by Gina LaManna
Having never been married, Kate probably couldn’t judge, but even to her—this seemed a bit obsessive. Kate had texted Whitney upon landing to schedule time for a drink, just the two of them for old times’ sake, and Whitney had texted her back an image of her schedule. She hadn’t even had time to personalize the text. It’d been an image that listed back-to-back activities in the salon and spa.
Not that Kate was particularly offended. She even wondered if this was karma’s sneaky little way of getting back at her for the way she’d treated Whitney throughout college. They’d been friends, sure, and had plenty of great memories together, but Kate had always enjoyed being the rich one. The bossy one. The admired one. Kate had always been one step ahead of Whitney, and they’d both known it on some level.
Pulling up the day-old text on her phone, Kate bit her lip as she glanced over it. She had to wonder if this was Whitney’s passive-aggressive way of telling her that the tides had officially shifted. It seemed Whitney was out to prove once and for all that she had obtained everything Kate had, and more. While Kate might have a leg up on the career path, Whitney would have a husband by the time the weekend was over. And soon after, Kate imagined, Whitney and Arthur would be adding children to the mix.
Kate sighed, flipped the message off her screen. Maybe she was reading too much into things. Whitney was probably just busy, not diabolical. What did it say about Kate that she was interpreting everything through such a twisted lens?
With a jolt, she remembered her first year exchanging Christmas presents with Whitney at school. Whitney had somehow scrounged up the money from her depressing little barista job to splurge on a two-for-one pack of tanning sessions at the local salon. To go along with it, she’d added matching sets of press-on, French-tipped fake nails from the pharmacy down the block.
The look on Whitney’s face when she’d produced the gift for Kate—explaining it was the ultimate girls’ pampering package—had been so thoroughly joyous that Kate had felt a moment’s hesitation about the present she’d gotten for Whitney. Kate reluctantly pulled out the envelope and handed it to her roommate; it wasn’t as if she could junk the two round-trip tickets she’d purchased that would fly the girls to her parents’ Hawaiian timeshare.
Kate remembered Whitney’s thrilled squeal and astounded expression. With a hint of remorse, she wondered if today’s Whitney had outgrown such unfiltered outbursts of excitement. Kate highly doubted Whitney would squeal in front of Miranda Rosales, and a part of her felt slightly depressed at the thought.
Maybe Kate had liked showing Whitney the ropes, the finer things in life. And in turn, Whitney had made their outings gleefully fun. Once, Kate had swiped a pair of tickets to a black-tie charity dinner without her parents’ knowledge, and the girls had snuck into the grand event wearing swishy dresses and sparkling tiaras until, giggling quite profusely on pilfered champagne, they were shown the door by a less than amused security guard.
To her surprise, Kate’s face split into a grin from her brief trip down memory lane. It was the first time during the trip that she could truly say she’d been smiling for no particular reason. The thought made her somewhat itchy, uncomfortable.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the next as she was offered yet another glass of coconut water and declined it with a distracted wave of her hand. She was too busy dealing with a pulsing question that’d hit her hard: What if she had it all wrong?
What if, this whole time, Kate had thought Whitney had been the one needing her—her guidance, her money, her connections—when really, it was the other way around? What if Kate had needed Whitney—her innocence, her devoted friendship, her willingness to accept Kate exactly as she was, flaws and all? What if Kate had needed Whitney more than Whitney had ever needed Kate?
Her hand trembled at the thought. She looked around for an open lobby chair where she could sit and think, and shoo away the attentive busboys giving her concerned looks.
Kate’s parents had always been too busy for frivolities and silliness and spending time with their daughter. The most attention Kate had gotten from them during college was when she’d purchased those first-class tickets to Hawaii without their permission. She’d gotten a mere slap on the wrist before her credit limit was lowered so she didn’t overspend again.
