As the dates on the entries wore on, Alder wrote less about Gina and more about how much they hated me. The older Alder was, the better she explained Sonny’s reports of Harry and Carolyn’s periodic fights about Gina—usually around our birthday—and by middle school, it was clear to Carolyn that Gina’s daughter would always be a reminder of her husband’s infidelity, and she hated me for it—and so did the Erins.
She also talked about watching me watch Weston, and catching Weston looking at me—dozens of time. My stomach began to hurt.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Erin?” Julianne said before peeking in. Her hair wasn’t soft and shiny. It was in tangles and matted in places to her head. Her face was shiny and makeup free, and her pink floral pajama set was mostly covered by a long, thin robe. “Oh, honey. It’s three in the morning. Do you think maybe you should take a break?”
It was then that I realized my eyes felt like dry, scratchy balls under my lids, and the skin around them was heavy and tight at the same time.
“I’m almost finished.”
“O-okay,” she said. “Weston called a few times earlier. He said you weren’t answering your phone.”
“It’s still in my car, I think.”
Her lips made a hard line, and she offered a sympathetic smile. “You’re a blank page, Erin. Maybe you shouldn’t fill it with Alder’s words.”
“Did you know? About Gina?”
She nodded. “I think everyone knows.”
I closed my eyes. “No wonder Gina was angry. She was alone, and blamed, and hated, and all she had was me as a reminder.”
“Not you. It wasn’t you. You were conceived of love and nothing else. You’re ours.”
“Everyone was wrong.”
“Yes, they were.”
“No. They left her with all the blame, and he still got his family and his reputation. It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry Sonny and Alder took it out on you.”
“I need to see her. I don’t know why. I’m not ready yet, but I need to talk to her about this.”
Worry sparked in Julianne’s eyes. “Oh, okay. I, um, I understand.”
My eyes fell to the binder in my lap, and Julianne shut the door. I rested my chin on my fist as I turned the pages of Alder’s high school journals. She knew I liked Weston, and that was the only reason she pursued him. She wrote about losing her virginity, but to my absolute surprise, it wasn’t with Weston. She was cheating on him with Eric Liberty. My face twisted into disgust. Eric was a gangly, pimple-faced pothead who had been held back twice, and then dropped out of high school altogether, and she was in love with him, not Weston.
The sky was changing outside Alder’s window. I looked up at Alder’s alarm clock. It was nearly six in the morning.
I turned the page, reading about the first week of our senior year. Page after page, I’d read about my misery through her eyes, and how much she enjoyed inflicting it. It was one of the only things that brought her joy. She hated Blackwell, her house, her car, and sometimes Sam and Julianne. Her aspirations included marrying Eric and moving to San Francisco.
Her first entry in October made my blood run cold.
My hands began to tremble, and I slammed the binder shut, leaving it on the floor with the others. My mattress barely made a sound as I crashed into it, burying my head in the pillow. As much as I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, Alder wouldn’t lie in her own journal. The Erins were planning one last twisted, humiliating moment for me before graduation, and Weston was going to help them. The picture he’d drawn of me, the necklace, the attention and phony kindness were all part of the plan to disgrace me in front of the entire school.
My pillow was soaked with tears. After everything they had put me through, how could I have been so gullible? How could I have trusted that Weston had suddenly taken an interest in me for no reason? The nights at the overpass, the late-night talks, losing my virginity…It was all part of the plan. Maybe it wasn’t his idea, but he was going along with it, and Alder was only pretending to be jealous because she knew it wasn’t real. And even if it was, she didn’t care. She was secretly planning to be with Eric anyway.
I kept trying to make excuses for Weston, trying to think of anything that would make him an innocent bystander, but it was all there in her journals. One last stab at me, even after her death. No wonder Weston didn’t want me to read them. He knew exactly what I would find.
Why stay with me after Alder died? Why continue the charade? And then it hit me: he had asked me to prom. He was going to carry out her plan. He was in love with her, and he was determined to carry out her final wish.
How malicious would someone have to be to agree to and go through with something like that? I knew the Erins were evil, but Weston…That’s what Brady meant before. He knew what Weston was doing. I had given myself to someone like that. Let him touch me. Put his mouth on me. Penetrate me.
I ran to the bathroom, pulled the necklace away from my skin, threw it in a drawer, and then stripped off my clothes. The knob whined as I twisted it, and the water rained down. I stepped in when it was still ice-cold, desperate to get any trace of Weston off of me. I stood under the water as it warmed, scrubbing and sobbing, feeling utterly destroyed and beyond betrayed.
My skin felt raw and waterlogged, so I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around me. A faint knock on my bedroom door made me stiffen. Julianne poked her head in, and her face fell.
“Gracious, sweetheart, you look exhausted. Did you get any sleep?”
“I’m awake,” I said. “Wide awake.”
SAM AND JULIANNE MET ME IN THE KITCHEN an hour before the first bell would ring at school. They both had concerned expressions, coffee mugs in hand.
“I know I said I wanted to spare Sam the details, but…,” Julianne began. She didn’t have to finish. I could see on Sam’s face that he knew what we did.
