The Truth About Gretchen

by Alretha Thomas

  “I am too.”

  We stand in silence, gawking at each other. I want to leave, but I feel compelled to stay. There’s something so familiar about her.

  “Well, I guess—” we say in unison. Then we burst into nervous laughter.

  “Regina, would you mind having a cup of coffee or tea with me? I want to talk to you about something. That is, if you don’t have another appointment.”

  I rub my chin, curious. “Sure. I have some time.”

  “Great. There’s a coffee shop on campus near here. I’ll treat.”

  “Okay.” I follow her, trying to keep up with her long strides. I watch her lead the way. With each step her hair bounces off her back.

  We arrive at the coffee shop, and she pushes open the door. We enter and go to the counter. I ponder the beverage selection displayed on the red brick wall.

  “What can I get you, ladies?” the barista says. Her dreadlocks dangle all the way down to her waist.

  Gretchen smiles at her. “I’d like an iced caffé Americano.” Then she turns to me. “What do you want, Regina?”

  “A caffé mocha.”

  “Coming right up,” Miss Dreadlocks says.

  “Thanks, Gretchen.”

  “No worries. You’ve come a long way.” She points and says, “There’s a couple of empty chairs over there. Have a seat. I’ll bring the drinks.”

  “Okay,” I say, feeling a little bossed around. She’s sixteen years younger than I am, but it doesn’t seem like it. She has a lot of confidence. I guess she needs to be that way. The film industry is still a man’s game. I sit at the table next to the window, looking around at the other patrons, most of whom appear to be students. Then I text Taylor. I know he’s working hard not to badger me, but damn, I didn’t think he’d be this good at it.

  Hey, Tay, checking in. I have the YOU KNOW WHAT. Hooray! I’m at DHU. Having coffee with Gretchen Holloway. Hope you’re having a good day. Love you.

  I look up at Gretchen approaching. She sets down the coffees and unzips her Patriots sweatshirt. She removes it, revealing a white tank top, and drapes it on the back of her chair. She sits, then lifts her cup as though she’s making a toast.

  “Here’s to you and your water bottle reuniting,” she says.

  I raise my cup, and a chill washes over me.

  Chapter 11

  Gretchen

  I gulp my iced caffé Americano, the cool, tasty liquid sliding down my throat soothing. Images of Lance storming out of the condo this morning try to invade my head, but I suppress them. After he left, I decided not to stay on the pity pot and called Patty. She rearranged her schedule, so she could view the audition tapes with me. Regina called during my conversation with Patty. I was so thrilled that I forgot I had put Patty on hold. I set down my cup and look at Regina, who’s staring at Robert’s picture. She looks up with an awkward smile.

  “What did you want to talk about?” she says.

  I hesitate and formulate my thoughts, my words. I want to make a good impression. How ironic—I feel like I’m auditioning. Trying not to let judgment seep into my tone I say, “Why did you leave the audition yesterday?”

  “It’s a long story.” She averts her eyes.

  “I like stories,” I say, hoping she’ll confide in me.

  “Your thesis project could be my brother’s life story.”

  Heat rises to my neck, and my palms sweat. “How so?”

  “Your main character, the one you call Him. He and my brother have a lot in common. They were killed the same age in the same town, and they were both football players.” She looks at me pointedly, accusingly. “And they were both born January 1.”

  I’m unsure what to say next. “Is that a picture of your brother?”

  “Yes, it is. He was twenty-three in this photo. If he’d lived, he’d be fifty now. It’s the last gift he gave me. It means the world to me.”

  “I see.” I feel like a fraud. I want to tell her the truth about me, that I’m Robert reincarnated, but even thinking that sounds insane. I dare not say it out loud to her. I told Patty, and she laughed me out of the viewing room. “So he was killed?”

  “Yes, he was murdered right in our neighborhood, and the case was never solved.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have killed him?”

