weeks ago, but if you’re asking if your sister has been here . . .” Rachel shook her head.

“Of course she hasn’t,” Anne muttered.

We turned left into the north wing, passing a few rooms with closed doors, classical music streaming through each of them.

“And how is her mood today?” I asked, my stomach twisting. On her worst days, I was mostly limited to yes or no answers when she deigned to speak with me, especially after I’d embarrassed her when I fell in January, but she was usually in a good mood for Anne.

“So far it’s a good day,” Rachel said with a thoughtful nod. “She did yell at one of the new staff members, but they were late.”

“Understandable.” Anne paled as Rachel opened the six-paneled double doors into Mom’s suite.

It was decorated in pastels, every piece hand selected by Mom, from the tasteful seating arrangement with its tufted love seat and matching chairs to the similarly upholstered headboard on the heavily pillowed bed. The walls were covered in black-and-white photographs of both us and Mom at the different stages of our career. The lone photo of Dad sat on her nightstand, the glass smudged with fingerprints.

And Mom stood at the far end of the suite by the enormous windows, her profile to us, painting yet another picture of yet another ballerina. Her hair was pinned neatly in place, and those tailored black pants and pink blouse didn’t have a speck of paint on them, from what I could see.

“Sophie,” Rachel called out gently. “Your daughters are here, and you have about twenty minutes before your next class.” She gave us both a pat on our backs, then slipped out the door, leaving us alone with our mother.

Anne and I looked at each other, and when I lifted my hands, so did she.

One. Two. Three. I mouthed silently, then threw my hand flat.

Anne had two fingers pointed out.

Scissors beat paper. Crap.

“Mom?” I walked forward across the gleaming hardwood floor, passing by the conversation area on my right and the door to her bathroom on my left, stopping when I was about ten feet away. “Anne and I need to talk to you.”

Her head turned my way, and her withering gaze swept over me, lingering on my Vans. She opened, then shut her mouth, like she couldn’t believe what I was wearing. “Fifth.”

Ugh. I let loose a sigh and shot Anne a look.

“Fifth!” Mom shouted.

I placed my feet closely together in opposite directions, right before left.

“Sloppy feet.” She went back to applying the delicate lines of the ballerina’s skirt.

At least the critique was quick and succinct. “We wanted to ask you about Lina.”

Her brush paused for a heartbeat before continuing on as if I hadn’t spoken.

Foolishly, I charged ahead. She might not ever want to talk about her, but we needed answers. “Anne and I have been at the beach house, just like you wanted,” I told her, hoping the fulfilled request might put her in a more amiable mood. “The one in Haven Cove.”

“Studio needs waxing.” She continued painting. “It’s dull. Lifeless.”

“We’ll have it done,” I promised.

“Like your dancing. Dull. Lifeless.” She picked up the water cup and rinsed the brush. “No fixing that.”

Ah, and we’ve moved on to the insult portion of the visit. Excellent. I looked over my shoulder at Anne, blatantly begging for help.

“And Allie’s been seeing Hudson Ellis,” Anne said, coming my direction, opening her purse as she walked.

Mom’s brush paused in the pink paint, and I flinched even though I’d known the plan. If Mom knew about Juniper, there was a chance she’d know who was raising her. “River boy?” Disdain dripped from her words.

“That’s the one.” I managed not to sigh. The first time Mom had caught me with Hudson on the beach, she’d told me, “That boy is like the river. Pretty to look at, but we don’t swim there.”

The second time she’d caught me, I’d been grounded to the house for two weeks and sentenced to extra hours in the studio.

“It’s good to see you, Mom,” Anne said, and I could only hope she’d have better luck.

Mom gave her the same appraising examination, then smiled. “Anne.”

That flare of hope behind my ribs shone a little green.

“Hi, Mom.” Anne walked between us, then leaned in and kissed Mom on the cheek. “Doesn’t Allie look great? She’s already back in the studio. She’ll be back on the stage in no time.”

“By fall,” I said, stepping out of fifth. “Vasily might showcase the ballet Isaac Burdan choreographed for me.”

“Second,” she barked.

Seriously?

Anne shot me a pleading look, and I arranged my feet into second position.

“Vasily chooses his interests,” she told Anne, her brow furrowing as she glanced back at me. “Sloppy.”

For fuck’s sake, I was in perfect alignment.

“He likes Allie,” Anne said gently. “Always has.”

“He liked Lina.” Her hand clenched the brush. “Allie is no prima.”

Awesome. Neither was Lina, and considering that Lina had driven into New York and begged him to reconsider after the first year he hadn’t offered her a contract, I would have argued that I had higher standing, if it would do me any good with Mom. But now I was simply the daughter who’d fallen in front of all New York City.

I made the mistake of sighing.

“Third!” Mom snapped.

