As if having enough of our easy vibe, mom grates the knife against the plate, causing an irritating rasping sound. “Take the skin off that chicken.”
I drop my fork on the table. “But that’s the best part!”
She snaps her attention towards me and purses her lips. Then, in a mocking, saccharine voice, she addresses me with an unnatural smile that spreads too wide across her face. “My, this newfound freedom is making you sassy. You mind giving me another try?”
And that is a fair warning to shut my mouth. I avert my eyes in resignation and remove the skin.
The rest of dinner is uneventful, which means quiet and awkward. My parents sprinkle it with conversations between them. I don’t pay attention until my mother clears her throat.
“There’s a wound conference happening in Florida, and I’m obligated to attend.” She drinks her wine, then faces my father. “I want you to come with me and visit that hospital with the strong cardiovascular team.”
Head swiveling to Dad, I stare with hope in my eyes. He sets his fork on the plate and creases his forehead. I notice his salt and pepper hair. The lightness of it makes my eyebrow raise, as he often dyes it jet black. Tanned skin less golden, medium build thinner, and a recent onset of under eye circles. Perhaps he’s not out of the woods, yet.
“Let me check if I have any surgeries scheduled. It’s been slow in the OR, so there’s a possibility.”
“Just follow up with me tomorrow.”
Right. I’ll pray for that “possibility”—and light a candle for good measure. An entire week without the parents? Yes, lighting a thousand candles for that.
***
After dinner, I plop on the bed with a sigh. I roll to my back and stare at the ceiling to wait for an important nightly FaceTime date.
I pick up the call after one ring, directing me to Aunty Helen’s heart-shaped face and her asymmetrical bob. My aunt gives me a smile that lights up the screen. “Hi, honey!”
Tonight’s cheerful companion is my mother’s younger sister. Youthful and free-spirited at thirty-four, she’s the complete opposite of her older sibling. My constant support. She has missed none of my developmental milestones. Even when they institutionalized me at Glen Park Residential Treatment Center, she visited me more than my parents did.
Ten years ago, we moved to Wakefield to escape the potential embarrassment of friends discovering my stay at the psych ward. It became too difficult for my aunt to visit often as she lives three hours away in San Francisco. Hence, the nightly FaceTime dates.
“How was your first day of school?”
I share the details of my experience—the mundane, the exciting, and even the downright weird. She hangs on to every word as if it’s the latest celebrity gossip. Then, I discuss the last event. “Julian is in my English class.”
“You don’t sound too happy. Was it not a friendly reunion, babe?”
“He hates me.”
Aunt Helen listens to the story of his petty dismissal. She remains supportive, clicking her tongue and shaking her head in just the right moments. I told her how he’s turned into the Spawn of Satan. But I skipped the part in the hallway, and how I triggered him when he saw the abrasions on my skin.
“Sorry, sweetie. Guess he took it to heart you guys’ falling out.”
I shrug.
“Gosh, I bet he looks so different now, huh?” she blurts out. “It’s been three years, hasn’t it?”
His chiseled face pops into my head, and it triggers me.
“Are you ok, honey? You’re flushed.”
I pretend to readjust my position on the bed, so she doesn’t see my red cheeks. “Uh, yeah, he’s taller. That’s it.”
She softens her eyes and rests a cheek on her palm. “Sweetie, give him time. He’ll turn around.”
“Let’s change the subject.”
She lets it go, no doubt thinking I didn’t wish to revisit my failed friendship with the brooding neighbor. But his body against mine as I stood plastered against the locker did something to me. Ugh. I shake my head to erase that experience because my virgin ass can’t handle Julian 2.0‘s touch.
“Oh my, it’s late,” said Aunt Helen. “Ok, sweetie. Time for bed.”
After saying goodbye, I deliberate on Julian once more. Without his face glaring at me, I’m able to understand him better. Can I blame him after that hurtful text I sent him?
I hate you, Jo.
That was his response to me. It had stung, and it still does. I sigh as I get underneath the covers. “Let it go. You protected him. He’ll thank you later.”
Not long after, sleep comes.
***
Lashes fluttering against my lids, my eyes pop open against my will. Something is wrong. Goosebumps dot my skin and the hair on my neck stands erect. I’m awakened by an entity inside this room.
