Triplets Make Five

When Emmy first arrived at Bellamy, she came with a laundry list of prior crimes that had gotten her kicked out of all the other prestigious pre-schools in the area -- allegations of violent tantrums, anti-social tendencies, emotional distress.

A record like that would usually be a red flag to the admissions department, but apparently the administration turned a blind eye when Emmy’s mother pulled out her checkbook. Typical Upper East Side parent, assuming that money could raise their children for them.

Emmy’s mother wasn’t just any Upper East Sider, though; she was Calista Preston. The name didn’t mean much to me at first -- I never followed the tabloid gossip, and Manhattan’s elite ‘celebrity’ circle was completely foreign to me -- but the other teachers at the school were quick to catch me up. Calista was a notorious celebutante party girl and hotel heiress. She was said to be worth millions but according to Page Six, she had squandered most of her fortune on partying.

Emmy had been the product of a short fling between Calista Preston and some Hollywood actor. Much like my own father, Emmy’s dad didn’t stick around for long. Calista was left to care for the child on her own, in addition to battling her own ongoing substance abuse issues.

I did believe that Calista loved her daughter, and I believed that she had good intentions but when Emmy came to Bellamy and wound up in my classroom, it was obvious that she hadn’t been properly looked after.

Easing Emmy’s walls down had been a long and tedious process, but the beaming little girl hugging my legs was proof that time, patience and love could work wonders.

“A strange man tried to talk to me,” Emmy whispered, her eyes wide and her face completely still. “I told him to fuck off.”

“Emmy!” Raven gasped from beside me. “Who taught you to say that word? You shouldn’t say things like that!”

Emmy just shrugged, and I bent down so that I’m on her level.

“You did the right thing,” I said, locking eyes with her and giving her an encouraging nod. Neither of us mention that I’m the one who taught Emmy to say ‘fuck off’ to any stranger that makes her feel uncomfortable. Besides, that was not important right now, what was more important is figuring out who approached Emmy.

Like any other Upper East Side school, Bellamy Day has an extensive safety protocol for end-of-day dismissal -- the clipboard roster with photos of every parent and nanny was just one example of that. But no matter how many security checks and precautions we took, there were always risks and threats lurking around the corner. That was the reality of life in New York City. And right now, that reality was coursing through my veins and made my entire body shake with fear.

“Can you point him out to me?” I asked Emmy, trying to suppress my rage and remain calm, for her sake.

She turned away from me, her eyes scanning the schoolyard. For a split second, I was afraid that the man has already gotten away, that we won’t catch him in time. But then a look of resolution washes over her face and she raises a finger, pointing deliberately towards the school gates.

“Him,” she said.

3

CALEB

“This is all a huge misunderstanding,” I said, dropping into one of the rigid wooden chairs in the cramped little office.

“You’ve said that,” the teacher said, blinking sternly at me from across the desk. “At least a dozen times. But you still haven’t explained exactly what the misunderstanding is.”

I sighed heavily, letting my shoulders slump down onto the stiff chair back. I was beyond exhausted. The last few hours had left me completely and utterly drained. Fire-fighting my sister’s battles had always left my own life in shambles.

My younger sister, Calista, and I were never very close. We were born a few years apart, which meant I felt a natural sense of separation immediately when she was born. The void between us grew even larger when our parents sent us to different schools. Calista got to stay at home in Manhattan, meanwhile I was whisked away to an all-boys boarding school in Connecticut. I hated that school, and I grew up feeling both suffocated and betrayed.

At the time, I couldn’t understand why my parents treated us so differently; why Calista was coddled, and I was so often left to fend for myself. Watching my parents dote on Calista made the distance between us grow even greater, and disinterest eventually evolved into resentment.

After our parents died, Calista went off the deep end and we lost contact. She made it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with me, or the Preston family business.

Without our parents around, I dutifully accepted the burden of worrying about Calista. It wasn’t hard, keeping tabs on my sister, even though she wouldn’t speak to me directly, all I needed to do was flick on the TV or scroll through the news headlines to see that she was still alive.

I would always keep an eye out for her, and I would always force myself to be there when she needed me. I bailed her out of jail when she was arrested for a DUI. I paid for multiple rehab stints at Betty Ford. I kept the rent and utilities paid on her Upper East Side apartm

ent.

I thought things had finally changed for the better when she announced that she was getting clean to have a baby. I actually breathed a sigh of relief, assuming that motherhood would give my sister the motivation she needed to get her shit together. Turns out, I was wrong.

“So,” the teacher sitting across from me snapped, pulling me out of my thoughts and back into reality, “What’s this big misunderstanding, huh?”

I sighed, shifting in my seat. As the head of a billion-dollar hotel empire, I was not used to being spoken to this way, and I was definitely not used to being looked at like I’m a criminal. But then, sitting in the cramped office, I might as well have been twelve years old again, sitting in the headmaster’s office at boarding school as he explained that I’ll be spending the fourth consecutive Christmas holiday at school, because my parents thought it would be “for the best” that I not join them on their annual family ski trip to the Alps.

I straightened my posture, and pushed the memory out of my head and forcing my mind to go blank.

“I’m Emmy Preston’s uncle,” I said. “Her mother, Calista, is my sister.”