“I’ve been trying to think of something to say to you to make you feel better. Dads are supposed to be wise, but when you’re the one who raised the person responsible…” He trailed off, recoiling from his own thoughts.
“Sam, this isn’t your fault,” I said. “It’s not Julianne’s fault. It’s a brutal, ongoing cycle.”
He walked around the island and put his arm around my shoulders. “You make it very easy to forget I’m talking to a high schooler. I’m supposed to make you feel better, not the other way around.”
“Would it help if I said this sucks?”
He offered a small smile. “No, not after what Julianne said was in those journals. But thanks for trying.”
“Clearly upbringing has nothing to do with behavior,” Julianne said, rubbing her forehead. “You’re such a sweet, kindhearted person, Erin. Even after everything you’ve been through.”
“What are you going to say to Weston?” Sam asked, pushing up his glasses. The subtle hump on his nose failed to keep them where they belonged.
“You know about that too?” I asked, surprised.
“Julianne told me this morning. She wanted me to know what had upset you so much.”
I glanced up at Julianne, her white sweater making her look like the angel she was. “Did I wake you?”
“I was already awake. I’ve never heard you cry that way. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone cry that way. I had to know. I didn’t mean to pry, Erin, but it seemed too important to ignore.”
Three quick knocks on the door, and then we heard Weston’s voice, muffled by the door. “Erin?” he called, his nervousness evident.
I looked to Sam.
He nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
His footsteps echoed down the travertine-tiled hallway, and then the murmuring began.
“Just let me talk to her,” Weston said, his voice raised. “I can explain.”
Sam kept his voice low.
“What do you mean she doesn’t want to see me? Erin?” he called again. “Erin!”
“Weston.” Sam’s v
oice was strained, but firm.
Julianne’s eyes widened when a scuffle could be heard, and she rushed to the front door as well. I ducked my head and rested it in my hands.
“Stop!” Julianne said.
Their voices quieted, but the desperation in Weston’s voice could still be distinguished.
The door closed, and Sam and Julianne returned to the kitchen, both with stunned expressions.
“What was that?” I asked.
Sam sighed. “He wanted to come inside.”
“Did he push you?” I asked, swallowing. Apparently I didn’t know Weston at all.
Sam shook his head, clearly unsettled. “No, no…He pushed the door. I pushed back. He’s just upset. I told him you could discuss it later, but not to bother you at school. Want me to call Mr. Bringham?”
I shook my head. “Please don’t. I just want this to go away.”
“Why don’t you take the day off with me? We can go shopping. Or stay home and watch comedies On Demand.” Julianne’s contrived smile was oddly comforting. She was hurting for me, and so was Sam. Empathy wasn’t something I was used to, but there was nothing like it. Our family felt complete and real in that moment, and for the first time, I felt I belonged there in that kitchen, with the two people who loved me enough to stay up all night worrying, push against a door, and call the principal. I belonged with them because I belonged to them.
I hopped up and squeezed them both in a tight embrace. “Just a few more weeks. I can get through a few more weeks.”
Sam put his large hand gently on the back of my hair, pulling me to him.
Julianne pulled away to look me in the eyes, hers glossed over. “We wanted your last few weeks of school to be different. We wanted that so much for you.”
“I know.” I picked my bag off the floor and slung it over my shoulder. “I’ll see you after school.”
“Love you,” Julianne said.
Sam small smile was filled with awe and pride.
“I love you guys too,” I said, walking toward the garage.
“What else can we do?” I heard Julianne say. “I need things to be better for her.”
“She’s the toughest person I know, honey. She doesn’t need us to fix this for her. We’ll just love her through it.”
I smiled. That would carry me through the day.
In biology, there were already whispers of trouble between Weston and me. Sara didn’t ask, and that struck me as odd. Maybe it was already evident in my face, even though I was getting to practice my stoicism again. The scars that had formed over the years were easily brought back to the surface, stronger than ever, because this time I had a solid support system at home. I knew no matter what happened with Weston, I would always have Sam and Julianne. They were mine. Forever.
During second period, right in the middle of Mrs. Vowel’s lesson, Mrs. Pyles stood in the doorway with her trademark smile.
“I need Erin, Mrs. Vowel.”
The teacher dropped her arm from writing on the Smart Board. “Should she take her things, or will she be back?”
Mrs. Pyles looked to me. “Go ahead and grab your stuff.”
I did as asked and followed her down the plexiglas-lined hall, garnering stares from the students and teachers in every class we passed.
“They think I’ve hit the lottery,” I whispered. “And at the same time they’re judging me, thinking I’m benefiting from Alder’s death. Every good thing that happens to me gets twisted.”
“I’m worried about you,” she said. “Apparently Mr. Bringham and Mrs. Rogers are too. They want to touch base with you about how things are going.”
“Did Sam call?”
“Mr. Bringham didn’t say as much. Why? Is everything okay at home?”
“Sam and Julianne are wonderful.”
Mrs. Pyles looked relieved. “Good. You deserve nothing less.”
“Are we going to the office now?”
Mrs. Pyles nodded.
“Did they send you to get me?”
