Higher Ground

by Nan Lowe

  “Only when you question our astrological compatibility.” It earns a smile from him, one I’m happy to take. “Yes, I went to my senior prom. I’ll answer any question you want to know the answer to, but please don’t bring Miss Verity’s crystal ball into this. I’ve never asked if Libra and Gemini are compatible, because I don’t care.”

  He nods. “Okay. No more stupid questions. Deal?”

  We tap our forks in agreement.

  “Deal,” I say.

  We’ve been on a health kick lately, eating veggies and drinking fruit smoothies, so the poor omelets don’t stand a chance. This place makes the best hash browns, too.

  Over breakfast, we make promises to spend extra time in the gym next week. Then we remember I’ll be leaving without him on Tuesday for New Orleans.

  “You’ll have to work out on your own, I guess.”

  “While you sleep late and eat Miss Verity’s cooking down south. If I don’t get my schedule worked out, I’m getting the shit end of that stick.”

  For the first time, we both laugh about the possibility of not being together until Christmas Day. This isn’t the first time we’ve hit a bump in the road, and it certainly won’t be the last.

  “I’m going to make a trip to the restroom before we hit the road again,” I say, standing and stretching my arms above my head. “If we’re lucky, we may not have to stop again.”

  Wade laughs as he swipes his thumb across the screen of his phone to unlock it. “With your tiny bladder? That’s some seriously wishful thinking.” He glances up at me with a smile so cute and so much like the first one he ever gave me.

  My palms itch to reach out and touch him—his face, his hand, anything. I’ve been drawn to his light since the moment I met him. “You love me, tiny bladder and all.” I keep my tone easy but don’t bother to mask what I’m looking for.

  He delivers exactly what I need. “I do. From head to toe, I do.”

  Public displays of affection aren’t our norm, but I lean down anyway to kiss the top of his head… and maybe sniff his hair a little. “I love you, too.” He catches my hand when I step back, and he pulls it up to his face to kiss my palm. Reluctantly, I move away until the distance is too much and my fingers slip from his. “I’ll be right back.”

  The bathroom’s clean, and they’ve added toilet seat covers since Thanksgiving, which was the last time we made this trip. It looks like we won’t make it to Savannah in time for lunch, so it’s a good thing we stopped. When I get back to our table, Wade’s still buried in his phone.

  He glances up as I slide into the booth across from him. “Evelyn set up an event page for Van’s reception on Facebook.”

  “Are you serious?” I laugh and pick up my shake to finish it off.

  “Dead serious. Over sixty people have RSVP’d already.”

  I pull out my own phone to see how overboard my mom’s gone with this shindig. The first alert in my notifications is an invitation to my brother’s special event. The cover photo is an amazing shot of Van and Corey embracing in front of a gigantic Christmas tree in the foyer of the house I grew up in. Platinum bands stand out on their ring fingers. They must be in New Orleans already. That makes sense, considering how much needs to be done over the next week. The staircase winds around them and the tree they’re standing in front of. A traditional sprig of mistletoe hangs a few feet away from them in the doorway of the dining room.

  For a long moment, I’m so homesick that I can barely breathe. My mom’s outdone herself on the tree this year, with white lights and ornaments in at least a dozen shades of blue. The top of it disappears from view, extending to the second floor.

  As much as I’ve dreaded this trip back home, I’m starting to feel equal parts excited. Perusing the confirmed guest list only increases the longing. “My grandfather’s coming,” I say. “It looks like my mom’s sister and her family are making the trip, too. I hope they’re staying through Christmas so you can meet them.”

  My mother’s mother died during my sophomore year of college, and I’ve only seen Grandpa Bull a handful of times since then. The man spent thirty-five years in the Marines, thirty-three of those married to my grandmother, and he completely fell apart when she passed. He spent the first few years holed up in his workshop, making wind chimes and birdhouses and anything else he could think of to keep himself busy.

