In This Moment

by Autumn Doughton

  Aimee continues to stare out the window so that all I can make out is the back of her head in the dying daylight. Her legs are curled up on the truck bench beneath her. “People just assume that I don’t drive because of the accident and I get that, you know? It makes sense because she died in my car.” She stops, catches her breath. “Did you know that it wasn’t the impact of the crash that killed her? Everyone thought so at first… but it was actually the water. That was what the coroner told us in the hospital.”

  “Aimee…”

  She twists her body around but her head is still bent to the door. I think about pulling the truck over so that I can look at her and see into her eyes. This feels important.

  “I don’t drive because I can’t drive. I have a suspended license.”

  My head is spinning in too many directions. But she wasn’t even driving the car that night. How would she have a suspended license?

  Aimee sees the thoughts spilling out of me and answers them. “Last June,” she whispers. “I took a bunch of pills and crashed my car into the side of my grandparent’s house.” She pauses. “I tried to kill myself, Cole.”

  Aimee

  I’m not sure what to expect after my revelation. Curiosity? Disgust? Pity? All week I steel myself for the inevitable reaction and the questions but they never come.

  Cole is just… well… he’s the same.

  And that’s weird. Very weird.

  “Pamela, you’ve met my daughters, haven’t you? Mara and,” my mother’s eyes dart to mine, “Aimee. They’re both in college now.”

  We’re on the patio of the country club eating a late lunch. Dad is finishing up a round of golf with Mr. Frank, whom my mom revels in describing as “influential.”

  I lean back, shading my eyes from the sun with my forearm. Green crowds my vision and sweat drips down my forehead over my nose. I feel like I’m in hell.

  “Of course I remember Mara and Aimee,” Pamela says with a polite nod, her eyes lingering on me for a second too long. She’s a few years older than my mom and she’s so thin that I can see the bones of her shoulder joints through her pastel tennis shirt. I’m trying to place her in my parent’s catalog of completely boring, waspish friends and I’m pretty sure that her husband is some kind of attorney. “It’s lovely to see you both. What are you girls majoring in at school?”

  Mara goes first. She taps her fingernails on the outside of her iced tea glass and smiles like the pro that she is. “Finance.”

  “Just like her father. She’s also social chair of her sorority and she just joined up with the school’s competitive debate team,” our mom adds proudly.

  Pamela turns to me. “And you, Aimee? What’s your major?”

  “Undecided,” I say with as much fake cheer as I can muster. “But I’m leaning toward Library Sciences.”

  Pamela’s smile wobbles. “And what is that, dear?”

  “Oh, you know…” I take a bite of my salad and make everyone wait while I chew and swallow. “I would be working in a library.”

  Her brow furrows. “Like a librarian?”

  I point my fork in Pamela’s direction. “Exactly.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh.

  Mom looks uncomfortable. She clears her throat and says, “Aimee is just in her freshman year so she’s still got plenty of time to explore her options.”

  Thanks for the vote of support. I dig at my salad and chew vigorously, too annoyed to pay attention to the rest of the conversation. I despise coming to the club because it always ends up with me wading through a swamp of awkwardness.

  I look up and catch Mara’s eyes on me. She smiles sympathetically before going back to her sandwich. After Pamela walks away, my sister steers talk in the direction of our mom’s favorite topic: her social calendar.

  Mom clasps her hands in front of her chest. “Let’s see,” she says. “This Wednesday is the annual mixer we put on to benefit that animal shelter east of Regent’s Harbor. It’s a no-kill shelter and I’ll tell you, that costs money. Vet bills, food expense… the building maintenance. It’s a nightmare.” She pauses, signals to the waiter that she needs a refill. “Oh, and then Saturday night we’re going to The Roberson’s for a gala. I think that one has something to do with some kind of cancer, or maybe it’s Alzheimer’s.” She waves her hand and smiles. “Whatever it is, I’m sure that it’s dreadful.”

  Elise Spencer is nothing if not charitable.