“It’s my planning hour. I heard Mrs. Rogers ask a student to send a note to have you come to the office, and I said I would do it. I thought this would give us time to chat. I saw you got a new car. That’s pretty fantastic.”
“It’s incredible. Sam and Julianne have already done so much for me”
“They’re such good people. And obviously lucky too.”
“Lucky?”
“To have you with them again. Getting you back, even after losing Alder, must have made it a little easier, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. They don’t really talk about it. I think they are afraid it’s unfair to me to talk about missing her.”
“I can see that. Makes sense. But they can miss her and still be glad to have you.”
“They do. They are. I don’t know anyone else who could handle it the way they have. I hear Julianne crying in Alder’s room sometimes. Not a lot. It must be really hard for them, not being able to grieve normally.”
“It’s unique. Both sad and happy. But everyone sees how happy you’ve made them.”
“You think so?” I asked, stopping in front of the office.
“Absolutely.” She winked at me and opened the door.
The secretary, Mrs. Bookout, popped up from her seat. She was barely taller than the partition that separated her desk area from the rest of the office lobby.
“I’ll just tell them you’re here,” she said.
When she reappeared, she gestured for me to go in.
“Are you coming?” I asked Mrs. Pyles.
“I have to use the copy machine and get a few things together for next period.”
With that, she walked behind the partition and down the hall to the back offices, and I walked into Mr. Bringham’s office. He sat behind his desk with a kind smile, his fingers intertwined in front of him. Mrs. Rogers sat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, equally happy. This time the vice principal, Mr. Mann, sat in on the meeting as well. His reddish, thinning hair and square glasses matched his rust sweater.
“I hope you’re not nervous, Erin. We just wanted to check in with you. How are things going at the new place? Getting along well with Sam and Julianne?”
“They’ve been incredible. They told me the other day that they’re taking care of my college expenses.”
Mrs. Rogers beamed. “That is fantastic news, Erin. It truly is. We’re very happy for you. Looks like you’re getting settled.”
“I’m happy for me too.”
Mr. Mann crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Your grades are still looking good. We’re very impressed with how you’ve handled all of this.”
“Thank you.”
“How are things with Gina?” Mrs. Rogers asked quietly.
“Nonexistent.”
She nodded, clearly not sure how to react. “Everyone reacts differently. This must be hard for her too.”
“Actually, I think she’s relieved.”
“Oh,” Mr. Mann said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go that far. You’re a great young lady, Erin. We just want you to know that we’re here. We’re rooting for you. Things like this…Sometimes reality hits when we’re not prepared, and if you find yourself lost, we’d like for you to let us find you some resources to help you wrap your head around all of this. Because it’s a lot.”
They all stared at me, as if they were waiting for me to break down.
“It hasn’t been totally smooth. It’s a lot to take in. But we’re taking it one day at a time.”
“So nice to hear you say we,” Mrs. Rogers said. “It’s important to have support at home.”
“I agree. I was just thinking today how much it’s helped.”
They looked at each other, relieved and satisfied with our chat. After we had touched base on my grades, college plans, and how impressed with me they were, they released me from class, but not before Mr. Bringham offered a chair anytime I needed to talk. I thanked him and headed for my locker.
Their positivity and smiles had my mind elsewhere, so when I turned the corner to see a devastated Weston standing at my locker, I was unprepared. I paused and then continued, determined to get through the combination lock quickly and exchange my English textbook for my Algebra II workbook.
He said nothing, just stood a few inches from me while I turned the black dial back and forth. I loaded my textbook onto the upper shelf and pulled out my flimsy algebra workbook. When I closed the long metal door and turned, Weston hooked his finger in my shirt.
“You read her journal from this year, didn’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
“I know what you’re thinking. I understand that you hate me right now, and if I were you, I’d hate me too, but please let me explain. You can punch me or scream at me if you want, but just hear me out.”
I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want him to see the redness that darkened my face from chin to hairline.
“Sam told you to stay away.”
“Even if we didn’t have two classes together, I can’t stay away from you.”
“Try,” I said, walking away. I didn’t look back.
Algebra didn’t keep me as busy as I’d hoped. The thought of Weston staring at the back of my head or trying to talk to me during health and art made me queasy. So much that I could barely eat the cheese fries I’d ordered at Sonic during lunch.
The carhops hustled in and out of the double glass doors like ants at the mouth of their hill. The cars were parked in their respective spots on each side of the drive-in restaurant. Trucks and sedans all had their windows rolled down, the drivers either waiting for their order or pushing the button on the small silver box beneath the menu sign and waiting their turn.
My red BMW was the only vehicle parked with the window rolled up; my thoughts could have steamed the windows. Scream and punch him? I felt like I’d been screaming underwater my entire life; it was comforting to keep my feelings just beneath the surface. Most people wouldn’t understand, but reactions were dangerous, like temptation or addiction. Letting someone affect me was giving away the only control I had, and even if it was Weston, letting go—even once—of the fortitude I’d kept for so long was a slippery slope I was too afraid to step on.
Happenstance: Part Two (Happenstance #2) Page 7