Whitney, however, with her shoestring budget and wealth of creativity, had given Kate some of the best presents she’d ever received. Customized photo books of their friendships. Tickets to a free and utterly ridiculous school play that was the worst they’d ever seen but somehow had stuck in Kate’s memories as one of her favorites. The fake nails, which had prompted an evening’s worth of wine drinking and movie watching by the light of their sorry little Christmas tree.
Thinking back, Kate realized it had always been Whitney who’d made up silly games in the library to get the four of them through late-night studying. It was Whitney, too, who’d smuggled in rolls of raw cookie dough to nibble on during finals week. It was even Whitney who had introduced Kate to Max, and while it’d taken them years to actually get together in a romantic way, it was only because of her friendship with Whitney that it had happened at all.
Kate was stunned to realize the impact Whitney had made on her life. It left her a bit shaky as she looked around and took in the stunning tabletop centerpieces currently being wheeled in amid shouts and a flurry of activity. Kate had to wonder if some of this was her doing. If she’d guided Whitney into thinking that excess, money, riches, was the best way. The only way to success. As Kate considered the text she’d received from Whitney in a new light, she found herself wondering if it was Whitney who had changed…or if it was Kate.
There was no room in the bride’s “Wedding Week Countdown by Miranda Rosales” for such trivial things as a friendly chat—Whitney’s time would be taken up getting plucked and pampered, waxed and dyed, suctioned and stapled, and God only knew what else. Kate thought back to Ginger and Frank’s ceremony—they’d gotten married in a freaking barn, and they were still going strong some fifteen years later. Kate had never really pictured Whitney having a wedding where she was too busy to talk to old friends, and she hoped, for Whitney’s sake, this was truly the right choice for her.
Disoriented enough for one morning, Kate released her thoughts of Whitney—content to imagine her friend exactly the way she’d been in college—and eased up from her chair. She made her way to the glossy front door and pressed it open, feeling the heat surround her like a familiar blanket as she stepped outside. Only a few steps later, and Kate was doused in a light layer of perspiration, tugging the cover-up away from her body where it stuck to her skin.
Kate hated sweating. While the desert heat was certainly scorching, Kate had good pores. She didn’t sweat like an animal after two seconds outside. What the hell had she had to drink last night? She felt like she was dying, and death was not a good look on Kate.
Even the sight of the carefully numbered umbrellas lined in blue didn’t ease Kate’s discomfort. She normally loved this kind of exclusive lounge area with the blue-capped, white-shoe-wearing handsome young men rushing around to supply her with fluffy towels, sunscreen, coconut oils, aloe, and iced lemon water. She adored the fact that loud children were reprimanded while she sprawled out to sunbathe, and families who hadn’t forked over the money at exclusive resorts were neatly ushered past the white, sandy path for “Members Only.” Kate was a fan of “Members Only.”
Instead of stretching her legs on a lounger as she longed to do, Kate turned her Tory Burch sandals toward the juice bar she’d meant to visit the previous evening. She found it easily and put in an order for a Detox Delight. Kate wasn’t sure exactly what was in such a beverage, but she knew she could use both detox and delight in large doses.
Once the barista handed over a huge, frosted glass with an extra-long, curly straw, Kate headed for the resort doors again, only to find herself coming to a stop outside the market sh
e’d found with Sydney the night before. Eyeing the little onesie she’d purchased for Lydia, Kate hesitated a moment before stepping inside. It didn’t take long for her to get sucked over to an entire table of baby supplies: cute sweaters, diapers, miniature swimsuits, and dolls.
“Isn’t that adorable?” The middle-aged shopkeeper came over, a different woman from the previous night, and smiled. “Do you have a little one?”
Kate cleared her throat. “No, but I’m—looking for a friend.”
“I adore those little swimsuits. Look at these ruffles.” The woman held a one-piece against her chest. “I have three boys. What I’d give for one girl. I wouldn’t trade the boys for anything, of course. But the ruffles!”