  One of my brighter cousins, Lincoln, opened an eBay shop and started selling Bull’s wares online. My grandfather didn’t need the money, and he certainly didn’t want it. After the first year, he paid to take the entire family, my mom’s part included, on a Caribbean cruise. That was the last time I saw him, and it was a few months before I met Wade.

  “I hope so, too.” I assume he’s still buried in the guest list, so I continue to scroll through the list of attendees. I pause at an old familiar name the exact moment Wade notices the same person. “Troya Bergeron Hart,” he says, finally looking up from his phone. “Bergeron. Is she…?”

  She posted a message on the event wall.

  We’ll be in town for the holidays to visit family. I’m so freaking happy for you and Corey. I love you both, and I can’t wait to see you and your family. Thank you for including us. xoxo

  I exhale, close the app, and set my phone on the table between us. “Troya is Oliver’s cousin. She’s also Van’s best friend. A long time ago, she was my friend, too.”

  Chapter Six

  Then

  Day after day, Oliver showed up at the cemetery, though we didn’t always leave for coffee. On the mornings she wasn’t busy with clients, Miss Verity had started packing a sack of breakfast for me. Whether it was ham and biscuits or freshly cut fruit, it was always enough for two. Oliver convinced me we should exchange numbers so I could give him a heads up when she took care of us. On those mornings, he stopped and got hot coffee at a shop between his house and the graveyard. We’d walk down to the river, and he’d take pictures of the water, the steamboats, the barges, and me.

  The last Friday of summer break, Oliver made an early appearance to cut me off at the pass. When I stepped out onto the porch, an ancient Buick Roadmaster was parked in front my house. Oliver and a girl with fiery red hair were leaned against it, sharing a cigarette and waiting.

  An unexpected surge of jealously swept over me the moment I spied them laughing together. As soon as he caught sight of me, he pushed away from the car and walked to the wrought-iron fence surrounding our yard.

  “Good morning,” he said, like he wasn’t just swapping spit with some other girl via a Marlboro.

  “Hi.” It was all I could get out, because why would he bring a date to my house? Was I a magnet for dickheads?

  “This is my cousin, Troya.” He thumbed over his shoulder at his smoking partner. She flicked the cherry from the cigarette, stepped on it, and pocketed the butt before stepping up to join Oliver.

  “Hey,” she said. “If this isn’t cool, Oliver can take me home so y’all can hang out.”

  Hostility morphed into horror before my brain and mouth could catch up. “No.” I took the steps two at a time off the porch and walked down to unlock the gate for them. “It’s cool. I was surprised. That’s all.”

  She grinned. “I told him to text you, but he never listens to me.”

  “Muffins,” I said. “Miss Verity’s been making muffins all morning. Would you like some?”

  Oliver glanced at her but ultimately let his stomach make the decision. “I do.”

  “Whose car?” I asked.

  “It’s Mitchell’s,” Troya answered.

  I stopped short, and Oliver slammed into my back. “That’s Mitchell’s ride? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Oliver laughed and put his hands on my hips to steady us both. “Nobody wants a shitty old station wagon. He got that thing dirt cheap.”

  Miss Verity wasn’t exactly pleased to see Oliver step into our kitchen with an unfamiliar girl trailing us. She eased up after introductions, and then the hostess in her kicked in.
She told them about her sleeping troubles, said she’d been up baking for hours, and offered them warm homemade muffins.

  Troya fell in love with the cranberry ones, while Oliver alternated between blueberry and chocolate chip. Van wandered into the kitchen moments after she pulled his personal favorites, banana nut, out of the oven.

  When he noticed our visitors, he almost turned around. Instead, he took a deep breath, walked over to kiss Miss Verity on the cheek, and then made his way over to the fridge. He spent a quiet moment leaning forward and studying the contents. He settled on milk and pulled it out to pour a glass for himself.

  “Anyone need a refill?” he asked, waving the gallon jug in the air. His voice was quiet, but it was the bravest thing I’d heard from him in a while.

  “I do,” Oliver said. He stood from his seat and walked over to Van. The milk passed from one to the other like it was no big deal. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Van surprised us all by taking a seat at the table between me and Troya.

