by Melody Grace
Like cheating is any better?
I block out the whisper of my conscience, and turn and hurry across campus. I walk quickly through the midday crowds towards the business center. I tell myself it’s because I really do need those review notes, but deep down I know it’s because I want some of what I told Daniel to be the truth. I haven’t fled Beachwood because I can’t keep my tongue out of my ex-boyfriend’s mouth, I’m back because of totally legitimate study needs.
Right.
My route takes me past the arts building, and I pause for a moment, watching the students out on the front steps, gathered after class. You can tell the art majors a mile away. It’s not like they all walk around with paint stains on their clothing (although some of them do), it’s more the way they look: funky and eclectic, in vintage outfits. Individual and creative. The group of girls near me are wearing red lipstick and cute thrift store floral dresses, and they’re carrying huge sketchpads and portfolios with curled paper peeking out from inside.
I remember what Emerson said to me on the beach, the confused accusation in his voice. When he knew me last, I was all set to be one of those girls. I’d been accepted into a photography program at a college in California, and I was so excited to go off and start my life, plunging myself entirely into my art. Even when I fell so hard in love with him, my dreams didn’t change, only the location. We talked about me taking a year out and reapplying to art schools on the Gulf Coast, or even the Carolinas. Raleigh, Asheville—there were tons of places within a few hours’ drive of Beachwood. Emerson had to stay in town to take care of Brit and Ray Jay, but I could move in with him and get a job in town, and then start school nearby the next fall.
My parents flipped out when I told them the plan, but that didn’t matter to me. I was always going to work my way through school on my own, so what difference did it make if I took a while to get there. As long as I was with Emerson, nothing else mattered.
At least, that’s what I thought. But then everything changed.
I feel the dark pang of sadness ripple through me, but I push it back.
I hurry on, past the arts building, to the familiar libraries and classrooms over on my side of campus. One month out from finals, and everyone’s walking round with panic on their faces and shadows under their eyes. Luckily, I’m on top of things: I have my color-coded study schedule and a system to review all my work in time. I’ve kept my GPA high all through the year, taking on whatever extra projects and extended essays I could, so now, I only have a few finals to get through before graduating. It’s all part of my strategy to keep the panic attacks to a minimum: lots of smaller deadlines, instead of one big do-or-die series of exams. Daniel helped me plan it all out at the start of the year, and now, I’m the envy of all my classmates, who are stuck rushing around like crazy trying to cram all their studying in time.
See? I remind myself, stepping inside the building. Just another reason why Daniel is perfect for me. He understands and supports me and my goals, he doesn’t judge like Emerson did.
I feel a buzz in my bag, and when I check my phone, it’s another text from Emerson. Like he can tell I’m thinking about him.
You won’t talk, so I’m coming to you.
I look around guiltily, then quickly duck in an alcove back from the hallway. I dial his number.
“Jules?” Emerson picks up on the first ring. “Where the fuck have you been? We need to talk—”
“No.” I cut him off before he can say anything. Before his sexy drawl makes me forget myself all over again. “Don’t come here, I won’t see you. You can’t.”
“I’m on my way.”
“No!” I cry, loud enough for people nearby to look over. He can’t come here, it would ruin everything! “Please, Emerson,” I beg, “promise me you won’t. If you care about me at all, you won’t come here.”
“Jules…”
“Promise me!” I demand fiercely.
“Only if you promise me you’ll come back,” Emerson challenges.
I hesitate.
“Just to talk. You can’t just disappear on me again,” he says, voice rough with emotion and old memories. “Not after what happened. You owe me that much, at least.”
I gulp. He’s right. And if the last twenty-four hours have taught me anything, it’s that running away doesn’t solve any of my problems, it just leaves them, boiling away, ready to erupt at the slightest chance.
“Fine,” I whisper, with a wash of defeat. “I’ll come back. To talk. But not right now. I have stuff to do here, and I need time to think.”
