by Pamela Crane
SUNDAY EVENING
As long as Aria Fischer had known him, Ryan Thompson had always been a combo genuine science/science-fiction geek. One wall of the basement game room in his parents’ house paid homage to three sci-fi flicks from the 1950s. A vintage poster of The War of the Worlds, a bona fide classic, hung between repro lobby cards for two kitschy B-movie favorites, Flight to Mars and Killers from Space. Mystery Science Theater 3000, which celebrated and skewered exactly that kind of show, flickered on the big-screen TV in the corner. With his goofy grin and curly cap of hair – not to mention his social awkwardness – nerd was too charitable a word to describe Ryan, in most circumstances. But tonight, thanks to the wine Aria had generously sampled – her teenage eff you to the pedestal her parents had put her on – she didn’t mind the nerdiness so much. In fact, she had always found Ryan to be kind of cute, and this feeling grew on her as their conversation smoothly flowed like the forbidden alcohol down her throat.
Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, they leaned against the foot of the sofa, chuckling at the wisecracks of Joel Robinson, Tom Servo, and the MST3K gang as they watched Women of the Prehistoric Planet. The lacquered coffee table in front of them was littered with pale rings of condensation from their red Solo cups and a dust of snack crumbs from the mostly empty bowls of chips and cookies.
Ryan lifted the bottle of wine he’d snuck out of the wine cellar, offering it to Aria. ‘Want to finish this off?’
She knew she shouldn’t. She had been pouring herself glass after glass to the point where she’d lost count. It was her first time drinking, but she already knew she was drunk. Too drunk to act like she wasn’t.
She nodded anyway and offered him her half-full cup. ‘Sure.’
As Ryan poured, Aria admired the ripple of his arm muscles, developed over years of playing Little League and high school baseball. His parents had made him play, insisting he couldn’t spend all his time indoors poring over science journals, playing video games, and bingeing old sci-fi movies. It had paid off. The more her eyes roved his body, the more she found to appreciate. Brains and brawn with a touch of sensitive in one attractive package. You didn’t find that very often.
Her fingers played with the sleeve of his Star Wars T-shirt. ‘So you were saying there are plants in your backyard that can kill people?’ Aria asked, her voice drunkenly loud. Somehow the topic had turned to plants – the villainous side of them, of which Ryan was apparently an expert. ‘Why do you have lethal plants in your yard?’
‘Shh! You want our parents to hear us plotting their murder?’ Ryan laughed tipsily and pressed his finger to her lips.
‘Sorry,’ Aria said between giggles. ‘So you’re a master horticulturist, huh?’
‘No, not quite. Horticulture is the science of growing certain plants. Botany is the study of their properties.’
‘If for a moment I doubted your geekiness, that moment is gone, dude.’ Aria looked up at him, her vision hazy like smudged glass.
‘What? I find botany to be interesting. Especially the mysteries of plants, like how a flower can cause a heart attack. But it’s not like I’m harvesting poisonous plants. The foxglove I grow is actually pretty common in gardens. And it’s only lethal if you eat a bunch of it.’
‘Well, I better never get on your bad side. Don’t want you to poison me in my sleep.’
‘I wouldn’t do it in your sleep, silly. I’d put it in your food or drink.’ He winked, but Aria felt her stomach knot. It was either the low rumble of his words or the alcohol churning in her gut about to make a second appearance.
‘You’re freaking me out, Ryan.’
‘I’d never poison you, Aria,’ Ryan said, his voice shifting to a brighter octave. ‘I like you too much to do that.’
‘You like me, huh? You’re, like, three years older than me. Why would a senior ever be interested in a sophomore?’
‘Because you’re smart … and beautiful … and fun.’
‘And drunk,’ Aria added.
Ryan’s eyes were all pupil, from booze or lust or both, Aria couldn’t tell. She’d never kissed a boy, but she recognized his posture as that of a boy hoping to lock lips. A casual slant toward her, a subtle shift closer. Aria scooted back to insert space between them. Oddly charming nerd-jock or not, Aria didn’t know if she was ready for her first kiss yet. Especially one she might not remember tomorrow.
