“He said he got Lydia pregnant. They did it one time, and they used protection, but you know. Shit happens. I guess he was that unlucky two percent.”
“It does happen,” I said, staring ahead into the darkness.
“It’s possible. The freaky thing is that he says it was his first time, and I believe him. Not that I’m judging, but I can see why he would go for someone like Lydia. His weight, the shyness. He’s socially awkward. He spends most of his time gaming, and when he comes out into the sun he can’t look a girl in the eye. So he hooked up with Lydia, and she said it was her first time, too.”
I winced. “That I don’t believe. She always tried to act proper and reserved, and she didn’t give details about guys she’d been with, but I doubt Charlie was her first. She dated a lot of different guys, and she had a boyfriend. . . .” I stopped before I reeled off Lydia’s lie about the childhood sweetheart back in Greece. Amazing how hard it was for me to part with some of the mythology of Lydia’s life. “She dated Graham Hayden during her junior year, and she really liked him. She had to have lost her virginity then.”
“This is a weird conversation,” he said. “Can we not talk about other people having sex?”
“I need to run this by Tori. She’ll know if it’s true.” I took out my phone. “I wonder if she left yet.”
* * *
With most of the sisters on their way out, Theta House had the feel of a train shuddering to a stop. I left Rory waiting in the front living room with a handful of parents and ran upstairs to Tori’s room. The sorority president got to have her own room—the only single suite in the house—but I hadn’t been in this room since my big sister, Kate, had lived in it last year.
“Tori?” I knocked. “It’s Emma.” I had texted her on my way home, not sure if she’d be around, and she had texted back that she was “gettin’ the hell out, bitch.”
“Hold on,” she called. A minute later the door opened to Tori slipping on a wool backpack with a Native American print in bold colors.
“Nice backpack,” I said.
“Don’t you love it? It’s a Pendleton. I just got it.”
This girl seemed to have something new every day.
“I’m already running late, so if you want to talk, you’ll have to help me carry my stuff down.”
“Sure.” I stepped into a tornado zone, with scattered clothes, books, papers, and even some dirty dishes that should have been returned downstairs. Tori had definitely made her mark on the room. “Are you catching a bus?”
“I’m driving, but I told my home friends I’d be back by nine.” I’d forgotten about her car. Most kids didn’t bring a car to campus as it cost a lot to keep it here. Two thousand for the year. Not an issue with Tori. She stood in front of the mirror, pumping lotion from a bottle and rubbing it into her hands. “We always go clubbing in Portland. It’s our thing.”
I went over to the bed, where a giant hard-sided suitcase lay open. “You taking this?”
“Yup. You can zip it up.”
As I went to close the suitcase, I noticed a bunch of photos zipped into the net lining. I recognized Theta Pi girls in the pictures, and Lydia was in some of the shots. Older photos, many of them from their pledge training. That year the pledges had to wear matching pink T-shirts. If Tori wasn’t in such a hurry, I would have taken them out and gushed over them.
Instead, I folded one side of the suitcase over the other and zipped it shut. I suspected that Tori was bringing those photos home with her as a part of the grieving process. Maybe to keep Lydia’s memory close. Maybe to reminisce on her own, in her familiar room back home. Or maybe she wanted the pictures out of her room. In any case, it seemed better to leave it alone.
“So I’m glad I caught you,” I said. “I’ve got some money in my room that’s burning a hole in my conscience.”
She sprayed perfume in the air and walked through the mist. Despite her insistence that she was in a hurry, she didn’t have the same desperation to get off campus I’d seen in the younger girls. That need to sleep safe under their parents’ roof after the scare here. “What are you talking about?” she said. “What money?”
“Charlie Bernstein from Omega Phi gave me some money he owed Lydia. He said she had needed it for an abortion.”
“Oh. My. God.” She slammed the bottle onto the dresser. “Are you shitting me?”
“That’s what he said.”
“And he wants us to think he was the father? Big, fat woodchuck Charlie?”