“How much time?” Emerson demands.
“A few days, a week,” I offer helplessly. I could use a whole year to pull myself together, but hell, I tried four years, and that didn’t work either.
“One week. Then I’m coming for you,” Emerson promises, and I can hear the deadly intent in his tone. He’s not fucking around. He would march right up the steps of campus and into a lecture and carry me out over his shoulder if he wanted.
It’s pathetic, but that thought makes something twist low in my belly, a hot flicker of desire just imagining it.
I’m so fucking screwed.
“A week,” I finally echo. “But you can’t come here. I have a life, OK? You can’t come barging in just when you feel like it.”
“Why not?” Emerson’s voice is clipped. “You did.”
There’s a long pause. All I can hear is the shallow sound of his breath on the other end of the line, but suddenly, it’s like I can feel it, hot against the hollow of my neck.
“Jules…” He says it low, a rough growl, and I shiver just at the sound. It’s like everything around me falls away, and there’s nothing but the sound of his voice
I close my eyes and lean back against the wall, imagining he’s there, right beside me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, helpless. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I thought…I figured I could just pack up the house and be gone, and you wouldn’t even know I was there.”
“I would know.”
The rasp of his words shudders through me. Possessive. Erotic. They wrap around my body like his hands tracing over my tender skin…
A door slams down the hall, and my eyes fly open. I’m shocked to see the stream of students walking past. Suddenly, the rest of the world floods back in: bright sunshine through the windows and a loud chatter of conversations passing me by.
What the hell am I doing?”
“A week,” I say again, my voice stronger. “Don’t call me again.”
I hang up before he can argue. I’m not dumb enough to think that a week will make a difference to this strange hold he has over me, but if stalling tactics are all I’ve got, I’m sure as hell going to use them.
Chapter Seven
My sister, Carina, lives on the outskirts of the city in a posh suburb that couldn’t be further away from the scruffy neighborhood we grew up in. It’s full of mock-Tudor and mock-colonial homes, whole blocks of houses pretending to be something they’re not. Hers is one of the biggest on the street, of course: flanked with columns and an elaborate rose garden out front that I know she’s never so much as glanced at since she moved in. Technically, the house belongs to her new fiancé, Alexander: he bought it last year after he proposed, but he keeps an apartment in the city, and I’d bet good money he’s spent maybe every other weekend here at the most.
“You OK, babe?” Daniel asks as we pull into the driveway.
“Fine,” I reply quickly.
He mistakes my reluctance. “Look, I know you and your sister have never been close, but she’s the one who invited you. Give her a chance. Maybe she’s ready to reach out and build bridges.”
I look at his expression, so full of hope and optimism. It never even occurs to him that some bridges are burned for a reason. Better to let them lie in ashes than revisit the past.
“You’re right,” I lie. “Maybe.”
Carina greets us at the door in a spotless pastel blue fi
tted dress and gold jewelry that probably costs more than my entire academic scholarship. Her dyed blonde hair is perfectly blown out, and she’s wearing strappy designer sandals. “Hi!” She coos at me, landing air-kisses on my cheeks before turning to Daniel. “Don’t you look handsome?”
“Thanks so much for having us over.” Daniel presents her with the wine and flowers we picked up on our way.
“Aren’t you sweet?” Carina replies, turning the bottle to check the label. It must meet with her approval, because her smile widens. “Come on in! Alexander’s just on a call in the study, but he’ll be down soon.”
We step inside. Although I saw Carina at Christmas, that was in a restaurant in the city. I’ve never actually been inside her house before. I follow them through to the huge, open-plan kitchen/dining area, looking around to take in the magazine-perfect décor. The place has been done in a modern, minimalist style—all low white couches and weird chrome end-tables. It looks sterile and spotless, like nobody actually lives here, but I’m not surprised. Carina has always cared more about what’s on the surface than anything going on underneath.
