Her Perfect Life

by Rebecca Taylor

  “Please just tell us what you think. Mostly, we are wondering about her latest book. Did she mention to you why she decided to do something so different?”

  Donna cleared her throat on the other end of the line. “So, to start off, and please forgive me now because I think this is where I say something that you may find offensive, but I guess I’ll start off by saying, I disagree with your foundational premise for starters.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Eileen chimed in.

  “Meaning, you’re telling me that you think there was something significantly different about Clare’s last book, when in actual fact it is very much like every other book she has ever written. She just finally was able to successfully tell the story she has been trying and failing to tell for her whole career. Clare was finally brave enough to look at the truth, and tell it. Unfortunately…I think that truth broke her.”

  Simon stared out the door to his office. The large birds-of-paradise arrangement was beginning to droop. “How?” he managed to ask. “I’m not seeing it.”

  Although he would be lying if what Donna was saying wasn’t hitting a nerve with him, a suspicion he had never looked at head-on. It was only ever a whisper, tucked somewhere deep down in the dark corner of his awareness. Like a trapped little bird that would flap its wings, just to let him know it was there every time he first read one of Clare’s new manuscripts. It had always been easy enough for him to ignore before.

  Donna paused for a moment before answering. “Every happy ending Clare ever wrote was her own. It was hers…and it was Adam’s. I assume you both know about Adam?”

  Simon met Eileen’s eyes. “Yes,” he said and swallowed. “Yes, I know.”

  “Every book, every short story, they were, every one of them, really about her and Adam. The multitude of fantastically fictional lives they might have had if he had lived. She gave them different names, different jobs; they lived in different cities, experienced different conflicts, but it was always Clare and Adam happy and together at the end of every book. Until…well, until she told herself the truth.”

  “What truth?” Eileen asked.

  “That before Adam died, he stopped loving Clare. Even if he had lived, she couldn’t have him. Not the way she wanted. Do you remember that first short story she published, in the Atlantic Monthly? ‘Lost on the North Platte’?”

  “Yes,” Eileen blurted. “I remember it. She sent me a copy. I remember thinking it was so obviously—”

  “About her and Adam,” Donna finished Eileen’s sentence. “She changed the names in the published version, but like so many of her short stories back then, I read the original with all the real names still in them. Everything after that story, she spent her career pretending she would have had a happy ever after, when really she and Adam were always going to have a tragedy. With A Perfect Life, she finally wrote it.”

  Of all the things he had feared Donna might tell him, this was not it. He knew it was true, now that he saw all Clare’s work in the proper light. With the appropriate thematic framework that Donna had so helpfully painted, it was undeniable. He was in awe of his wife, worshiped her talents, respected her work ethic, longed always to be near her, in her extraordinary presence. He loved her.

  He had loved her too much.

  But he had never known her.

  Chapter 26

  Lost on the North Platte

  By Clare Kaczanowski

  Sitting next to him, bouncing gently on his truck’s old seat, Clare racked her brains for a way to turn the hostile mood in the truck’s cab around before they reached the party. It had been her idea to go, because she thought he would like it. That he would have fun and would enjoy hanging with their friends and celebrating the end of their senior year. But just thinking about showing up at Heather’s, and having to endure her and the bitchy posse of friends, it had soured her mood and made her regret suggesting they go.

  “Do you want me to take you home?” he asked her again.

  Clare looked sideways across the seat at his profile. “I thought you wanted to go,” she said.

  “Oh, I am going.” He glanced at her for a second before returning his eyes to the rutted dirt road in front of them. “I asked if you want me to take you home.”

  Her breath stopped in her chest. If she needed any further evidence that she and Adam were shifting into completely unknown territory, here it was. His words, his tone, his utter lack of emotion recently—it felt almost like a slap. She had no idea how to change the atmosphere between them, but she needed to figure it out, and fast, if she had any hope of following through on what she wanted to get accomplished tonight.