  “Mara,” she goes on, eyes narrowing at my sister. “I actually thought that you might want to drive down next month because we’re having a little event at the house for your father’s firm. It would be the perfect opportunity to introduce you to that Langley boy that I was telling you about. I’m sure that he’ll be there with his parents.”

  “I don’t know, Mom. What about Aimee? Maybe she wants—” Mara makes a sound and abruptly drops her gaze to the table.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Mom’s face stiffens. Then she shakes her head and fidgets with her silverware. “Not to change the subject, but Mara, didn’t you have a big test last week?”

  “What is with you both?” I blow out an exasperated breath and turn in my chair to scan the patio. When my eyes land on them, all of the air is forced out of my lungs.

  “Aimee…” Mom’s face is deeply flushed. “I swear that I haven’t see the Kearns here in ages. Nancy told me that they’d given up their membership. I—oh my…” She touches her forehead and squeezes her eyes shut. “I never would have asked you to come today if I thought there was a possibility that they’d be here.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to embarrass you,” I hiss.

  My mother flinches like I’ve just slapped her. She coughs, clears her throat. “That’s not what I… Aimee, how could you think that?” She tentatively reaches forward and pushes my hair off my shoulder. “Just remember to take deep breaths. Dr. Galindo said that would help with a panic attack.”

  “I’m not having a panic attack.” Am I? I glance back to where Jillian’s parents are talking with another couple. Her dad is wearing khaki pants and a crisp white button down and he’s leaning one hip up against the metal bannister. Mrs. Kearns is beside him in a floral dress with a small collar. Her hair is shorter, greyer than I remember and I realize that she doesn’t look happy or sad. She just looks tired.

  “Do you want to go?” Mara asks me gently.

  I pick up my glass just so that I have a second to think. “I—I’m fine. Let’s…” As if she can sense me, Mrs. Kearns shifts her head to the right slightly and, just like that, we’re looking at each other. I want to go to her and hug her or fall on my knees, but she just goes on staring at me and, my head spinning wildly, I stare back.

  This is a woman who made me pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse on Sunday mornings and helped me get gum out of my hair in the fourth grade. Armed with a needle and thread, she fixed the strap of my first cotillion dress when it broke right before the dance. This is also a woman who barred me from her daughter’s funeral and told me that she never wanted to see my face again and wished that it had been me stuck in that car.

  My mouth silently forms the words before I realize what I’m doing. I’m sorry.

  Dry-mouthed, white fingers clenching my thighs, I wait for her reaction. One. Two. Three. I take a deep breath and count again. It’s like I’m bleeding out onto the club’s patio and waiting for Mrs. Kearns to notice.

  One. Two. Three. Deep breath. One. Two. Three. Before I can take another breath, Jillian’s mother flutters her eyes, wraps her arms around her body and walks away.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Cole

  I blink against the bright sunlight to make sure that I’m not seeing things. I’m stretching out with the team on the grassy lawn in the center of the track. Today we’re hosting an informal invitational—just a chance for the division teams to showcase what they’re capable of. I sure as shit hadn’t planned to push myself, but then Aimee surprises me by actually showing up. />
  “Isn’t that your girlfriend?” Quentin elbows me just below my ribs.

  With hungry eyes, I swallow and watch her make her way up the stands. She’s wearing a pair of shorts and a plain white top that molds to her chest like a second skin. The air is heavy with humidity so she’s piled all that hair of hers on the top of her head in a messy bun and a few strands have fallen down to play with her neck. When she sees me, she smiles a wide, toothy grin and waves.

  Quentin shakes his head. “She’s got a killer body, man. Be sure to give her my number when she finally figures out what a shithead you are.”

  I don’t know if I’m pissed because he’s looking at her or if it’s because I’m not really allowed to call her my girlfriend since that’s a label that has yet to be approved. “She’s not my girlfriend. And don’t fucking stare at her. It’s rude.”

  “Not your girlfriend?” Quentin cocks his head to the side. “But she is your girl, right?”

  I pull on the back of my neck and frown at him. “Yeah, I guess…”

  “Then chill, man.” He hooks his arm around my shoulders. “The rest is just semantics.”

