by Rea Winters
Amie’s heart constricted, Caspar’s words ringing so true that she could hear them in her own voice.
“Anyway. Somehow those details leaked to the town and the town filled in its own blanks. So, now my mom’s death is this bullshit urban legend and no matter how normal I try to act, I’ll always be…whatever the hell they think I am. I could’ve explained all this to the people at that table, not that it’s any of their damn business. But it wouldn’t change a thing. Their minds are made up.” She scoffed, shook her head. “I shouldn’t have come off this hill.”
"But you wanted to, didn’t you? Not like it would’ve been impossible to hire a manager after the old one moved away.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“Caspar, you can be what you want, how you want, and damn anybody who expects different. You don’t have to live like some boogeyman in the big scary woods just because that’s what people think you are. In fact, the more you act against that, the quicker people will get used to the fact that you’re just as human as they are. Gasp.”
Her teasing made Cas smile. “It’s that easy, huh?”
“Not easy, but not impossible, either. Take me for example. After the surgery, I never thought I’d be myself again. I went from being the girl who could practically be ten places at once to not even being able to sit on the toilet by myself. I thought my life the way I wanted it was over. Then, one day, my papa bops me on the head with a rolled-up magazine—”
“He what?”
“True story. He did that to shut me up from whining and pitying myself. And then he reminded that the things we can’t control, like oh say a genetic disease that does with my organs whatever it wants or I dunno, other people’s opinions of us, those things don’t get to dictate who we are or how we live.”
“Pretty wise for a gambling addicted puppy.”
Amie grinned. “I said the same thing. And then I started getting up again. Reclaiming my life. Bit by bit.” She poked Caspar in the side, her glazed eyes drooping closed as she rested her chin on her shoulder.
Caspar chuckled quietly. "You're drunk."
Amie scrunched up her adorable face. “Lil bit. But upside, my ankle doesn’t hurt anymore. I can barely feel it, see?” She did a test stomp and winced.
“Let’s get you inside.”
Cas got out of the truck first, came around to the passenger side and helped Amie onto her back. Amie secured her arms around Cas’ shoulders, leaning forward as strong arms curled under her thighs. "Why thank you, my noble steed."
Somewhere between the front door and the art room, Amie fell sound asleep. Caspar gently laid her down, took off her shoes, and put a blanket over her. Roadie hopped in bed and curled up at her back.
“Keep an eye on her, Roads.”
After a late-night shower to wash away today’s grit and frustration, Caspar was on her way to sleep when her cellphone buzzed on the nightstand.
She sighed before answering. “Natalie.”
“Hey, stud. I just wanted to make sure we were okay. Things got a bit tense earlier.”
“I’m good.”
“Jo shouldn’t have taken her anger out on you. Our fight was stupid anyway, I don’t even—”
“Is that all? It’s been a long day.”
“Touchy. Poor baby. You sound stressed.” She giggled.
And she sounded well past a few glasses of wine.
“I’ll come up and see you soon—”
“No thanks. I don’t feel like being bothered.”
“When have I ever been a bother? You’ve been so busy lately. Stuck in town around all these busybodies. I know how much you hate that. I’m sure you need a break just as much as I do right now. If it’s Jo you’re scared of—"
Caspar scoffed. “Just go to bed, Natalie.”
“Oh why? Got a date with your assistant? Is she lying next to you right now? You know, when I told you to get a dog, I didn’t think you’d pick up any random bitch off the str—"
She hung up and tossed her phone back on the nightstand, then threw her head back on the pillow and let out one long huff. After interactions like the ones she suffered these past few hours, coils of aggravation usually stuck to her all throughout a restless night. But this time, those coils dissipated. Her thoughts instead revolved around what she never thought she’d say to another living soul; the things she said about that night with her mother. Those words left her lips with an ease she’d never felt before, like a pressure valve somewhere deep inside herself where even she couldn’t reach had finally been turned the right way. It surprised her and yet somehow it also didn’t.
Because she said them to her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A low grumble vibrating in her ear and a hot tongue lathering her fingers were the first sensations to pull Caspar from deep slumber. But it was the acrid stench that pried her eyes open. One look at the beady brown eyes and hanging tongue of the creature panting against her cheek gave her an inkling. Then Roadie’s bark and tip toeing in a circle confirmed it. She glanced at the clock and groaned. It was late in the morning; way later than she was used to starting the day. But one upside to this morning start with dog pee in the corner of her room and slobber on her hands was that she felt more refreshed than she had in years. Lighter somehow.
“Sorry about that, Roads.”
After Roadie returned from his bathroom in the trees, Caspar made Amie breakfast. The wrinkled picture on the counter caught the corner of her eye, making her wonder about things that shouldn’t matter. Like what kind of music Aaron Jacobsen listened to, if he liked any sports, if he liked to make things, what he might do with his life when he was Caspar’s age…if he made it to her age.
“Damn it,” Cas cursed under her breath.