  “No, but we think it was somebody he knew. Maybe one of the guys he hung out with. My brother was a successful football player. People were jealous of him.”

  “I see.”

  “What made you write what you wrote? It’s hard to think that it’s all a coincidence. My brother’s life is sacred, and if someone wanted to do his life story, they’d definitely have to go through my mother and me.”

  I feel a kick in my gut when I realize what Regina is insinuating. “Do you think I based my film on your brother’s life?”

  “Did you?”

  “No. I’ve never heard of your brother or what happened to him. My film is based on a recurring dream.”

  She leans toward me. “What kind of recurring dream?”

  “It’s a nightmare. A young man is running, and he’s afraid, and then he’s in a casket and has a hole in his head. I’ve been having the dream for two years. It started when I was twenty-four. I wrote the film to help me work through it.”

  She squints as though she’s trying to decide whether I’m telling the truth or not. “That’s interesting.”

  “Regina. I never would have written a story about Robert without your family’s permission.”

  Her face crumples into a shocked grimace. “How did you know my brother’s name is Robert? I never told you that.”

  “I … uh … Regina, when I found out you were the one who’d left the bottle, I checked you out on social media, and I saw pictures of you and Robert. That’s how I knew his name. I can tell the two of you were close. I also saw the similarities to my film, but I promise you, I came across this information after I had written my screenplay.”

  “Sure you did.”

  “Regina, why would I write a movie about your brother and then have you come in and audition for a part in the film—the role of his mother no less?”

  She hesitates as though she’s considering my query. Then she says, “I don’t know why you’d do that. But then again, people do strange things.” She removes her wallet from her purse and retrieves a five-dollar bill. She tosses it at me. “Gretchen, my brother’s life story isn’t for sale, and if it were, it’s damn sure worth more than a cup of coffee. I wasn’t born yesterday. You need to squash this project. If you don’t, my mother and I will be forced to take legal action.”

  I feel like I’ve been hit with a million sledgehammers. Before I can argue my case, she stomps out the door, voicing a few choice words on her way out. Wow, that didn’t go like I thought it would. I slump into the chair and look out the window just as Regina passes, holding on to her keepsake. Now I wish I had never found it. Maybe I need to shut down the whole thing, kill the film. Go see a shrink and … and … I can’t. I can’t let it go. Every fiber of my being screams for me to forge ahead. Maybe I was Robert—I am Robert. I have to convince Regina. But how? I stand and head back to the viewing room.

  ******

  Before I can completely open the door, Patty runs to me, pulls me inside, and gives me a BFF hug. I melt into her arms. It feels good, and it’s what I need after Regina’s rejection. “Thanks. What’s up?”

  Her close-set brown eyes widen, and she presses her hands to her short, dark hair. “I’m so freaking jazzed. You were right—Lillian and Vanessa are amazing. I don’t know who to choose,” she says, bouncing off the walls. She simmers down and says, “What’s wrong? You should be happy. Your film is going to be spectacular.”

  I sit in front of the flat-screen monitor, my eyes fixed on Lillian’s face, paused in position. “There may not be a film.”

  Patty gasps and sits next to me. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Remember when I told you I’m Him reincarnated?
”

  “Yeah, I remember that joke. What does that have to do with the film?”

  I stand, and her eyes follow my every move. “It wasn’t a joke, Patty.”

  She rises and paces, passing her hand over her hair, shaking her head. Then she halts and plants her hands on her nonexistent hips. Her orange overalls swallow her, and I remember when we met, our freshman year of high school. Her family had moved to Dancing Hills from Ohio, and she didn’t have any friends. She reminded me of myself, an outsider. Sure, I had grown up in Dancing Hills, but I didn’t fit in. I was too much of a tomboy for the prissy girls, and I intimidated the boys. I knew more about football than the guys who played the game.