  Maybe he’s right. I want to believe it.

  I’m up in the third heat. Kicking out my legs and rotating my ankles, I settle in at the start. I can feel the tingle of Aimee’s eyes on me and my heart pounds harder than ever. When the high-pitch signal sounds, I push off and I swear that my feet sprout fucking wings.

  As I cross the finish line going full out, my body completely jacked-up, I know without seeing the digits on the clock that not only have I easily trounced the pack, I’ve just run my fastest time. It’s mayhem. The guys are on me all at once, yelling and slapping me on the back, hooting in my ears. Pushing back, I lift my eyes to the stands and find her. She’s jumping up and down and clapping like everyone else and this crazy, awesome feeling zips through me and it’s all I can do not to hop the barrier to the bleachers and go to her.

  Much later, after I win in the finals and we celebrate with a large pizza and a bottle of warm champagne that I stole from Adam, I watch her while she sleeps. She’s cocooned between my arms and the pillow with the soft light from the TV playing across her features. Using one finger, I trace the faint jagged line of her scar. I kiss each of her eyelids. Her sooty lashes flutter and she mumbles but she doesn’t wake up. I smile and kiss her again, just craving her skin and everything that is inside of this moment.

  I wish that she could stay like this—peaceful, no trace of the fear or sadness that she wears around during the day. I hate what she told me last week about the pills and the fucking car. I keep thinking of her voice and how small she had seemed curled up on the seat of my truck.

  Suicide. It’s goddamn terrifying. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that this beautiful, brilliant girl ever considered ending her life.

  “Hey you,” she murmurs, blinking her eyes open. She lifts her arm and runs her finger from the top of my forehead down the center of my face. “What are you thinking about? You look so sad.”

  I grip her wrist. I am sad but I don’t want to tell her that. “Didn’t you have anyone else after Jillian died?”

  Her eyelids fall closed and she’s quiet for so long that I start to think she’s fallen back into sleep. Then, she swallows purposefully and I know that she’s still awake.

  “No,” she says finally. “I didn’t need anyone else until Jillian died.”

  I’m quiet, thinking. Aimee’s arm relaxes over my chest and she wraps her leg over mine. When her breathing has evened out and I know that she’s gone back to sleep, I pull her body closer and breathe in the scent of her hair. “Now you have me.”

  Aimee

  insecurity [in-si-kyoo r-it-ee]

  noun, plural in-se-cu-ri-ties.

  1. lack of confidence; self-doubt

  2. the state of being insecure

  “It’s Aimee, right?”

  I pop an earbud out and I look up and see bright purple fingernails tapping the barrier that surrounds my study carrel.

  “I’m Kate Dutton.” She drops into the seat next to mine and leans back. Her light blonde hair is wound into a loose knot below her left ear. She’s wearing fitted shorts and a lime green tank top. Her earrings are tiny golden starbursts. “Alpha Chi in case you were curious. I actually know your sister from a couple of Greek events. Oh, and obviously I know Cole.”

  I don’t say hello or tell her that I already know her name. I don’t ask her what she wants. I just sit there with one white earbud dangling and a blank expression on my face.

  “You’re really pretty,” she says, surprising me. Kate Dutton is honestly one of the prettiest girls that I’ve ever seen. I don’t want it to be true but she’s better up close than she was from far away. She’s got straight teeth and perfect golden skin—the kind you see on models in magazines post-Photoshop. Sitting here next to her makes me feel dark and pocked and small. “Not that I’m surprised about that. It’s par for the course, right?” When I still don’t talk, Kate shrugs, makes a funny face. “I just saw you and I figured that I should introduce myself. Considering…”

  I swallow. “Considering what?”

  She smiles brazenly. “Considering that soon you’ll be like me and all of the other disposable pretty girls. Passed over for fresh blood.”

  Cole

  “Wait a second!” Her hand darts out to the side table. “What is that ringtone?”

  “It’s nothing.” I climb on top of her and grab the phone from her hand. She starts laughing and poking me in the stomach just below my belly button.