‘Where are you going? Are you scared of me?’ Ryan asked. ‘I’m not going to bite, you know. Unless that’s what you’re into.’ He laughed, a not terribly attractive braying sound, and waited for her to join in. She didn’t. ‘Uh, sorry, just a little joke. Besides, I know a girl like you would never go out with a guy like me.’
‘What do you mean?’ Aria felt guilty but she wasn’t sure why.
‘You’re popular and I’m not. Guys like me never get the girl.’
‘What are you talking about? You’re an athlete. And a freakin’ brainiac, too. I thought that equaled instant popularity and chicks.’
He humphed. ‘Well, that’s a load of crap. Athlete doesn’t necessarily mean popular. So I can hit a ball. Big deal. Girls like me if I have a good game, but off the field is a whole different … ballgame.’ He grinned, and Aria chuckled.
‘I see what you did there,’ she said, playing along. ‘God, you are such a nerd!’
‘So I’ve been told. A couple times tonight already.’ He shrugged. ‘No worries. I get it. I’m not your type. Let’s just watch the show.’
Face ruddy with embarrassment, he sat back and fixed his gaze on the movie. A lump settled in Aria’s throat. She wanted to tell him what she really felt – that she liked him, a lot, but that she wasn’t ready to be more than just friends. She wasn’t even sure if she was allowed to date yet. So instead she rested her head on his shoulder in a wordless confession as the world wobbled under the spell of her last gulp of wine.
‘I really like you, Aria. Even if only as friends. You’re the best person I know.’ Ryan spoke to the empty air in front of him. His words were soft and dreamy sliding over her.
‘I like you too, Ryan. Really – nerd and all.’ Tipping her face up to his, his lips were so close, his breath hot and moist. Any trace of nervousness had been snuffed out by the adrenaline coursing through her.
Then he leaned in, her heart beat harder, and he kissed her. The kiss didn’t feel like she had anticipated. It was slippery wet. Her mind whirred – she didn’t know what she should be doing with her mouth or hands or tongue. She didn’t know if she should be doing any of this in the first place. As she glided into a soused fog, she vaguely realized they’d already gone past first base.
First base slipped to second base … then the room turned on its side as she slid down to the floor.
Chapter 9
Mackenzie
SUNDAY EVENING
The tension between Robin and Grant was subtle but palpable. I first noticed the shift in the air when Grant returned from the kitchen carrying a plate of bacon-wrapped scallops, still sizzling from the grill. His face was flushed from leaning over the glowing coals, or a few too many beers, or maybe something else entirely.
‘Where have you been?’ Robin questioned.
As Grant set the serving platter down, he seemed jumpy at the sound of her brisk tone. I couldn’t be the only one who noticed it, but Owen seemed oblivious and Lily was nowhere in sight.
‘Making these, like you asked,’ he answered.
‘Oh. Okay.’
The mood tamed, though subsequent conversation felt curiously stilted.
‘You okay, Robin?’ I asked. If she wasn’t, she wouldn’t admit it. Not in front of Owen, at least. She’d never really taken to him, though I couldn’t understand why. She claimed it was because he was possessive and controlling – the same two adjectives tossed back and forth, but did anyone really know what they meant? My husband liked to spend time with me. Why make such a fuss about it? Why turn it into something so villainous? And yet sometimes it felt wrong to me too. One morn
ing I’d wake up adoring him. Another morning I’d wake up abhorring him. It was marital Stockholm syndrome.
‘Sure. I think I’m just getting tired. Wine does that to me.’ She grinned but I could tell it was fake.
‘Maybe it’s time we head home, huh, Owen?’ I glanced at him, expecting a fervent yes. He’d been ready to leave the dinner party the moment he chewed his last bite of orange duck with au gratin potatoes and grilled asparagus. Privately he’d confided to me he thought dinner tasted like warmed-over shit. His sour mood alone was already giving me a headache, which wouldn’t be enough of an excuse to avoid his drunken, grabby hands tonight.
‘I’m ready when you are,’ he said, getting up with a little groan. ‘Dinner was superb, Robin,’ he added unctuously.
I knew it was bullshit. We all tasted the same overcooked meat and burned veggies.
