Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,102

her father said. “No way he’s her boyfriend. Not her type. Don’t you remember Matthew Callanan?”

Even three years later, he held Matthew up as proof that Charlotte was capable of making good choices.

“You mean the Matthew Callanan she left at the altar?”

“Don’t exaggerate, Boo. She called it off months before the wedding.”

“The invitations had already gone out,” she said.

“I still think there’s a solid chance those two will get back together,” her father said. He laughed and shook his head, as if at an amusing anecdote he didn’t feel the need to share.

“Matthew Callanan,” he said. “Great kid.”

The three of them went back to the dining room, where Faye was telling Davey about something called the new math.

Elisabeth felt sorry for her mother, who was watching her father and Gloria as they took their seats, his hand on the small of her back.

Charlotte was watching too.

Elisabeth met her eye. Her expression, she knew, would be enough to communicate her thoughts. When they were kids, Elisabeth used Charlotte as a sweet and adorable distraction, a buffer she could wedge between their parents when they fought.

“Try the conch, Daddy,” Charlotte said, passing a tray of what looked like any other unidentifiable fried thing. “That’s considered a delicacy on-island.”

Their father took a few pieces with his fingers, ignoring the tongs that rested on the tray.

“I was wondering what the charge for three hundred bucks from Da Seafood Hut on my Amex was,” he said. He popped a conch fritter into his mouth.

Elisabeth looked from him to Charlotte, slowly comprehending his meaning.

“Seriously?” she said to her sister.

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? You’re taking money from him?”

“Who do you think owns that condo on the beach?” their father said.

“I thought it was a rental,” Elisabeth said. Her body went rigid with anger. “Didn’t you mention the rent, Charlotte?”

Charlotte fixed her face with an innocent look. “I might have said rent when I meant HOA fees, I don’t know.”

“Though to be fair, I pay those too,” their father said, with a shit-eating grin.

“You have no shame,” Elisabeth said. “You drained my bank account. And you didn’t even need the money?”

“I told you I’m working on paying you back,” Charlotte said. “I’ve said it a hundred times. But none of you believe in me. Do you? Elisabeth’s the writer, Charlotte can’t be a writer too. Well, guess what. I am. And I’m more successful than you’ll ever be.”

“What?” Elisabeth said, baffled as to where she should even begin.

“People go online every day to receive my wisdom,” Charlotte said.

“They go online every day to hate-read your nonsense posts and to ogle you in a bikini,” Elisabeth said. “When will you grow up and take responsibility for yourself?”

“Me?” Charlotte said. “I only came here because you needed someone to referee while you play house.”

“Shut up,” Elisabeth said. “You’re just like them, you know.”

“I know,” Charlotte said. “At least I know it. You think you’re not. That’s the sad part.”

“When have you sent her money?” Andrew said.

Andrew.

Elisabeth looked at him. His expression was confused, hurt.

“She drained the account?” he said.

“I’d say that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Charlotte said. “And I was only worth helping as long as you thought I wasn’t getting help from Dad. You were trying to manipulate me. You thought I was stupid.”

“That’s right, I did,” Elisabeth said. “Turns out you’re just a monster.”

Her father raised his voice. “Elisabeth. Stop attacking her. Yes, I help Charlotte. I’m happy to. I’ve done the same for you.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Yes, I have.”

“I haven’t taken a penny from you since I was twenty-three.”

“Be that as it may, you’re supported. Who bought you your first apartment?” he said. “I don’t recall you paying me back. No, you took that money and bought a better place in Brooklyn. As you should have. Then you sold that, and you took that money, and you bought this house. Or, I should say, I bought this house.”

Shame coursed through her. Somehow she had never thought of this.

“Face it, Boo,” he went on. “Someday I’m going to die, and all that dirty money will go to you whether you like it or not. If it makes you feel better to send Charlotte rent she doesn’t need, go ahead. I’ll get you back eventually.”

Would a normal person perceive the threat in his tone, or would such a person wonder how she could be angry because someone gave her a pile of cash? But her father’s money had been a weight around her neck. Elisabeth had