She shoved the photo in her pocket, then checked in on Amie, who was still knocked out in bed. The sight of her ungracefully sprawled and snoring, knowing she would still be there when she returned, summoned an indescribable wholeness within Cas - a feeling she could get used to. Before heading out the door, she left a note on the breakfast bar.
Ice wraps for your ankle are in the freezer. You were right about Aaron. I’ll talk to his mother. Back soon.
✽ ✽ ✽
“You’re what?”
Desmond’s shock crackled and hissed through the cellphone’s speaker.
“I’m just going to hear her out.”
“Why now?”
Caspar took a minute to answer, pulling into a charge station as she mulled over a response. Only one seemed the most honest.
“Amie.”
“Seda, your assistant?”
“She’s the only Amie I know.”
Desmond sighed. “Does she know the…the full situation?”
“Yeah. She just thinks it matters a little less than letting a sick kid die because I hate his dad. And I agree. For better or worse,” she grumbled.
“Okay.” He sighed. “If you’re on board, I’m on board, I guess. Let me know how it goes.”
After the call, Caspar parked beside the next available power dock, climbed out, and hooked a charge cord to the truck. She was miles away in her head as she shimmied the plug into place, trying to imagine what the next hour of her life was about to look like.
“Adami,” a woman called from the dock behind her. She was smarmy and short with a fake tan and dark gel-spiked hair, wearing a loud suit and standing beside a compact flashy car. Caspar didn’t quite recognize her, but she immediately didn’t like her.
“Do I know you?”
“Hey, you don’t remember me? It’s Hayden Ferreiro from homeroom back in the day. We used to go a couple rounds after school? No? It’s alright. Last time you saw me, I was much bigger around the middle.” She patted her stomach, chuckling.
“Okay.” Caspar’s disinterest couldn’t be more profound.
“Funny seeing you out here,” Hayden pressed on. “Thought that little incident at your shop would’ve scared you back up the hill. I heard your gr
andad built all the furniture in his office himself. Shame somebody took an axe to it. But that karma’s a bitch, huh?” She whistled. “Just too bad baby girl got caught in the middle of it. Hiding in the closet was a poor choice. Next time she’ll make a run for the window, huh? Like they do in the movies.”
Caspar turned cold and jammed the mini door to the charge tank closed. “How do you know she hid in the closet?”
Hayden’s smirk faltered some, but she forced it back into place. “Well, wouldn’t you?”
“No. I wouldn’t.”
Hayden scoffed, freaked out by Caspar’s stony glare but pretending to find it amusing.
“Have a good one, Adami.” She walked off toward the restrooms behind the gas station, pulling a chirping phone from her pocket.
Amie could’ve made for the window or hid under the desk or ran out as soon as she heard all the noise. The only way anyone could know she didn’t was if they were there.
A wave of heat furling up her spine, Caspar lurched away from her truck and followed the twerp inside the grungy restroom. She locked the door behind them, startling Hayden, who was washing her hands at the sink.
“Ka! What the hell, Adami?”
“Show me your arms.”
“My what? You’re crazy.” Hayden shook her hands dry and attempted to walk to the door. Caspar shoved her back.
“Your arms.”
“Step off, psycho—ah!"
Caspar grabbed Hayden’s head like a basketball and bounced her face off the metal divider between the stalls. Hayden crumbled to the floor, spitting and groaning as blood gushed from her throbbing nose. A second later, Cas hoisted the smaller ladda to her feet by a firm grip on her collar and pressed a forearm against her collarbone, pinning her to the wall. With this fresh reminder of what most of their “rounds” after school were really like, Hayden tossed the cocky act out the window.
“Alright, alright! Hold on. It was Jo’s idea to wreck your office. She was all worked up after a fight with Nat—”
“Your arms,” Caspar growled.
“Okay, okay.”
Cas released pressure from Hayden’s neck and as soon as her feet touched the ground, she made quick work of rolling her sleeves up to the shoulders. There was no wound on either tawny freckled arm. “Jo’s the one who tackled that girl, okay? That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She came out of nowhere and hit Jo in the stomach, I think. So, Jo chased her down and just lost it for a second. You know if you want to be mad at anybody, it should be yourself." She glared, grimacing between more spits of blood. “If you hadn’t been bumping in the night with Nat, nothing woulda—"
“Shut up.” Caspar shoved her into the sink and marched out.
She peeled out of the lot and drove with a white-knuckle grip on the wheel. In several more turns, she would reach Jo Becker’s office, planning to drag her out the building by her neck like the dog she was…Until her phone buzzed in its dashboard holster, making her do a double take at the screen.
The caller ID read Jacobsen.
“Shit.” She pulled over and answered the call.
“Hello? Caspar? I-it’s Vera.”
Caspar took more breaths, calming herself so the woman didn’t think her fury was aimed at her.
“I know.”
“Are you still coming to meet me?”
Caspar glanced at the crinkled photo of Aaron in the cupholder. Her anger dissipated bit by bit from raging waves to a smolder, anchored by a begrudged sense of responsibility.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m—I’m on my way.”