“That’s mean.”
“The truth hurts. But really? Lydia would never go for him.”
“But she did date Charlie,” I said, thinking of the big guy’s sincerity—the sweat on his upper lip, the lopsided frown. “It took him a long time to save that money, and he seemed determined to get it off his conscience. Like some karmic debt. I think he’s legit.”
“Whatever.” She scrunched her hair up, then turned away from the mirror and grabbed her purse. “Let’s go. You can grab the suitcase. I’ve got all this stuff.”
She had a backpack and purse, but I wasn’t going to bitch at her now. I rolled the giant suitcase out into the hall. At least it had wheels. “So what should we do about the money?”
“Keep it. Give it back. Whatever it takes to keep him quiet.”
“I don’t think he’s talking about it.”
“Good. We don’t want him spreading rumors that will ruin Lydia’s legacy. She cared so much what people thought of her.”
That part was true. With a deep breath I hoisted the bag up and started carefully down the back staircase.
“I’m going to run and get the car,” Tori said, pushing ahead of me. “You can leave the bag at the door. I’ll see you Monday.”
I paused, trying to maintain balance with the weight in my right hand. “Have a good weekend,” I said, but by then she was gone.
CHAPTER 28
With Rory’s help, I left Tori’s suitcase by the front door. I dumped my stuff off in the suite, which was empty, though Defiance wasn’t leaving until Wednesday. Once we were clear of Theta House, I told Rory about my exchange with Tori. “She didn’t know about it, and she didn’t really care.”
“That sounds like Tori Winchester,” he said. “So do you get to keep the money?”
“No. I’m going to give it to Mrs. J and tell her I found it in Lydia’s stuff. She’ll make sure it gets to Lydia’s mother.”
He nodded. “From what you told me, sounds like they could use the money.”
“Yeah.” It would be a relief to get that hot money out of my drawer.
* * *
Since Rory’s roommates were gone, I stayed over at his house Tuesday night. When I returned to Theta House to shower, I ran into Mrs. J and, for the first time, found out the “rules” for Thanksgiving weekend. Mrs. J was going off to visit her son in Ashland, but a local woman would check in during the day, distribute the mail, keep the fridge stocked.
“We used to close the house, but last year we had a few girls from California who couldn’t make it home. I thought you’d be here with Megan and Suki, but it turns out Suki’s parents are concerned about her safety, so they’re sending both girls to a spa in Hood River for a few days.” Her pinched look of assessment made me feel like I was wrong for not rushing home to my family. “And then there was one. Are you sure you want to stay? You’ll be completely alone at night, and with everything that’s happened in the past few weeks . . . do you really want to be here?”
I had spent years alone in our family house, not just the only child but the only person, and I had made peace with the quiet. But here, in this big, rambling house meant for dozens? It would feel odd, all right. Add in the fact of a killer on the loose and my prickly relationship with the police, and it would become a very edgy weekend. “Maybe I’ll go home with Defiance,” I said. “But I need to come back early. I’ve got work to do.”
“That’s fine. A few of the girls will be back on Saturday,” she said.
“Hey, does that offer to go home with you still stand?” I asked.
She nodded, a hint of a smile there. “My mother is expecting you. I knew you would change your mind again.”
“Did you know Theta House was going to empty out?”
“No. But I could see you pouring water in the restaurant, eating my grandma’s goulash at our table. I knew it would happen.”
“That’s amazing.” And a little scary.
“My brother will be here for us at noon.”
* * *
“I hope you’re ready because the roads are a nightmare.” Defiance’s brother Stevo was a twentysomething dude with longish dark hair, a trimmed beard, a sweatshirt, and jeans so loose they seemed likely to slide off.
“Of course there’s traffic,” Defiance said. “It’s the day before Thanksgiving. Everyone wants to get somewhere.” She handed him the bag of laundry. “And help Emma with her things.”
“Whoa, what?” He glanced over at me. “Hi.”
“Emma is coming home with us, so you’ll have to be nice to me in the car.”
