Page 4 of No One But Us

“I just don’t understand how could you do this to us right now,” she says. An oblique reference to my grandfather’s death last winter. “This is the time you need to think of someone other than yourself.”

My grandfather’s death hit all of us hard—and made it impossible for me to tell my parents what I’d intended to: that my plans and theirs no longer coincide.

Leaving the internship like I did was selfish, and what I’m planning to do now is even more so. But I can’t seem to stop myself. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I tell her. “I tried. I just couldn’t spend another summer in that office.”

“What exactly do you think being a lawyer is?” she asks, exasperation sharpening her voice. “Once you’re an associate, it isn’t going to suddenly involve a keg and football games, James. This is what your life is going to be, day-in and day-out.”

No, it’s not, Mom, but you don’t know that yet.

When she finally realizes the conversation is going nowhere, she gives up and instead asks about my sister, once again affirming that Max, our roommate for the summer, knows how young she is and is not going to try anything. I laugh wearily as I assure her it isn’t an issue. Max is 25. He’s no more interested in dating a college freshman than I am.

* * *

Ginny finds me on the back deck after I’ve hung up the phone. “Did she say anything to you about the internship?”

I roll my eyes. “She’s barely capable of discussing anything else.”

“I can’t say I blame her, James. I mean, people would kill for that chance, and you just walked away.”

It troubles me that no one seems to understand. Allison, Ginny, my parents—they all think I’m making a mistake. And when enough people think you’re wrong, you usually are.

“Well, look on the bright side. If I don’t go back, you get the whole thing to yourself.”

“Except I don’t want it,” she argues. “And if you bail, it’s all going to fall on me.”

We sit there for a minute in silence. I could tell her what I keep telling myself—that there’s a limit to what she owes our family—but I know it won’t fly. I’m disturbed by my mother’s illness, but Ginny is devastated by it. She can’t imagine doing anything to make it worse, and both of us bailing on the family would definitely make it worse.

“By the way,” Ginny says. “I think Elle is coming down.”

I stiffen, hoping I’ve misheard. “Elle Grayson?” I ask, and she nods. “For how long?”

“The summer,” she chirps. “Her parents want her to lay low for a while, until the Edward thing dies down.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Did you tell Mom?” I ask quietly.

Ginny shakes her head. “I have no idea what’s crawled up her ass about Elle and her parents, but ever since she got sick, it’s like she hates their whole family. I’ll tell her. I’m just kind of dreading it. I mean, really, why should it matter to her if Elle is here?”

I agree with Ginny that based on what we know, it shouldn’t matter. But I also know it will matter, and I have a sneaking suspicion about why that is.

Chapter 3

ELLE

The guy sitting across the aisle spends an hour of the train ride to DC pretending he’s not staring at me before he finally bridges the distance between us.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he begins, “that you look just like Kelly Evans?”

Yes, everyone, ever, has told me I look like Kelly Evans. “I’ve heard that a few times.”

“I mean, look at her,” he says, holding his phone aloft. I glance over at it: long blond hair, high cheekbones, a mouth that is slightly too full. I know the face well. “It’s uncanny,” he continues. “I’ve spent the past hour trying to figure out if you were her, but I think she must be in her 30s by now.”

Actually, she is 44, so she’d be thrilled to hear his guess. I’d probably even share it with her, if she’d answer her phone.

I cab from Union Station to Georgetown, arriving at the townhouse to find it vacant. It’s times like this that I long for normal parents, the kind capable of providing comfort or even, merely, the kind capable of returning my calls.

Then again, if I did have parents at home, there’d be someone to stop me from taking their Porsche.