A rustling noise forces me to turn, aware of my heart beating against my chest. Nothing. But a nagging awareness of being watched festers in my gut. A chill hovers around me, making me shiver and clutch the blanket tighter. Then a sound—no, an unmistakable echo of a girl weeping reaches my ears.
No, not again.
In the corner outside my closet door, a shadow lurks, hunched over and waiting. Panic surges inside me and a scream threatens to escape my lungs. But something lingers in the air, making me tilt my chin and sniff. I’ve detected this before—traces of citrus and gardenia. She’s here.
I sit up and stare at my shadowy companion. She makes no move and settles in the corner as if she has made it into her safe space. “I know it’s you. You don’t scare me the way others do.”
Alexa stays in the darkness, but I hear her rustling as if repositioning herself on the carpet floor. “School sucks, by the way. Not for you, though. You were popular, and you were one of them.”
At the realization that I am talking to a ghost, I chuckle. “Great. I think I’m going crazy. Maybe I have schizophrenia after all.”
I place my hand underneath the mattress to find a key. As I grip it, I fumble for my nightstand and unlock the drawer. A small bowl sits waiting for my undivided attention. The airtight lid squeals as I twist it open to grab my CO2 vape. Beneath my collection of pipes is my Sploofy, a mini air filter designed for discreet smoking. I reach for that, too. Yes, I’ve done excellent research geared towards ultimate success for toking on the down low. I don’t need my parents locking me up or sending me to the Philippines.
Yeah, not going to happen.
My mouth locks on the pen, and I take slow breaths, allowing smoke to fill my lungs. Then, I exhale the vapor into the base of the filter, eradicating the smell of my cannabis use. I lean back against the headboard as my body relaxes.
With the pen against my lips, I watch the plume of smoke escape my nostrils. The white wisps remind me of what’s hiding in the shadows. She wants help, but I don’t want to risk my freedom. These spirits are erratic, and here I am talking to her as if she’s real. My mom will lock me up if she sees this.
But there’s a search party for her, and I know the truth. I shake my head and glance at the corner of the room. She’s still there. The outline of her body traces the floor as she lies on her side with her head resting on her arm. A twinge of guilt hits me as I wrestle with my burgeoning reason not to help her. I feel a sense of comfort having her here. And I feel less alone.
Placing the pen in my mouth, I take another puff.
Chapter 14
Julian
Why do I smell flowers in here? Cologne and chlorine are permanent scents in my room, but right now my bedroom reminds me of my grandma’s garden, a mixture of fallen overripe fruits and florals. So what the fuck? I sit up and push off my comforter. And the scent disappears. Shaking my head, I swing my legs and plant my feet on the floor. It’s five o’clock, and I’m awake. That’s the problem.
It’s because of Jo. Her fault. I’m blaming everything on her now.
I hop off the bed and grunt. Damn, it’s colder than a polar bear’s titties
in here. The crisp morning air continues to attack my bare chest as I walk to the desk. My sketchbook, shrouded in Marvel superhero stickers, eyes me, as if taunting me to open it and put pencil to paper. Yesterday, I unearthed it from my drawer. Last night, I opened and leafed through it, but it took a phone call from Bianca to bring me back to reality. I left it alone for the rest of the evening.
I blow a strand of hair off my eye and turn around to face my walls. They’re still covered with my old sketches. Valkyrie, Black Panther, Captain America, you name it. But they have faded, crinkled with age and neglect. Fuck, I have no idea why I even keep them.
Breakfast. Yeah, that sounds good.
Visions of butter and cured pork belly entices me to go downstairs. When I reach the kitchen, I find my dad awake and on the phone. My mom stands next to him in pink scrubs, ready for work. She lifts her head—her hazel eyes lighting up when I walk through the door. “Hi, honey. Want some waffles?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“Shush. Language.”
“Sorry. May I have twenty of those deep-pocketed, crispy batter cakes, mother.”
She giggles as she takes a plate from the cupboard. Meanwhile, I watch my dad take up space as he leans against the counter. He looks good at fifty-four with those broad shoulders and lean physique. His biceps rival mine and no ounce of belly fat pushes out on his crisp uniform. He pumps iron and runs at the crack of dawn. But his aesthetics have purpose. As the Chief of Police, he commands respect, teaching the young bucks how it’s done.
“Aren’t you usually snoozing at this hour, hon? What’s going on?”