  She had changed her mind, and she needed to let Adam know as soon as possible, but with their relationship teetering on the brink of near-constant conflict, there didn’t seem to ever be a good time to bring up what she wanted to say. Adam, I was wrong. Yes, please, I want to marry you. I want to be your wife. I want us to be together now and forever, just like it’s always been.

  “No, I’m good.” Her tone was light and sounded fake in her own ears. “I’ve just never really gotten on with Heather and her friends, but there’s no reason why we can’t still go and have a good time with our friends.”

  “You never gave Heather a chance,” Adam suddenly said. “Just because she was homecoming queen—is that really a reason to hate someone?”

  Clare stared out the windshield in front of them, her breath shallow sips of the dusty air seeping through the vents, the truck’s headlight illuminating the rough road before them. Yes, because Heather was homecoming queen…and Adam was homecoming king. It bothered Clare; it bothered her a lot. That night, watching the two of them up onstage together, voted together by the majority. The majority of people at their school had voted her Adam into the arms of Heather. Clare stood and watched them dance their king and queen dance together. But it wasn’t just because of that, although yes, that had been incredibly painful to endure. It was also because Heather so obviously wanted Adam. She wanted him and didn’t even bother to hide it. That was why Clare hated her. She was blatant competition, and even though Adam had always been Clare’s boyfriend, she still somehow felt like the underdog in the match.

  “It’s not a reason,” Clare forced herself to say. “It was nice of her to invite us.”

  Adam nodded. “It was nice of her.”

  Clare took a very deep breath and said nothing more. She had one objective tonight: to win her boyfriend’s affection back and tell him she had changed her mind. That was not going to happen if she allowed them to delve into a stupid fight over the true intentions of Heather fucking Roberts.

  Clare reached across the seat and put her hand on Adam’s thigh.

  He kept both his hands on the wheel.

  Rumor had it that Heather’s parents and her little sister had left earlier that morning for Denver. She had their whole hundred acres and sprawling million-dollar ranch to herself. Two kegs were being delivered, and the entire graduating class was invited to celebrate the end of high school.

  It annoyed Clare, Heather’s magnanimity with her guest list. Heather could have been selective, inviting only her closest, most popular friends, but she had flung her doors open to everyone, including Clare. It put a serious dent in Clare’s Heather is a selfish, insecure bitch statements and did the double duty of making Clare look like the one who was in the wrong.

  Adam pulled the truck past the open, large wrought-iron gates anchored into stone pillars that marked the entrance to the Robertses’ property. High over their heads was the arched metal sign: Four Roberts Ranch, flanked on either side with two metal-cut, rearing stallions. Heather’s family had money—lots of money. It was just one more reason for Clare to hate her. A snide comment about Heather and her great good fortune of being born into a family that owned half of Casper rose in her mind but died on her lips. Adam, ever the perfect person, had always ch
astised her about her habit of saying gossipy things about people, but lately, as the connections between them seemed to pull thinner and become less sure, his tolerance for her laser-point critical accuracy was nonexistent.

  A coldness shifted into her chest as a loneliness she had never really known swept in. The person she loved most in this world had become a stranger. Someone she didn’t know anymore—someone who didn’t know her. They had grown up together, had been the first of everything to each other. She had assumed it would always be that way. Now it was like everything she had ever known was wrong. If she didn’t have Adam, who did she have?

  No one. Not one person who really, really knew her. He knew her and loved her because of that knowing—or even in spite of it.

  Adam drove his truck up the paved, tree-lined lane that led to the Robertses’ ranch. She hated Heather, was afraid and jealous of Heather—but she couldn’t say any of that to Adam. Not anymore. She was terrified of pushing him any further away than he already was.

  Before they could even see the house, two parallel rows of parked cars were stacked up on either side of the lane.

  “Jesus,” Adam said as he braked and shifted the truck into reverse so he could pull in behind the last car on the right. “It’s like the whole world is already here.” Once he had set the parking brake and put his keys in his usual place, folded into the sun visor above his steering wheel, they got out so they could walk the rest of the way to the party.

