by Fiona Keane
“You don’t get in trouble, Sim.” Jules erupted into a girlish giggle as she sipped from her unnecessarily enormous glass of cabernet. She danced around Simon, her silk pants blurring into a flowing rhythm with each step.
“He’ll be at the party. He and his wife come every year, so do the Harts. I’m not really friends with Elliott Grafton, but you can invite his kid too. And I suppose they all have boyfriends or girlfriends?”
“I suppose…” I replied to Simon, suspicious of where this exchange was headed.
“Invite them,” he stated simply. “Whoever makes you as happy as you have been lately should be there. I love seeing you this…what’s the word, dear?”
“Alive? Conscious?” I moaned.
“Intrepid,” Simon interrupted Jules’s delayed attempt to reply as she pulled away from her wine glass. “Positively fearless, Sophia.”
“Whatever, Simon.” I blushed, hoping he didn’t see the smile that accompanied my rolling eyes.
I wandered into the kitchen and slowly helped set the plates, napkins, and silverware while Simon finished cooking. Jules floated toward the table, sitting across from me with a sparkling grin across her face. Simon carried a large pot and placed it on a dark red trivet at the center of the table. Once he sat, Jules eagerly looked between us.
“Go on,” Simon encouraged, winking at my aunt. “It’s as good a time as any.”
“Oh my god. What?”
I swallowed a lump, frantically running through all the worst situations possible for the three of us…moving, Simon proposed, moving—they’re too old to get pregnant, gross—moving, something from the lawyers…
“Here.” Jules handed me a small black box that had one small metallic green bow on top. “It’s from both of us.”
I stared at them in surprise, my face fully void of expression.
“What is this?”
“Open it!” Jules squealed, squeezing Simon’s hands with excitement.
I followed my order and peeled the top away from the box. A new phone encased in a black protective shell stared up at me, taunting me.
“It’s the newest one.” Simon beamed. “It’s for our intrepid warrior. Right, Julesie?”
“We wanted to give you something to acknowledge how hard you have tried to make a life here. We know it hasn’t been easy for you. We understand. We just thought that since you’re making friends now and going places…you’d need this.”
“You can’t be serious.” I chuckled in disbelief. “Thank you both so much.”
“Well…” Jules returned my hug with a wine-flavored kiss to my cheek. “If you’re riding around town with that rickety bike, you’ll need this to be safe too. It isn’t all fun and games, ma chère.”
I nodded as she explained the rules for my new phone. I had never owned something so expensive before and it felt slightly intimidating.
“Jules’s number is in there already. Mine too,” Simon continued. “My work number is also there, should you need that.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at them as their attention returned to the expansive meal decorating the small kitchen table. Secretly, I was excited to see Michelle and Olivia next week so I could get their phone numbers.
“Also…” Simon grinned. “Julesie told me you’re friends with the Grafton and Hart girls so…I got their numbers from their fathers and put them in for you.”
“No.” I was in disbelief.
Why would Simon do something so thoughtful and generous for me? I decided to expand on my exemplary social skills during the rest of the evening with Jules and Simon, answering every question with detail and continuing to smile. They did, after all, just gift me a fancy phone and invite me to Simon’s party that weekend.
Once I’d gone to bed, I spent at least two hours tossing and turning while I restlessly swaddled myself in covers. After I heard Jules and Simon settle in for the night and their laughter and music had subsided, I found it easier for my eyes to drift.
I was back home, reading outside while my mom was talking on the phone on the back step of our house. There was a soft drizzle in the sky, lingering around me in a welcome cloud of moisture that followed every step of mine and held each breath before my face. My mom was laughing. Her laugh reminded me of being really little because it was always full of such promise and happy memories. She had stepped inside, still chatting on the phone, to answer the screeching oven timer. I closed my book and stuffed it into the pocket of my thin raincoat.
“Sophia, ma chère,” her voice sang to me from the open window.
I could smell her cooking as it joined the fog swirling around me while I approached the back door. The screen squeaked, alarming anyone of its age when opened, and I stomped the muck from my boots. I left the untied rubber things on the brown doormat and stepped into the kitchen. Our luggage distracted me near the kitchen doorway, set in a pile of three suitcases and one small black box.