  Patty didn’t see any of that; she only saw me. We became fast friends when we discovered we were both film buffs and wanted to make movies. And became even closer friends after her parents divorced. Patty spiraled into a deep depression and did the unthinkable. Thank god I found her in time. We’ve been trudging through the highs and lows of millennial life ever since. Early on we made plans to attend the same college and take the same classes, but we couldn’t get every class together. But we’ve managed to hang tight anyway.

  “It wasn’t a joke?”

  “Patty, after yesterday’s auditions, I had an otherworldly experience. It was like I entered another dimension.”

  “Okay, go on,” she urges, her reddened face tense.

  “It was like the nightmare on steroids. I saw Him, who I now know is Robert.”

  “The guy you showed me earlier.”

  “Right. Anyway, when I entered this other dimension, I became him. I was a man. I was Robert. I had muscles; I was big, strong, rugged. I even had a penis.”

  “This is freaking unreal.” She circles me, as though she’s waiting for me to transform right before her eyes. “What was that like?”

  “It felt natural. Anyway, I was in pitch darkness, and the only light was under this door. Someone came out. I felt a horrible feeling, like I knew something I shouldn’t. Then I was outside, and there was a celebration because it was both my birthday and New Year’s Day. Then that same person approached me, and they shot me dead. Patty, I was him. I was Robert. I was there. The water bottle triggered some kind of phenomenon. And it happened again last night. The exact thing, step by step, but Lance interrupted.”

  She grabs my hands and holds them. “Can you make it happen again?”

  “I don’t know.” My gaze locks on the scars on her wrists, and an image of her lying in a tub of blood fills my head. I extract myself from her grasp. “Regina thinks I stole her brother’s story. I told her I went on her social media pages, and now she thinks that’s where I got my info. But we both know I had never heard of Regina before yesterday. I knew about Robert because I was Robert. It’s all there, my life as him, buried deep in my mind’s recesses. I think I’ve been having the dreams because my spirit is in anguish.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Robert’s murderer was never found. I think the answer is within me. The clues are within me. And I don’t think I’m going to be able to rest until I find out who killed Robert.”

  “Did you tell Regina what you just told me?”

  “No. I didn’t want her to think I’m crazy. But now she’s threatening me about doing the film. She wants me to shut it down.”

  “She can’t stop you from doing your film, even if it were based on her brother’s life. Unauthorized biopics are done all the time.”

  “I know, but Robert’s death obviously traumatized her and her family. I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing the film without their blessing. Patty, do you believe me, or are you going along with me because I’m your best friend?”

  She looks down at her wrists and then at me. “Gretchen, you’re not just my best friend—you saved my life. You knew something was wrong that night. You missed our high school prom, with the hottest guy at school, because you suspected I had gone off my rocker. My mother was clueless. She bought my story that I thought the prom was stupid and that I didn’t want to go. So she left me at home and went to her girls’ night out. But you knew, and you came, and you saved me. You’ve always been there for me. That time I wanted to give up freshmen year—you talked me into staying in school. You tutored me. You helped me fix my credit. You jumped through hoops for me when I was shooting my thesis project. And the list goes on and on. And now I get to be here for you, and I’m loving every minute of it.” She hugs me and then sits in the chair in front of the monitor. “But that’s not why I believe you. Gretchen, we’re filmmakers; we have great imaginations. We have the ability to believe the impossible. That’s why I believe you. But I’m not the one you need to convince. You have to find a way to convince Regina.”

  “That’s easier said than done.”

  “Have you told Lance?”

  “I tried. He walked out on me this morning. He thinks I’m nuts. Hell, maybe I am.”

  “You’re not, Gretchen. Don’t say that. You have to trust and believe in yourself, no matter what anyone else thinks. It makes sense now.”

  “What?”

  “The dream, why you’ve been having the dream. You’re right—Robert’s spirit within you is pushing you, inspiring you. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you ended up being a filmmaker and Regina an actress. It makes sense you’d be tied to her somehow. You’re going to have to get her on board. Together, I think the two of you can solve Robert’s murder. Your murder.”