I angled my feet and expectations accordingly. I could be the youngest principal dancer in the history of the Company, have dance roles that were created for me, earn critical acclaim, but until I had that scarce, extraordinary title bestowed upon me, none of it mattered in her eyes.

“Sloppy lines. Sloppy feet.” She moved her own into position. “Third.”

I readjusted my stance even though it was perfect. “Third.”

Her stare prickled the hair on the back of my neck before she turned back to the painting.

“Mom, we know you have to get to class soon.” Anne took the framed picture out of her bag and showed it to Mom. “We just wanted to ask you about this picture.”

Mom stared at the picture. “Lina.” A smile ghosted her face.

“Did you know she was pregnant?” Anne asked.

Mom froze and so did my heartbeat. She blinked once, then pivoted toward the painting, stepping out of position. She’d shut us out. We weren’t going to get anywhere with her.

“In this picture of you two, Lina is seven months pregnant. Did you know?” Anne tried again.

“Mom, talk to us,” I begged quietly.

“Fourth!”

I moved accordingly.

Anne took a deep breath. “Did Lina have a baby?”

Mom shook her head, and the brush slipped, pink streaking across what had been a red curtain on the stage. “Now it’s ruined.” She threw the brush into the water glass. “Get out. I have class.”

My heart thundered in my ears. She fucking knew. “Lina had a baby.” I stepped out of position. “Her name is Juniper.”

“Do. Not. Ask. Again.” Mom bit out the words.

“We have to! Did you help give the baby up?” Anne pushed forward. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Who is her father?” I added, quickly falling silent as the door opened behind us.

“Hey, girls,” Rachel said from the doorway. “Sophie, Elle Gibbons is hoping you’d have a few minutes to look at her Aurora variation before class.”

“No.” Mom picked up her paintbrush and dipped it in red, then started to cover the pink mistake. “Fifth.”

Defeated, I moved my feet into position, and Anne stuffed the picture into her purse. We both trusted Rachel, but this secret was bigger than us.

“Elle’s father is a large donor,” Rachel reminded Mom. “It will only take a minute.”

“We’re not done discussing this,” Anne said quietly to Mom.

“We are,” Mom countered. “Tendu.”

I complied, shoes and all. “We have to know,” I whispered.

“Relevé!” she demanded, grabbing hold of the water cup in one hand and dunking the brush with the other to rinse it.

“I can’t.” I shook my head. Going up on the balls of my feet wasn’t an option yet.

“Maybe you could give us a second?” Anne asked, walking past me toward Rachel.

“It will throw off the whole schedule,” Rachel replied apologetically.

“Relevé!” Mom glared my direction.

“I can’t, Mom. My ankle isn’t ready.” I relaxed my posture.

She threw the cup at me, water and all. The plastic hit the hardwood a couple feet away with a thwack, and water splashed up, splattering the bottom of my legs. I waited for the embarrassment to hit, the sorrow that I’d disappointed her yet again, but there was nothing.

She was the water, and I was now a sieve. Being numb had some perks.

“Mom!” Anne shouted.

“Oh, Allie.” Rachel raced past me into the bathroom, then came out and handed me a fluffy pink towel.

“Thank you.” I wiped down my legs, mourning the loss of my pink Vans, which were now splattered with paint and water.

“I’m so very sorry.” Rachel glanced over her shoulder at Mom. “Sophie, how could you?”

Straightening my posture, I looked right at my mother. “Easily. Though not usually in public.”

Rachel gasped, and Mom’s hands curled.

Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.

“It should—” Mom’s face blotched red, and she snapped her mouth shut as her gaze flickered to the photo of Lina at my left.

“Go ahead and say it.” I lifted my chin. “It wouldn’t be the first time, and it might make you feel better.” At least one of us would.

“Mom,” Anne warned.

“Should. Have.” She jabbed her finger my direction, biting out every syllable. “Been. You.”

“Mom!” Anne shouted. “Take that back!”

“Yeah.” I blew out a slow breath as the words crushed my heart in a sharp-nailed fist, cutting into the areas I could have sworn were too thick with scar tissue to feel, but even numbness had its limit, and this pain was acute. Raw. Devastating. “Most days I wish it had been,” I answered truthfully, anger getting the best of me. She knew about Juniper and hadn’t told us. Wouldn’t tell us.

“Allie, no,” Anne whispered, reaching for my hand, holding tight. “Never that.”

“But I can’t help but wonder what you would have done when Lina didn’t measure up to your impossible standards either. Who would you blame then?” I held on to that towel like a lifeline with one hand, and Anne’s with the other.

“Leave now.” Mom dismissed me without another word, striding out of her suite while Rachel scurried after her.

“Even now, she’ll protect Lina over everyone else,” Anne muttered.

Mom wasn’t going to help us. We were on our own.