“I’ll take it,” Kate said quickly. “And some of the diapers, and whatever else you think might be helpful to a new mother.”
“Oh, well, this store is mostly trinkets and souvenirs and basic food and beverage items, but—”
“Diapers, the suit, a few onesies,” Kate instructed briskly. “The baby is about four months old.”
“Of course.” The clerk bustled around, adding things to a large bag. “How much—”
“Money isn’t an issue,” Kate said with a prim smile. “Go wild.”
The woman smiled back, a bit of confusion scrawled across her face, but she obliged. “Here we are,” she said finally. “I’ve included a variety of things that should tide her over for quite a bit. Plenty of wet wipes—can never get enough of those!—diapers, onesies—also can never get enough—and I varied the sizes so she can wear some now and some later.”
“Perfect.”
“Your total will be”—the woman’s voice dropped almost in embarrassment—“with tax…”
“Doesn’t matter. You can put it on the room of Maximillian Banks.”
“Oh, you’re here for the wedding.” The woman looked quite relieved. “The Banks family. It’s a big to-do around here!”
“So I hear,” Kate said with a forced smile. “Have a nice day.”
Kate had only meant to buy one tiny gift as an excuse to swing by and talk to Sydney, but she’d gone a little wild. Not a huge deal, Kate thought as she turned her sandals toward the lobby. If Sydney didn’t like the items, she could return them for cash and use the money. Max would be claiming it as an expense on his taxes anyway, so at least some good would come out of it.
She brought herself before room 114 and raised a hand to knock. It took a few rounds of rapping her knuckles against the wood before Sydney’s hurried voice called back, “One second, please!”
Kate stepped back and waited patiently. When Sydney pulled the door open, she had the rushed, breathless look of someone who’d been running around seconds before and was trying for composure. She adjusted the strap of her plain tank top, and Kate wondered if she’d been feeding Lydia.
“Good morning.” Sydney greeted Kate with a bright, slightly confused grin. “You look all ready for the pool. Maybe we’ll join you. Did you want to come inside? Lydia is just fussing on the blanket.”
“I grabbed a few things for you this morning,” Kate said, holding the bag out in a proffered gesture. “Please don’t turn it down. I saw the most perfect little bathing suit, and then the woman at the shop and I went a little overboard gathering some things for Lydia. It’s not anything but a gift for her, so please don’t give me trouble for it.”
“Oh, um…” Sydney watched the bag as if it were infected. “Is everything all right? You seem anxious.”
“Who the hell are you?” Kate watched Sydney carefully, so she saw the exact moment the young mother’s face dropped. It sort of slid downward, like chocolate sitting too long in the sun, drooping and sad.
“I think you should come in,” Sydney said, scanning the hallway, appearing anxious herself.
Kate glanced behind her, saw the hallway was empty, and took a step inside the room. “Who are you and what, or who, are you running from?”
“My name is Sydney Banks,” she said, easing the door shut behind Kate. “I didn’t lie to you.”
“I figured. Google told me that much, though I suppose a good hacker could have faked your history,” Kate said. “But you paid for your room in cash under a different name.”
“I promise you, I am who I say I am.” Sydney turned without hesitation and reached for her purse. “I have something to show you that might count as proof. Here—does this help?”
Kate leaned forward as Sydney held out a license from the state of Minnesota. The name and picture matched the Sydney Banks standing before her. “It could be a fake.”
“I thought you might say that,” she said. “But it’s fine. I have additional proof.”
Kate nodded, trying not to give anything away from her expression. She set the bag of gifts on the bed and spared a moment to glance at the gurgling baby snuggled between the extra pillows Kate imagined had arrived sometime the previous night.
“Thank you,” Sydney said in a hushed voice. “You didn’t need to do that—the pillows, the gifts—but we appreciate it. I do, for Lydia.”
“If you don’t like whatever’s in there, return it for cash to the market,” Kate said. “I don’t care.”