“I’m always nice. Emma, do you want me to carry that?”
“No, I’m fine,” I said, hoisting my duffel back on one shoulder.
“Take it for her!” Defiance insisted.
“She doesn’t want me to,” Stevo retorted.
I smiled at the banter between the two of them. I wished I knew my brother well enough to tease him, but we were almost eight years apart, and he was already out of the house before the crash punctuated our lives.
Traffic was terrible, and we crept along the freeway at a steady roll.
“So, Emma . . .” Stevo’s eyes appeared in the rearview mirror. “Did Defiance warn you about our big, loud family? We marry young and have lots of children. Too many kids.”
“Never too many,” Defiance said, smacking his arm. “Our family came to Portland from Europe many years ago and stayed, despite the city trying to chase them out a few times. My grandparents bought a house, but many Roma couldn’t afford that.”
“Our grandma’s house is still the center of every family thing,” Stevo said.
“It is. Some of our family still travel, following the work. It’s a tradition born of necessity back in Europe when Roma were persecuted and forced to leave the cities or towns.” Defiance turned to face me. “No one knows the number for sure, but they think more than 200,000 Roma were killed in the Holocaust.” She turned back to face the front. “But our family was here before that happened. We’re the lucky ones.”
“That’s a rich heritage,” I said. “I wish I knew more of my family history. I only know that my father’s great-grandparents came here to America from Poland.”
“Our family lived in Poland once,” Stevo said. “Defiance, maybe you and Emma are cousins.”
“It doesn’t matter because we’re already sisters,” she teased.
Soothed by their conversation and the radio and the dull cement and grass rolling by my window, I dozed off. It was a good sleep, deep and peaceful. When I woke up we were navigating the streets of a neighborhood in northeast Portland where ranch houses huddled close to two-story houses with porches.
The ranch house was mostly hidden by thick, overgrown hedges in the front. Stevo let us unload in the driveway and then took off to get back to work at the auto repair shop owned by an uncle. The delicious smell of chicken and onions filled the kitchen. A petite woman dressed in a floral blouse that extended to her knees, black tights, and pixie-like black boots turned from the stove to stare at us through large, round glasses. Her age was apparent in her silver hair and huddled spine, but otherwise you might mistake her for a retro mom with kooky glasses. “There’s my girl.”
Defiance gave her a hug and introduced me to her grandmother Kizzy. “Smells good,” Defiance said.
“It’s for later, but I’ll make tea. Unless you want to visit with your friends. Nadia knows you’re here.”
“We’ll hang out here, with you.”
“I knew you’d say that.” Kizzy waved us off. “Go. Get settled.”
The house felt lived in and comfortable. I followed Defiance to her room, a mix of teen and tween with shag carpeting, a white-framed princess bed, a navy futon sofa. A colorful Grateful Dead tapestry covered the wall over the bed.
“The futon sofa opens up for you.” Defiance turned on a salt lamp beside the bed and opened the blinds to let in the pale afternoon light.
“We can visit your friends if you want,” I said. “Or you can go. I brought my laptop with me, and I’ve got some papers to write.”
“They’re not really my friends anymore.” She took off her boots and flopped on the bed quilt. “Nadia and all those, they’re good Roma girls. They got married and most of them have a kid already. I have nothing in common with them anymore.”
“That’s a different life. I can’t imagine having a kid at this age.”
“It’s what my parents wanted for me.” She propped herself on one elbow and raked through her hair with the other hand. “But instead, I’m the rebel girl. I want to do things my way, not take orders from a husband. My friends don’t understand that. They don’t like it. That’s why I had to leave Portland State. Living here, I was stuck. Every day my parents were wishing for me to quit school and follow my friends. Now, at Merriwether, I can get away.”
Defiance and I had more in common than I had realized. I unzipped my bag and removed the shampoo and conditioner. “Where are your parents now?”
“At the restaurant. They’ll be there until late. Tomorrow we’ll go with and help them serve the meal. Then, Friday, everyone will come here. That will be crazy and loud. And Saturday, we go back.”