  He didn’t talk much as we ate, but none of us did. Miss Verity was in cleaning mode a few feet away, washing dirty mixing bowls in the sink.

  “You got plans today?” Oliver asked him before he could escape up the back stairs after breakfast.

  “Uh, no, not really. I may go to the library. I’m not sure,” Van answered, immediately turning his back to leave us.

  “You should come with us.” Oliver kept his voice light and even, like he had no idea what had happened to Van.

  I was on the verge of stepping on his foot to shut him up when my brother’s voice rang out again, louder and clearer this time, with a touch of curiosity. “Where?”

  Oliver leaned back in his seat and turned his head to nod toward his cousin. “Troya has a few free passes to Six Flags. They expire on Labor Day, so we figured we’d use them and see if y’all wanted to come with us.”

  “Both of us.” Van’s voice was more an echo than a question.

  “Sure, if your business at the library isn’t pressing.”

  A smile ghosted across Van’s lips so quickly that I almost thought I was imagining things. The reason I knew it was real was because of my brother’s reply. “Nah. Nothing that can’t wait.” Miss Verity dropped an empty pan in shock, and my tongue was tied in happiness and surprise. Van tugged at his sleep shirt. “I need a couple of minutes to change.”

  “Take your time,” Oliver said, unwrapping another muffin.

  Half an hour later, we were arguing with Miss Verity on the porch over money, because she insisted on giving us cash for the park. In the end, we took her money, though both of us knew we’d be returning it later in the day.

  I climbed in the back seat without asking if Troya wanted the front, but she surprised me by walking around to the driver’s side and sliding in next to me. Van stalled when he realized he’d be expected to ride up front with Oliver. His head turned back toward the house in hesitation, his lips mashed together, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he reached to open the door of the car.

  Oliver waited until we were a few blocks away to pull a joint from the ashtray in the dashboard. He slowed the car to a stop at a red light and glanced at Van. “Is this cool?” he asked.

  Van turned slightly in his seat to look at me. We’d smoked together a few times that summer out on the balcony our rooms shared, but we’d never done it around anyone else. At times, I’d felt bad about it. I was a year older than him, so instead of smoking out with him, I should’ve been setting some kind of example. He had a prescription for antidepressants he flushed down the toilet one day at a time. The shit my parents were peddling was much worse in my eyes than an occasional joint, because the list of side effects was as long as my arm.

  “It’s cool if you want to,” I said. “I probably will.”

  My brother took the joint from Oliver and a lighter from Troya. “Sorry if the end is too tight,” she said. “I was rolling while he was driving.”

  Van tore a small strip of paper from one end before he lifted it to light it. He passed it wordlessly over his shoulder to me before he exhaled. The four of us managed to nearly kill it by the time we reached the park. If the lot attendant noticed the smell, she didn’t let on.

  As promised, Troya had three passes. Van and I offered to pay for one of us or split the cost of one admission between all of us. Oliver responded by whipping out a hefty stack of twenties and paying for a ticket. I’d come to notice he always had cash and was very generous, but I’d never seen a roll like that.

  He paid for our drinks, our games, and any souvenir I glanced at for longer than a minute. We took turns with seating on the rides. Sometimes I rode with Troya, sometimes I rode with Van, but most of the time, Oliver would step in next to me and take the seat beside mine.

  During our second trip of the day to Pontchartrain Beach, Van and Oliver were scoring big at the airboat game while Troya and I watched from a few feet away.

  “Violet!” A familiar voice called from the line at Papa Russo’s Pizza. Elijah and two of his buddies—two of the assholes who’d assaulted my bother on numerous occasions—nodded and waved. It was the first time I’d seen him since that day in the stairwell, because Van and I had spent the last few weeks of the school year being taught by our parents at home.

  Hoping they’d fuck off before Van caught sight of them, I turned away from them, but I wasn’t that lucky. Elijah walked over and tapped my shoulder in a bid for my attention.

  “Hey,” he said as I stared at Oliver’s back. “Can we talk?”