My mother’s voice, soft yet firm, brings me back to the business of homemade waffles. “I’m asking myself the same question, mom.”
She gives me a plate of my favorite breakfast food, oozing with maple syrup. I rub my hands and lick my lips.
“Trouble sleeping?”
“More like trouble staying asleep,” I said between bites. “I keep waking up early.”
“I notice. This is the second time we’ve hung out with you in the morning. I love it.”
Sticky syrup drips from my mouth to my chin, and I wipe it with the back of my hand. “Who’s dad talking to?”
Mom sits across from me, holding a bowl of oatmeal and a coffee cup. “Brian from the police station.”
After setting her breakfast on the table, she puts on her reading glasses and flips the newspaper to the local news.
“What’s this meeting about?”
She tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Remember Athena O’ Connor?”
I stop chewing and look at her. She pauses and sets the paper on her lap. “I think her family wants to reopen the case.”
My jaw drops. When I get my bearings, I bend forward. “Why?”
“Not sure, honey. I am only hearing bits and pieces from your dad’s phone conversation.”
I lean back and grip the sides of my chair until Dad finishes the call. As soon as he sits, I pepper him with questions, but he ignores me. Instead, he spoons scrambled eggs onto his plate.
I cross my arms. I’m sacrificing a healthy portion of my homemade waffles for this, yet he’s acting as if it’s any normal morning in the Taylor household.
“Dad.”
“Son.” He shovels food into his mouth but says nothing else.
“Seriously?” I stop myself from chucking the whole platter of bacon against the wall, because I don’t want my old man to murder me.
“This stuff is confidential, boy.”
“So why did you take the call here if it’s classified?”
“Didn’t think you’d be awake so early.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Dad, I’ll keep my lips shut. Promise.”
He says nothing and takes a sip of his coffee. Then he addresses me. “Why are you concerned about this case? I doubt you knew her. You were only fourteen when she died.”
I bite my lip. Meanwhile, he pins me with his piercing blue eyes. “You have something to tell me, son?”
I shake my head. “Just curious, that’s all. Wouldn’t you be? Why the sudden interest to reopen this investigation?”
He shrugs. “It happens all the time.”
“Did they find additional evidence? That was an unsolved murder.”
He grunts. “Leave the questioning to the police.”
“I want updates, dad. She was my age when she died. It kinda hits different now, you know? Like it’s much more relevant somehow.”
He stares at me from underneath those bushy eyebrows, forehead creasing. His eyes darken as he narrows them. I shift in my seat, trying not to squirm. This is Dad’s interrogation face, but then he relaxes and shovels scrambled eggs in his mouth. I breathe a sigh of relief.
He points a fork at me. “None of this is getting out to your friends, you hear? Let my guys do their job without having to worry about the press.”
“Scout’s honor.” I nod and did the sign.
“Better be. I know where you sleep when this information leaks.” He rests his hands on the table and leans back. “The parents found love letters in the attic, some dating close to her abduction. Athena had no boyfriend. I have no clue what the notes contain, and we haven’t met with the O’ Connors.”
My mother sighs and places a palm on my father’s arm. “God, Athena. Now Alexa. What’s this neighborhood coming to?”
My jaw clenches as she associates my friend’s case to the O’Connor girl.
“Carol.” He squeezes her hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
But Pop looks grim, confirming a connection I didn’t want to accept. As I chew my waffles, I have the urge to drink a glass of water to wash the chewy pieces down my throat. My favorite breakfast treat lost its appeal and tastes bland and chalky. I push off my plate and stand. “Thanks, Dad. I, uh, gotta get ready for school.”
I leave my parents and as I walk up the stairs, I wish I hadn’t asked him for the update.
Chapter 15
Josephine
Thud.
The table shakes, making my body lurch forward. I bare my teeth as the kid behind me kicked the back of my chair. I clench my fist and turn to face him. “What the hell?”
The culprit is a tall, freckled-faced redhead. He grins. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to kick it so hard.”
“Well, you did. So knock it off.”
“Geez, someone’s in a foul mood. I just wanted to catch the new girl’s attention.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Here’s a tip. A tap on the shoulder is enough. Try it next time.”
“What’s the fun in that?”
I glare, but I turn around and refocus on the worksheet. Two minutes later, he taps me. Are you kidding me?
“You said I could do that, so… tap, tap.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Just one question, new girl.”
The Night Orchid Page 8