Vera sighed in relief. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay.”
After the call, she dialed another number.
“It’s over already? What happened?”
“I’m not calling about that, Des.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Becker and her friends were the ones who broke into my office. Becker attacked Amie.”
“How do you know?”
“Hayden Ferreiro just told me. Either you handle it or I will, either way she can’t get away this.”
“No no no, you are not handling a damn thing. You’re not kids anymore, Caspar. If you touch Josephine Becker, it’s assault and that’ll earn you a lot more than a slap on the wrist. I will look into this. In the meantime, just stay away from her. Far away.”
“I’ll try.” She hung up before Desmond could tell her that trying wasn’t good enough. Her gaze panned to the boy’s picture again. After a deep sigh, she raked her hair back and pulled back out onto the street.
Vera Jacobsen sat in the diner alone. With no sign of Kent, Caspar could relax a little more as she approached the booth.
“Caspar…” Vera waved.
She slid into the seat across from her, looking everywhere but her wide hopeful gaze.
“Thank you—”
“Don’t thank me. I’m still not sure what I’m doing here.”
“Right, of course, there are no guarantees in these situations. But you will try to help us, won’t you?”
Caspar finally looked her square in the eye and squared her shoulders.
“I’ll help him. The boy. If I can. What do I have to do?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Amie woke from yet another morning nap after a third failed attempt to stay awake. Roadie lied next to her, rolled over on his back and licked her nose.
“Guess we’re having a personal day.”
Learning how to relax had never been Amie Seda’s strong suit, but for the first time in a long time, she was able to do so without feeling anxious or guilty about the million other things she could be doing. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t needed anywhere, didn’t have any obligations to meet or tasks to complete. She could do whatever she wanted. And for the first time ever, she had a nice, big, safe place in which to do that whatever.
First things first: bubble bath. In the bathroom, she found a rubber container filled with all kinds of bathing luxuries and after a cleansing shower, had herself a nice long soak.
Next on the agenda: food. Freshly dressed in white leggings and a pink sweater dress, Amie limped to the kitchen, trailing the scent of vanilla and rose behind her. She came upon Caspar’s note and beamed with pride, then tried her best with the ice wrap. It may not have been applied properly, but it held up just fine as she rummaged through the cabinets for snacks after devouring breakfast. She found a jar of homemade biscuits topped with some kind of fruit glaze. One bite and she was addicted.
And finally: Entertainment. Amie went through several streaming catalogs before finally deciding on two movies – one funny and one sappy because a good cry felt just as good as a hearty laugh. After the second credits rolled, Roadie gave the signal that he needed another outing. She let him out, but opted to stay inside herself.
It was three and a half hours past noon, leading her to wonder after Caspar, but she shook off the creeping urge to call and check on her.
“If anything’s wrong, she’ll call. Right? Right.”
After letting Roadie back inside, she wandered back into the art room and looked through more boxes. One box was almost bursting with trophies, medals, and ribbons from academics to sports. In the first few pages of a vintage scrapbook were pictures of a young Caspar in baseball uniforms and boxing gloves and with clay all over her hands and face. In all of them, she was either grinning ear to ear or her mouth was open mid-laugh. They were all dated no later than seventh grade.
“Guess the girls got that part right. Poor kid.”
One of many boxes with Chea’s name on it was full of handcrafted figurines of wood and stone, fairytale novels, and hardcover journals. Amie picked up a book and a loose stack of polaroid pictures fell out, scattering along the floor.
“Oh crap.” She quickly collected them, prepared to put them back when a couple of them gave her heart a jolt.
“Mom…”
She looked deeper into the box and found the book the photos c
ame from; a journal sitting on four more just like it. It was filled cover to cover with entries in pretty handwriting. She flipped through the yellow tinged pages and found a birthday card dated back over twenty years.
Dear Chea, Happy 15th birthday. You are the bestest friend ever! Thank you so much for joining Drama Club with me next semester. I know being in the spotlight isn’t really your thing, but just think of all the hilarious stories we’ll have about the perils of stepping out of our comfort zones that one year in high school. We’ll tell our daughters all about it and they’ll just laugh and laugh. Hopefully with us and not at us.
see you tomorrow,
Bethie
Amie chuckled, her heart swelling and tears welling. She was so young when her mother passed that if any stories about the misadventures of Drama Club had been told, she didn’t remember them. Her heart ached for the moments they didn’t get to have, yet she couldn’t stop smiling. Knowing her mother dreamt of the little things they would share long before she existed was its own reward in some strange way.
She barely registered Roadie’s excited barking, too occupied with skimming through more entries of fifteen-year-old Chea Adami’s mini adventures with her best friend Bethanie Duval. When the barking turned to growling and scratching, Amie shook out of her trance and rushed to open the front door, thinking Caspar had returned.
“Forget your…key?”
“Um, no. I don’t live here.” The expensively dressed ladda on the other side of the screen door flashed a winning smile.