“Am I that obvious?” Sydney turned a chastised smile up at Kate. “It wouldn’t hurt for us to have some extra gas money.”
“Gas money?” Kate’s eyebrows cinched together. She didn’t even own a car in New York. She hadn’t driven for many years. “Where are you going?”
“We drove here,” Sydney said. “It was safer.”
“Safer,” Kate parroted.
She watched as Sydney crept across the dark space. After Kate’s near penthouse of a room, this basic setup felt almost claustrophobic.
“I thought your aunt booked your resort room,” Kate ventured while Sydney dug through a ragged, old knapsack. “Why wouldn’t she book it under your name?”
“She transferred the money to my account,” Sydney said, turning back with a photo book held to her chest. Her face was red, either from embarrassment or from the effort of digging it out. “I requested we do things that way. I told her I needed to check my schedule and be flexible with arrangements.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I didn’t want to be easily found,” Sydney said. “Just in case.”
“Your last name is Banks,” Kate said. “Wouldn’t that be your husband’s last name? Is this his family gathering?”
“I kept my maiden name when I married.”
“So Arthur Banks is your cousin, then. Are you close with your family?”
“My parents have been dead for some time. My aunt, Arthur’s mother, helped out when they passed away, but I was almost an adult at that point, so I did most of it on my own,” she said. “I don’t really keep in touch with my extended family. I’m sure a few people are surprised to see me here with a baby at all, but that’s their problem, not mine.”
“Sydney,” Kate said, shaking her head. “What happened to you?”
“I married a man thinking it was love,” Sydney said. “It was love, actually. I still love him. He loves me; I know he does. He was older than me, much older, and sexy. He had money.”
“You’re running from your husband,” Kate surmised. “What did he do? Why didn’t you report him if things got so bad?”
“We got married and pregnant really fast,” Sydney said. “I loved him. He’s charming and gorgeous to look at. He had money and a stable job, and he made all sorts of promises. I’d never have to work! I could stay home with the children! He’d take care of me!”
“Until he hit you.”
“Stop!” Sydney said, then glanced at the baby and lowered her voice. “Sorry. It’s been a few weeks since I left him, and he’s looking for us. We’re running out of funds, and I’m running out of places to hide. Lydia and I have been camping out in motels. It
probably wasn’t smart of me to come here, to a family event, but I couldn’t pass up a week of paid lodgings. It’s what was best for Lydia. Even if my husband does think to check here, there’s no one registered by my name at this resort—and he’ll know I can’t afford to put myself and the baby up here for long.”
Kate felt a surge of outrage on Sydney’s behalf. “Have you gone to the police?”
“He said he’d kill me and take Lydia,” she said. “I know that’s what he’s planning to do anyway, but if I went to the police, it would only slow me down. I’m safer on my own.”
“You can’t keep living like this! This wedding was in the paper. It won’t be hard for him to track you to the resort.”
“He wouldn’t dare come here. I’m surrounded by family.”
“Family you don’t talk to on a regular basis,” Kate pointed out. When Sydney didn’t respond, she gestured toward the album in her arms. “What’s in the book?”
“A record of my so-called accidents. I made specific notes below each of the photos, documenting how the injuries really occurred. In case you didn’t believe me,” Sydney said, “this is sort of my insurance policy. Evidence of abuse in case the police ever catch up to me. To him. To us. Look, I know you think I’m stupid, but I’m not. I know I was being abused. I know what he was doing is wrong, but I’m trying to do what’s best for me and my baby.”
“Let me see,” Kate demanded, gesturing toward the book. “I’m a lawyer, you know. There are systems in place to help women in your position. I went to school and interned in Minnesota, and if you do actually live there, I can set you up with some great contacts to help you get an order of protection. The Minnesota Coalition for Battered—”
“I don’t want help!” Sydney interrupted, panicked. “I’m just explaining myself so you don’t get suspicious and rat me out to the resort. We can’t afford it.”