  I didn’t bother turning around to answer. “I don’t think so.”

  “Just for a minute.” His hand closed around my bicep and tugged.

  Instead of causing a scene and alerting Van, I stepped back with Elijah. “I’ll be right back,” I said to Troya.

  She raised her eyebrows when she noticed his grip. “Okay.”

  I jerked my arm from his grasp and walked past his friends at the pizza place to get us as far away from Van as I could. We turned a corner but stopped short of the entrance to Cajun Country.

  “What do you want?” I asked. “I’m here with my brother, I have nothing to say to you, and I sure as hell don’t want to be seen with you.”

  “That’s how it is, huh?” He rested his hands on his hips and stared hard, like his glare could change my mind.

  “Yeah. That’s how it is. What did you expect?” He stepped forward, extended his arms, and tried to reach for my hands. “No. Don’t touch me.”

  “I want to apologize. At least let me say I’m sorry.”

  “Apologies don’t mean shit, asshole.” Oliver stepped between us, gave me a onceover, and then turned to face Elijah, while Troya and Van stood a few feet away. The hate in my brother’s eyes fueled my own and Oliver’s. “Violet told you to keep your hands to yourself,” he said as he crossed his arms. “So don’t fucking touch her.”

  Elijah had a few inches on Oliver and the two football buddies who’d joined the scene. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Oliver said. “But if you fuck with her again, you’ll regret it.”

  His tone was one I hadn’t heard before, but it was no lie. I absolutely believed him. He was ready for a fight, itching for it under the surface, and it was unnerving. I’d only seen Oliver kind and generous. The hard set of his face was so unlike the Oliver I knew—the Oliver I thought I knew.

  “He’s right,” I said. “Sorry doesn’t mean much. It doesn’t make anything better, and it doesn’t undo who you are.” Elijah took a step back. Old memories of dances and virginity crossed my mind for a moment, but hurt outweighed years of a shared past. It was time for goodbye. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, so there’s really nothing left for us to say to each other.”

  Oliver lifted a hand and moved his fingers up and down in a condescending wave. “Bye.”

  Elijah and his friends walked away, cutting a right into the DC Comics section of the pa
rk. The scowl on Van’s face disappeared when they rounded the corner to move out of sight. “I fucking hate them,” he said.

  “Who are those guys?” Troya asked, glancing between me and my brother.

  “Just some people we went to school with at Academy,” I said.

  “We have dickheads at Newman, too,” she said. “They stick together, but they don’t really leave their circle much.”

  I didn’t want to admit I’d been a member of Elijah’s circle, maybe even a ringleader, before I knew how cruel they could be. Instead, I jumped on the obvious chance to change the topic. “You go to Newman?” I asked.

  Troya glanced at Oliver and then at me. “Yeah… We go to Newman. Oliver’s a senior this year, and I’ll be a junior.”

  Van cracked a smile. “I’m a junior, too.”

  Suspicion battled confusion in my head, and I stepped away from them to make my way over to a lemonade stand. Oliver and I had spent weeks talking nonstop about nothing at all. He’d had numerous opportunities to tell me we’d be going to the same school, but he’d taken none of them.

  “Are you okay?” he asked from behind me.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Tell me if he bothers you again. I’ll take care of it.”

  I turned to look at him—really look at him—and he seemed harmless enough, with his unwashed hair and loose-fitting t-shirt. Then again, Elijah had seemed harmless in the beginning, too.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you go to Newman?” I asked in the most non–accusatory tone I could muster.

  He laughed and cupped the back of his neck with his hand. “I’ve gone there since I left St. Luke’s. I guess I thought you knew.”

  Oliver had known I’d gone to Academy when our paths split. I’d never really looked back or given a second thought to elementary school or the awkward boy in suspenders. I’d been easily distracted by makeup and shaving my legs. Books and new boys had taken up the rest of my time.

  “Troya goes there, too, huh?” She and Van were laughing about something several feet away, and for the second time that day, I found myself jealous. It’d been a while since I’d seen Van happy or had that kind of closeness with him.