‘Glad you enjoyed it, Owen. You don’t want to stay for coffee or tea?’ Robin held up a rose gold carafe that she’d just carried out with a cute matching sugar and cream set. Only Robin would place such importance on the presentation details for coffee.
‘That sounds tempting, Rob,’ I said, ‘but we’ve got an early morning tomorrow – school and work and all. I’ll go get Aria.’
Thick wool carpet muted the sound of my footsteps as I descended into the basement where the stairs led into an open-floor games room. Wood paneling insulated the space, giving it a cozy warmth. As my feet hit the bottom step, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at, but it couldn’t be what my eyes were transmitting to my brain.
It just couldn’t be.
My innocent daughter, sprawled out on the floor with Ryan thrusting away on top of her. His jeans hung below his bare butt. My baby’s shirt was pulled up and her bra undone, exposing her budding breasts. She still had her underwear on, but just barely. She looked totally wasted.
‘Aria?’ I asked, my voice barely audible.
They hadn’t heard me.
‘Aria!’ My voice returned with force, startling Ryan upright. ‘Get the hell off of my daughter!’ I screamed, crossing the room.
Ryan rolled off Aria, a genuine look of fear and panic in his eyes as he hurriedly pulled his pants up. ‘Mrs Fischer, I—’
‘Shut up! You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on your ass.’
‘Mom? What’re you doin’?’ Aria sat up, gazing around the room dazedly. Her eyes alighted on Ryan, who hung his head remorsefully. Looking down, she pulled her shirt across her exposed chest.
I couldn’t bear to look at my little girl, or whatever she was now. I yanked an afghan off the back of the sofa and tossed it to her. She covered herself and began rearranging her clothes.
‘Were you drinking?’ I demanded.
‘No …’ she lied, giggling self-consciously.
‘It’s all my fault,’ Ryan pleaded. ‘Please don’t blame Aria. I’m the one who got the wine out—’
I silenced him with a glare, then turned it on my daughter. ‘I can’t believe you, Aria. Your father is going to tan your hide good and … I don’t even know what he’ll do. Ground you for life, if you’re lucky.’ Then I aimed a shaking finger at Ryan. ‘And you, you piece of shit, never touch my daughter again or I’ll set Owen on you. And I assure you, boy, once he’s done with you, there won’t be anything left to bury.’
Hauling Aria up the stairs, her one arm limp around my neck, the other clinging to the railing, I wondered what exactly had happened. She was clearly too intoxicated to know what she was doing. Had Ryan plied Aria with alcohol, then taken advantage of her? Would Aria even remember anything tomorrow?
If I told Owen, God knows what he’d do to Ryan – nothing he didn’t deserve, though. He’d want to kill the boy. Hell, I’d probably help him. But the last thing Aria needed was a circus erupting over this. Maybe she had consented, even though technically she wasn’t over the age of consent. Though I couldn’t wrap logic around that. As far as I knew, Aria had never even kissed a boy. She certainly wouldn’t indiscriminately sleep with one.
As I reached the top step, the growing headache sliced through my temples, as if my brains were tumbling around inside my skull. Too many jumbled thoughts. Too many scenarios to sort through. I just hoped my baby girl would still be my baby girl come morning.
Chapter 10
Lily
MONDAY MORNING
Two fifty-one. That was the time the clock displayed in blazing neon green. I had to be at work in five hours, an insomniac teaching clients about self-care. The drooping gray skin under my eyes sure as hell wouldn’t be inspiring my clients’ confidence if I didn’t fall asleep soon.
It was almost three in the morning and my wide-awake brain was kicking my ass tonight. I stared at my bedroom ceiling where cracks meandered across the peeling paint, my thoughts blurry from the mixture of residual alcohol, guilt, and the painkillers I had just swallowed.
A twinge shocked my lower back where the bulging disk had never quite healed from the car accident almost five years ago. The idiot was texting while driving, didn’t see me stopped at a red light. Slammed into me going at least forty-five miles an hour.
Three months of disability.
Nine months of physical therapy.
One lost job.
Five years of pain-pill popping.
And here I was, permanently injured by one asshole’s recklessness.