  “Umm, that’s not nothing.” Her nose twitches. “Cole, is that… Rihanna?”

  I silence my phone and settle my head back into the bed pillow. “For your information, Rihanna is my little sister’s favorite.”

  “That was Sophie calling?”

  I nod warily.

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “Why didn’t you answer it?”

  “Because I know that she’ll want to FaceTime and I’m…” I look around her bedroom and down at her bare, creamy breasts, and I smirk. “I’m here in your bedroom, and you’re pretty close to being buck naked. That’s not exactly the message I want to send to a thirteen year old girl.”

  “Excuse me? Are you trying to call me a slut?” She pushes herself out of the bed and finds her shirt on the floor.

  My hands are over my head, showing that I’m defenseless. “I would never call you a slut. In fact,” I laugh, “I think that I like you slutty. I simply m—”

  She cuts me off, slipping the wrinkled shirt over her head. “Forget it, Everly. Call your sister back.”

  “Now?” I ask, kind of enjoying this bossy side of her.

  Aimee is digging around her desk drawer for something. She looks over her shoulder and smiles impishly. “Yes. Now.”

  “But…”

  “No buts, Cole.” She finds a rubber band and starts winding her dark hair into a knot. I love watching her do mundane things like this. “I’m dressed now and I want to see what she looks like.”

  “You’ve seen photos.” It’s true. I showed her some pictures of Sophie the other day.

  “I want to see her with you.” Her voice is subdued and it instantly unhinges me. The mattress dips as she rejoins me on the bed and bends her legs under her butt.

  “Yeah?” I trail my finger down the slope of her nose.

  “Yes, so put your shirt on too. We don’t want your sister to get the wrong idea about us.”

  Feeling a bit of a rush, I laugh from deep in my chest. “Okaaaay, bossy lady.”

  Aimee props herself up a bit straighter and waits. The phone rings twice before Sophie answers. I can tell right away that she’s in the backyard of our house. Her long blonde hair is speckled in sunlight and the ridiculous dog is wheezing and slobbering all over her.

  I launch right into it. “Sophie, I got that dog to keep you company, not turn you into a slimy ball of drool.”

  “Awww, be
nice. You know that Babs can’t help it. She’s just excited to talk to you. I told her it was you calling and she ran over here as fast as her little legs would carry her.”

  “I should have gotten you a lab or some kind of real dog. That thing looks like she’s missing half her face.”

  “Hey! She’s a pug and that’s how she’s supposed to look,” Sophie defends. Then her eyes zero in on the screen and I can almost hear the squeal before it even begins. “Who’s that? Is it Aimee?”

  Aimee looks at me with surprised eyes. Did she think she was a secret or something?

  “Yes,” I say turning the phone. “Sophie, this is Aimee. Aimee, this is my bratty little sister, Sophie.”

  “Ohmigosh, it’s so nice to meet or, um, talk to you finally. I thought you might be a fake person or like a figment of his imagination because Cole never has a girlfriend, but here you are. You’re real and you’re so pretty.”

  Aimee flushes pink. I wonder what she thinks of the “girlfriend” comment. She takes the phone out of my hand so that she can see my sister better. “Not as pretty as you. And your dog there is adorable. Don’t listen to what your brother says about her. I’ve always loved pugs and when I was your age, I begged my parents for a dog but my sister is allergic. I thought we should get a dog anyway and get rid of her.”

  Sophie laughs and they talk some more about the dog. Then my sister changes the direction of the conversation. “So, Aimee… my brother has told me so much about you.”

  Aimee’s eyebrows go to the top of her head. Her gaze slides over to me. “He has? All good stuff I hope.”

  Sophie giggles. “Of course it’s good. Actually, it’s better than good. For the past few weeks, every time your name comes up he starts gush—”

  “That’s enough!” I interject. It’s okay for Aimee to know that I’ve mentioned her to my little sister. She does not need the detailed play by play. Taking the phone back, I lean on my side. “So, how is he?”