It’s hard to believe we’re sisters, or even related at all. We were never close; even as kids growing up she would tease or just plain ignore me. She was part of the most popular cliques in junior high and high school, whereas I always drifted on the edge of the crowd. It wasn’t like I was a social reject or anything—I had my friends—but we all preferred to hang out in our families’ basements listening to music and watching movies, while her groups were off out on dates and at football games and parties. I used to wish she would confide in me more, and let me into her life, even just a little. It felt like she was a stranger who just happened to be living in the same house as me, barely looking my direction except to scorn.
After Mom died, I even found myself hoping it might bring us closer together. She was the only other person who might understand what I was going through, after all. But Carina didn’t want to talk, or even dwell on it for a minute. She was booked on a big post-college trip around Europe with her girlfriends, at the end of summer. She left the week after we buried Mom and never even emailed me. I read about all her adventures online, whole albums full of smiling, happy photographs posed in front of the Eiffel Tower and Italian beaches, like nothing was wrong.
And meanwhile, I was drowning in grief, too wretched to even get out of bed. I know it must have been her way of dealing. Hell, I had my share of denial that fall too. But something in me snapped after that, I guess—I gave up the hope we’d ever be sisters, the way I saw my friends act with theirs: easy, loving, and safe.
I’ve fallen behind the others. I shake off the old memories and go through the formal dining room and into the kitchen. “There are five settings,” I notice, on my way. “Are we having anyone else…?”
My words die on my lips as I turn into the kitchen and I see who’s standing with Daniel and Carina in the corner.
“Hello, pumpkin.”
It’s my dad. He’s wearing his usual outfit of corduroy pants and an Oxford shirt under his tweed jacket, gold-rimmed spectacles on his nose. The perfect picture of an eccentric British academic. He raises his glass to me. It’s almost empty, I notice, and wonder if it’s his first or his fifth.
But then, it wouldn’t matter. It’s the ninth and the tenth drink we have to worry about.
“Dad.” I do my best to keep my voice even, but my jaw is clenched tight. My heart-rate kicks. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Just got in a few days ago,” he says, cheerfully oblivious to the way I fold my arms across my chest and stand there, tense as hell. “I was going to see some friends in New York, but when Danny here called, I thought I’d put them off and see my girls.”
My girls. The way he acts like he gives a damn what I’m doing would be enough to turn my stomach, but I latch onto the other part of what he said. Daniel called him?
I look at him, horrified, but Daniel is chatting to Carina about her kitchen remodel, and doesn’t seem to notice a thing.
“We just had the whole thing redone,” Carina is saying. She gestures around at the professional range and granite countertops like a game show hostess.
“It’s great,” Daniel nods.
“What was wrong with the old one?” I ask.
Carina widens her eyes. “Oh my god, you should have seen it. They had marble countertops and laminate wood flooring!”
The tone of her voice implies these are serious crimes. I have to hide my eye-roll.
Carina’s as bad as my dad when it comes to wasting money away on pretty, useless things. For him, it’s expensive vacations, five hundred dollar dinners, and handmade British suits. For her, it’s interior design and designer clothes. I don’t understand how they can live like this: relying on loans and credit cards and whatever rich friends will foot the bill. There are always strings attached to that kind of thing, but dad and Carina act like they’re entitled to it, somehow.
Mom was always the one trying desperately to keep Dad in check and make ends meet, but now that she’s gone, Dad flits around, staying too long with old friends, sucking their favors and hospitality dry. And Carina? Well, there’s a reason my sister is marrying a forty-two year old, twice-divorced douchebag of an investment banker, and it sure as hell isn’t his personality.
I’ve been careful to never fall into that trap. I made sure to work extra during school and vacations. I tutored in high school, and I worked doing the books for small businesses in town during college, putting aside a tiny nest egg of savings that’ll help pay for an apartment after graduation, and see me through until I find a job.