I closed my eyes, waiting for the drugs to send me far away to where my thoughts couldn’t reach me. Although my body sunk into the mattress, relaxing to the lull of opioid bliss, my senses remained alert. Every sound remained sharp and in focus. The drip, drip, drip of the faucet that I’d requested the landlord fix half a dozen times. The whir of air blowing through the vent overhead. The scrape of furniture across the floor in the apartment above me.
Who moved furniture at three in the morning? Inconsiderate assholes, that’s who.
More than the sounds were the sensations. A tickle of ant-like feet crawled up my arm. My lips tingled with the poison of Grant’s kiss. I tensed as I imagined his hands cupping my butt cheeks, his tongue probing me eagerly.
My eyelids fluttered open. Banish the thoughts. Erase them, please. I sat up and stared out the window at the city lights peppering the horizon. Lit-up glass and metal peaks jutted into the Pittsburgh skyline, dots of light against an inky void. Streaks of red taillights added a dash of color, along with the neon reflection against the calm river water. Any other night I would have appreciated the mesmerizing view. But not tonight.
The demons were haunting me, and I was too weak to fight back.
Why did I have to go and ruin everything? Why couldn’t I bottle up my feelings and shove them way down deep, in the depths of my black soul where they belonged? I felt like I’d shredded a part of myself, torn it open to the point where it could never be salvaged.
Robin and I had been friends since college. She was my soul sister, a woman I would die for. But out of all the men on the planet, I had to pick her husband, the father of her children, to mess around with. What the hell was I thinking? That’s just it; I wasn’t thinking. Not about the devastation I would cause, or the betrayal, or the ruins I would exile us all to.
And yet why did his kiss still burn my lips? Why did I relive it over and over and over again, as if my life depended on it?
My tabby stretched his lean body along mine, burying his claws into my thigh before he casually slunk into a comfortable resting position. His green eyes watched me in that unnerving way cats had, as if I were a mouse he wanted to stalk, catch, and eat. Although I was mildly allergic to cats – especially mine, particularly when he chose to sleep on my face rather than next to it – I’d decided to keep him because on the lonely nights he kept my cold, empty bed warm and occupied. He was good company when I had none, which was most of the time – the exception being when I’d snag a toy boy, bang his brains out, and kick him to the curb. Stormy, my purring companion, was worth the puffy eyes and stuffed nose he gave me.
Of co
urse Tony helped convince me to keep the one animal I was allergic to. Stormy was the last remnant of our soured marriage, so I put up with the clawed furniture and watery eyes so that I could cling to the good memories. And fantasize that Tony would come back someday – for both of us.
I’d named the cat Stormy the day Tony found him, a tiny week-old ball of gray fluff, the size of my palm. He’d been hiding under a bush in the middle of a summer downpour, with no mamma or siblings in sight. Tony had tried to catch him, but the kitten was skittish and quick like the lightning flashing above him. When a boom of thunder sent him into my arms, however, I carried him inside my ‘no pets allowed’ apartment and it was love at first purr. I’d never gotten around to telling my landlord about him, and I had no plans to. I was an act first, ask for permission later kind of gal. It had worked for me … until now.
Until Grant.
It always kept coming back to Grant.
‘Sorry, I gotta get up, boy.’
Nudging Stormy to the side of the bed, I checked the clock. Three ten. Enough was enough. I rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom where a little orange bottle promised me relief. I dropped one more pill into my hand and tossed it to the back of my throat, then gulped a mouthful of water from the faucet. I’d be wrecked for the next few hours, but at least it was better than this carousel of thoughts.
On my way back to the bedroom a flutter of paper in the hallway caught my attention. I picked up the folded paper, not recognizing it. I opened it, finding four simple blood-curdling words scribbled across the page:
Watch your back, bitch.
Merda! This wasn’t the first passive-aggressive note I’d received from a woman, but my heart sank as I jumped to the conclusion it was from Robin. She must know. Was it Grant who confessed? Or Willow telling her what she saw? Whoever it was, I had to get ahead of it if there was any chance I could fix things. I knew mending the friendship would never be possible, but I could take all the blame, say I seduced Grant, at least save their marriage. Give their family a fighting chance.