  “I just got chills.”

  Excitement flashes across Patty’s face, and she leaps out of the chair. “At what age did you say Robert was killed?”

  “He was twenty-four, like my guy in the film.” What’s she getting at?

  “Gretchen, the dreams began when you turned twenty-four, two years ago. The same age he was killed.”

  “You’re right. That never even crossed my mind.”

  “You and Robert have the same birthday. Do you know what year he was killed?”

  “Why?”

  “I have a theory.”

  Anxious to hear her theory, I use my phone to pull up Regina’s Instagram account and scroll through the photos. I remember seeing one of his headstone. I can feel Patty breathing down my neck. “I’m checking. Okay, here it is. He died in 1991.”

  “The year you were born! He dies and then you’re born that same day.”

  “You’re right.” She screams, and I nearly piss my pants. “Dang, you scared me.”

  “I’m sorry. I got excited about the whole thing. This whole ordeal would make a kick-ass film. The dreams, the water bottle, you meeting Regina, you being Robert reincarnated, you guys solving the case.” She looks into the distance as though she’s imagining it on the big screen and then says, “You should name it The Truth about Gretchen.”

  “That sounds good, but as of now, we’re a long way from any film. Speaking of which, we need to finish viewing the tapes. I can’t give up. I have to figure out my next step.”

  “I’ve got your back, Gretchen.”

  “Thanks.” I sit next to Patty and unpause Lillian. I wish I could pause my thoughts, because they’re traveling at light speed.

  “Are you okay?” My phone vibrates before I can answer her, and I grab it. “What’s up?”

  “It’s Lance, texting 911. He wants me to come home. I’d better call him.” I click his number and wait for him to answer.

  “He’s not picking up?”

  “No. This doesn’t look good. I’d better go, Patty. I’ll call you about who I think should be paired up.”

  I twist my hair into a bun and head to the parking lot, praying Lance is okay. We only use 911 for an absolute emergency.

  Chapter 12

  Regina

  At the back of my car, I place the water bottle in my trunk. I shut it and smile when I see the pink Cadillac in the reserved parking spot near the diner entrance. I’m glad to see Kate’s working. She’s such a good person I decided that, since I’m in Dancing Hills, to surprise he
r, maybe even give her another great tip. I head to the entrance and press open the door. Kate, standing in front of the soda fountain watching TV, spins around and screams when she sees me.

  “Regina, what are you doing here? I thought I’d never see you again. You look fabulous. I love your hair.”

  I bask in her sunshine and compliments. Yep, it’s Terrific Tuesday. I have my gift from Robert. I landed a print job. And I’m visiting a new friend. Then the thought of Robert’s killer—out there somewhere, free—knocks me down a million pegs. “Hi, Kate,” I say in a dry tone.

  “Uh-oh. You didn’t find it.” She motions for me to sit at the counter.

  “Don’t mind me, Kate. I don’t want to get in the way. I know you have customers to take care of.”

  “Honey, your timing’s perfect. The lunch crowd just left.” She points at the half dozen other customers. “And those are the regulars. Sarah’s taking care of them.” As if on cue, a pudgy middle-aged woman, dressed in a dingy uniform and a net over her hair, comes from the back. “Sarah, this is that actress I was telling you about. The one who was here during the storm.”

  Sarah gives me a tight-lipped smile and quickly tends to the customers.

  “She’s the silent type,” Kate says. “Anyway, what’s wrong?”

  “I got my water bottle back, and I got a print job.”

  She crosses her spindly arms across her double Ds and says, “That’s awesome. You should be happy.”

  Upon hearing her words, the conversation I had with Taylor rings in my head.

  Woman, I’m saying you’re not happy—happy wife, happy life. And you’re not going to be happy until you resolve your issues.

  I don’t think I can move on until Robert’s killer is found.

  “I’m trying to be, Kate. It’s just …”

  “You’re still grieving your brother?”