  It was warm, with the scent of late spring carried on the gentle breeze that was rustling the leaves of the giant cottonwoods that stood like ancient sentinels along the road. Clare met Adam where he was waiting for her next to the blue Jeep they had parked behind. They turned in the direction of the house and could hear the music and voices of the party in the distance. She reached for his hand, and he took it in a limp grasp.

  “This will be fun,” she said and turned to check his profile.

  “Yeah.” He took a deep breath and sighed it out.

  Clare refocused her attention back to the road, on keeping her low-heeled sandals away from any of the larger rocks on the dirt road. She didn’t want to think too hard about the way Adam was acting.

  They could see the house, its expansive front porch lit up in a multitude of colors. Their classmates were everywhere: the porch swing, lounging on the wide steps, spread out across the front lawn. Two enormous speakers flanked either side of the porch, and people danced and drank and sang along with the bass-heavy song thumping into the night.

  Someone in the center of the chaos saw them approaching hand in hand on the road. They were still too far away and it was too dark for Clare to see clearly who it was, but the person raised their arm and pointed at them right before they broke away from the pack and staggered out to greet them. It was Kaylee, with a huge, goofy grin, a slopping red Silo cup in her hand, and a crooked, clumsy walk that gave away the fact that she’d been drinking.

  “You guys!” she exclaimed, holding her arms wide and spilling half her drink onto the dirt road. “You came!”

  Adam shook his head at his sister. “You’re already drunk.” He laughed.

  “You’re right.” She pointed at his nose. “Here.” She handed Clare her drink. “You have to try this. It’s delicious.”

  Clare took the wet, sticky plastic cup from Kaylee and took a sip of the sweet-smelling drink. It had a warm, tropical flavor. Pineapples and coconuts. Clare could see an orange slice floating on top of the ice in the cup.

  “What is this?” She took another sip. “It tastes like a vacation.”

  “Right?” Kaylee said. “Ryan Edwards is making them inside. Has a whole bowl full of it.” Kaylee linked her arm through Clare’s and pulled her away from Adam. “Let’s get you one of your own. This one’s mine.” She smiled and took back her cup before having another huge swallow. Both girls looked back over their shoulders at Adam, who didn’t appear to be following them.

  “You coming?” Kaylee asked her brother.

  Adam raised his chin at them. “You go ahead. I’m going to hit the keg instead.” He gestured to the group of guys standing around the metal cylinder in a rubber trash can filled with ice next to the porch.

  Kaylee waved off her brother. “Neanderthals and their beer. Come on.” She dragged Clare forward by their linked elbows. “It’s only the good stuff for us.”

  Clare called over to Adam, who was already heading for the keg. “I’ll come find you in a minute?”

  He shrugged at her. “Sure. No worries.”

  Clare watched from over Kaylee’s shoulders as Adam turned and walked away. “Do you think your brother has been acting strange lately?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” Kaylee said right away. “He’s a complete lunatic about leaving for college. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m totally excited to be going too…but it’s all he ever talks about anymore. I think it’s making my mother depressed.”

  “Huh, never would I have ever thought your mom and I would have something in common.”

  “Oh come on, she has always loved you. It’s just that now she probably has a mental image of you getting it on with her one and only golden child under her very own roof.”

  “Kaylee!” Clare gently hip checked her. “That’s not funny.”

  “But it is true.” She held up her pointer finger for emphasis.

  Inside the Robertses’ house, they squeezed through the growing swell of people to the dining room, where Ryan Edwards manned a makeshift bar. Half-empty liquor bottles, juice cartons, and cut-up oranges and limes littered and spilled all over the shiny surface of the mahogany dining table. A sticky-looking wet dish cloth sat piled with a wad of used paper towels off to the side in an obviously failed attempt to keep this disastrous bar in check.

  “Heyyyy!” Ryan called out in a slurry welcome and waved them closer. “Back for some more of my magic juice.” Ryan raised his eyebrows and leered at Kaylee suggestively, letting her clearly know that he’d be up for abandoning his drinks post if she wanted to slip away into one of the nearby bedrooms.