I swore to myself I’d never have to depend on anyone the way they do. But all the work I put in to making sure I’d never have to rely on my family doesn’t mean a damn thing now that I’m stuck in a room with them, with those bands of steel tightening around my chest again.
What the hell is Daniel thinking?
“Let’s go through to eat,” Carina says. She checks her watch, frowning. “Alexander should be right down.”
Please. I send a silent prayer that my brother-in-law-to-be gets off the phone. The sooner we get done with dinner, the sooner this charade of happy family is over.
Carina and dad move on through to the dining room, but I pull Daniel back to stop him following.
“What were you thinking?” I hiss. Already, I feel a rush of blood pounding in my head, the first warning sign that bad times are ahead. “You called my dad?”
“Hey,” Daniel puts his hands on my arms to calm me, but it has the opposite effect. I want to push him away and lash out somehow. “What did I say about building bridges?” he reminds me.
I glare. “Carina is one thing, but my dad…?”
I’ve never told him much about our broken relationship, but Daniel must see I’m genuinely thrown here, because he softens. “I’m sorry,” Daniel adds. “I didn’t mean to ambush you. But, he called me, and then dinner came up…”
My blood freezes. “He called you?” Shit, this can’t be good. “What does he want?” I demand.
“Just to see how you’re doing.” Daniel’s forehead creases with concern. “He says you haven’t returned any of his calls.”
“That’s because he hasn’t made any.” I grit my teeth. Trust my father to act like the concerned parent when it suits him.
“Just, try to get along tonight.” Daniel looks into my eyes. “For me?”
I feel a twist of guilt in my gut. Here I am, getting mad at him for trying to reunite me with my family, when what I’ve done is way, way worse.
“Fine.” I nod. I can suck it up for one night, it’s the least I can do.
Daniel breaks into a smile. “That’s my girl.”
I wait until he’s ahead of me before pulling the vial from my pocket. One, two, three, four. I hesitate a moment, but already my skin is prickling hot under the neckline of my dress. I slip one onto my tongue. God knows I’m going to need it.
> Dinner crawls by at a snail’s pace. Daniel happily chats to Carina and Alexander over the appetizers, about his job hunt and all the studying he’s doing for the Bar exam. I sink lower in my seat and silently count how many times Alexander insults my sister, and how many drinks my dad washes down.
Too damn many.
“So how are the wedding plans going?” Daniel asks Alexander, as Carina brings in the main course: some fancy dish with tiny squabs and a drizzle of sauce. “Did you pick a date yet?”
“Don’t ask me,” Alexander snorts. “I’ll be surprised if she tells me. Nothing but those fucking binders, night and day. Chicken or beef? Beige or winter white?” he mimics sarcastically. “Sometimes, I wonder what she needs me for at all. Oh, yeah, that’s right, to foot the bill.”
My dad laughs. “Just as long as this one sticks, right sweetie?”
Carina flushes at the reminder of her two failed engagements. The first guy ditched her for a job in Asia, and she called off the second when he lost his high-paying finance job and they had to give up their apartment.
“Just kidding, sweetheart,” Dad adds, pouring himself another from the bottle of wine stationed by his place. “I’m sure you two will be very happy together.”
My sister sits down, still looking humiliated. I feel a stab of sympathy. This is what my dad does best: the cutting comment, masked as a joke. I learned long ago not to let him get under my skin, but for some reason, my sister keeps hanging on.
“Daniel says you’ve been down at the beach house.” Dad finally turns his attention to me. “I don’t know why you bother, the realtor I spoke to said she can have someone pack everything up and trash it.”
“There’s things there I want to keep.” I clench my fists under the table. “Photographs, books, Mom’s stuff. You want to just throw all that away?” My voice is accusing, loud in the dining room.
“I’m sure your dad just means he doesn’t want you feeling burdened.” Daniel interrupts, answering for him. He rests a hand on my shoulder. “And he’s right. You said yourself, it’s hard seeing everything again.”