“I hope that doesn’t cut into your holiday.”
“Pull-leeze.” She sat up on the bed and stretched. Her expanded chest showed off her major boobage, something that had never panned out for me. “Three days of this is about all I can stand.”
“You must be a little relieved to be home. Your house is so cozy.”
“For three days. After that, relatives and fish start to stink.” She pulled a scarf down from the wall and arranged it around her neck. “Let’s have some tea with Kizzy.”
I sat at the table in the little window nook of the kitchen while Defiance poked around in the refrigerator.
“We’re using the fancy china,” I said, admiring the white, shallow cups with gold-rimmed saucers. “Nice.”
“Are you hungry, Emma?” Kizzy asked. “I can make you a sandwich. Or we have apples, and grapes.”
“I’m good,” I said as the kettle whistled.
“Put some cake out,” Kizzy told Defiance, who had just placed two jars of jam on the table beside the sugar bowl. I ran my fingertips over yellow and blue flowers in the tablecloth—little daisy faces in a sea of warm crimson. The stainless-steel appliances seemed new, the cabinetry old, with some doors that didn’t completely close. The white-and-blue vinyl floor was so well worn by the door and in front of the fridge that I could see the brown brick pattern of a previous floor. Everything had an easy, lived-in look—clean but worn and useful in its time. I wondered if my father’s new place was similar to this. Then it struck me that he might be close by. It was strange to think that he could be just down the street, but I was getting used to the emotional distance between us.
Stop thinking about them—the family you don’t have. I did this to myself over the holidays, mostly because I missed my mom. But there was no bringing her back, and I wasn’t going to pretend I had a relationship with my father or brother. Nah.
“We usually put lemon and sugar in the tea,” Defiance said.
“So we can read each other’s tea leaves,” Kizzy added as she brought the teapot to the table and began to pour. “But you don’t have to.”
“I meant, do you want milk?” Defiance asked.
“No milk for me. Is that a Roma custom? The
tea reading.”
“Not. The two of us like to do it because we’re psychic, but my mom thinks it’s obnoxious.”
“She doesn’t like the gypsy stereotype.” Kizzy sat down, straightening her filmy blouse. “But for Roma, fortune-telling is a kind of therapy. A good Samaritan gives a friend good advice, right?” She added two dollops of jam to her tea and stirred. “Sometimes I have clear eyes to see a problem that’s got you all muddled. Tea reading is more about finding answers to a problem than learning about a future that’s cast in stone.”
“So how does it work?”
“It starts with a question.” Defiance sat down with a tray of spice cake. “As you drink your tea, you focus on a question you’d like the leaves to answer.” She nodded toward her grandmother, who was quietly sipping. “Meditate on it, and start to take long, slow breaths, like in yoga class. You think on this question the whole time you drink. When you get to the end of the cup, you must keep the leaves in, maybe sift them out with your teeth so they stay in the cup. And then, the rest you can watch.”
I added sugar to my tea, watching for something special from Kizzy, who adjusted her big round glasses and took another sip. Other than the dreamy expression on her face, she was just an older woman drinking tea.
There wasn’t much liquid in the small cups. Kizzy took the last sip, placed the saucer over her cup, and tipped the cup to let the last drops drain. “Okay,” she said, righting the cup and passing it across the table.
“Okay.” Defiance held the cup in the palms of her hands and let her eyes squint a bit as she stared inside. “I think I see a fish. Do you know what that means? Something about water?”
“The fish is the symbol of Christianity,” Kizzy said. “My question was about our church group. What else?”
“I see a flower. A daisy, I think. See?” She showed it to Kizzy, who frowned.
“A flower means patience,” Kizzy said. “I don’t want to hear that. I was asking what to do with a bossy lady in our prayer group. She talks forever. The rest of us can’t get two words in. No one can stand her. But patience? I’m running out of that for Mrs. Stella Digwell.”
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