  “Keep it professional, Edwards,” she told him. “We’re just here for the drinks. Clare here is as dry as a bone.”

  Ryan clutched his heart. Whether it was because Kaylee wasn’t taking the bait or because Clare was stone cold sober was hard to tell. Ryan pulled a fresh Solo cup off the stack next to him, spooned ice straight from the plastic bag in the cooler beneath the table, and then ladled several servings of red booze from the swimming pool–sized punch bowl into the cup. Once he added a slice of orange and a wedge of lime, he started to hand the cup to Clare before changing his mind.

  “Wait,” he explained and placed the cup back in front of him. “Since you’re late and thusly behind…” Clare watched as he grabbed the vodka bottle to his left and added an additional hearty dose to her cup. “There you go.” He slid the almost-overflowing cup toward her. “That should get you right up to speed.”

  Clare dipped her finger into the cup and attempted to stir some of the vodka floating on the top into the rest of the drink. She dipped her head to the cup and sipped the too-full drink away from the edge. “Agh.” She made a face and then smiled at Ryan. “I guess that’ll catch me up or kill me,” she said, now at least able to pick the cup up.

  She waited, sipping her drink while Ryan filled Kaylee back up and winked at her. “We could still have our moment, Kaylee Collins. I don’t leave for UW for another three weeks. Summer fling?” He held his arms wide in a final bid to get Kaylee to jump into them.

  “Stick to making the drinks,” Kaylee said and blew him a kiss.

  Ryan’s head fell back like he’d been shot. “You’re killing me,” he said as the girls both shook their heads and headed back toward the front door.

  Ryan Edwards had been trying since their freshman year to get into Kaylee’s pants. “That guy’s still got it bad for you,” Cl
are said.

  “Please. He’ll give the exact same song and dance to the very next girl who walks up to his table with two boobs and a pulse.”

  Clare laughed. “Come on.” She took Kaylee’s free hand in hers so she wouldn’t lose her in the now even more crowded house as they wormed their way toward the exit. “Let’s go find your brother,” she called over the voices and music.

  Outside, the music and lights filled the warm night as people danced, drank, smoked, laughed, and made out with each other all over the Robertses’ front porch and steps. In the front yard, Clare and Kaylee still held hands as they made their way over to the now-larger group of people standing around one of the kegs. Someone had brought their beer bong, and a separate circle had formed to the right of mostly guys chanting, “Chug it! Chug it!” to Steven Channing, a junior on the football team, on his knees with a clear plastic hose coming out of his mouth. The other end was held high over his head by Blain Dixon, the captain of the football team, who was helpfully pouring a beer into the blue funnel on the other end. Clare didn’t see Adam anywhere around—not that beer bongs were exactly his thing.

  “What’d I say?” Kaylee asked as she lifted her drink toward the chanting group of guys. “Neanderthals.”

  Clare laughed, and they both drank their drinks and watched to see if he could get the whole beer down in one swallow. When Steven’s throat seized and beer sprayed from his mouth onto half the guys standing and watching, everyone laughed.

  “You suck, man!” Blain shouted. “Who’s next?”

  Kaylee put her arm around Clare’s waist and her boozy head on Clare’s shoulder. “Cheers, girl,” she said and lifted her cup.

  “Cheers.” Clare tapped her cup with Kaylee’s.

  “Here’s to finally being finished with high school and this one-horse town.”

  Clare hesitated for only a second. Kaylee was drunk and not thinking clearly. In this moment, with everyone celebrating, Kaylee wasn’t considering that Clare wasn’t actually going anywhere. “Yes,” Clare recovered, not wanting to spoil the good time by being depressed over her own circumstances. “Here’s to all that,” she added and took a huge swallow from her drink, which now mostly tasted like juice. Her head felt soft, her limbs loose. The night was warm, and people were having fun. Adam had been right to make her come. So what if it was Heather Roberts’s house? Clare hadn’t even seen her once since she’d been here.