“Sophia,” my mom continued, her voice now dancing with irritation.
“Coming,” I replied, taking my eyes from the luggage and entering the narrow kitchen. “I’m here.”
“Bien. Venez goûter à cette.”
“Delicious, Mom,” I took a bite of the small crepe she had drizzled with chocolate.
Her smile was acceptance of my approval and she turned to finish frying another small crepe. As her back was toward me, she rambled in her sweet tongue about visiting a friend before we were going to leave. She wanted someone to take care of the house while we were gone and finalize its sale once we relocated.
Her back was turned away from me, as mine was away from the doorway while I listened to her speak. I heard the backdoor squeak again, announcing someone’s presence and my heart stopped. My back stiffened as I watched the bullet fly within two inches of my face, burying itself into my mother. Her frying pan flew from the stove, slamming into the wooden floor of our kitchen. Another was fired, this time closer to me and I instinctively fell. The sour odor of his cigarette announced his presence more violently than any bullet.
“You shouldn’t have told anyone you were leaving, Marion.” His scowl filled the air with sadistic laughter as he spat on the floor near my mother’s limp foot. “Shouldn’t have made yourself a target.”
My breathing stopped, but I needed to vomit. I needed to exhale, but the gag in my throat stopped all function of my body. I tightly squeezed my eyes, joining the headache caused by my clenched jaw. The sound of our gas stove clicking as another burner lit accompanied the pace of his feet near my mother and me. My fingers were wet, saturated with a thick molasses of my mother’s blood as I rested near her.
“Shouldn’t have tried to leave,” he mumbled in a drunken stupor. “Shouldn’t have been a target. You and your precious Sophia.”
The growing crackle of fire grew in volume around us as he fled, attempting to lock us in as he escaped. When I heard the rumble of his muffler dispel in the distance, I shakily rose to my feet.
The first thing I thought of when my eyes tore open was Jameson. Why? I realized it was the first nightmare I had since he spent the night. However, it was the tears and vomit that violently poured from my face that now consumed my thoughts. My bedroom door flew open, revealing a panicked Simon and Jules.
“Darling.” Jules dropped to my side, rubbing my back as Simon gathered my comforter in a tight wad. “What happened? Are you sick? You were screaming, honey.”
I turned to examine Jules through my wet eyelashes with my sodden mouth hanging open. I was speechless. I turned back to look at my soiled hands and then up at Jules helplessly.
“Nightmare?”
I nodded at her inquiry and her dainty arms wrapped around me, rocking me as she hummed. I could faintly hear Simon starting the washing machine a few rooms away as Jules continued singing in her gentle attempt to calm me. I cared for her, but hers weren’t the arms I craved.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I’d finally gotten back to sleep with Jules at my side; just like a chi
ld in the arms of a loved one. The braided tassel of her silk robe tickled my nose as she shifted at my side.
“Ladies,” Simon’s voice cracked from the doorway, foggy from a late night spent listening to me wake several times from repeated nightmares. “I’ve set a pot of tea on the stove. I need to go into the office this morning before getting things together for tomorrow. Do you need me to do anything else?”
“You can come in, Simon,” I mumbled, gliding out from Jules’s arms.
I could tell by the imprint of my ear against her soft forearm that I’d been held through each nightmare until just now. She adjusted the tie of her robe and rose to sit on the edge of my mattress, smiling with fatigue toward Simon. He hesitantly entered, politely averting his eyes at first.
“You look nice,” Jules sighed, reaching out for his left hand. “You need to go in today?”
“Simon.” I chuckled. “You can look.”
“Well…” He blushed. “I have manners and you’re like…you’re like a daughter to Jules, and you’re eighteen. You need some privacy.”
“Thanks, Simon,” I replied, falling against the vacancy left in Jules’s absence as she stood to kiss Simon in greeting.
He was adjusting the cufflinks of his white dress shirt and correcting the knot in his tie at the mirror above my small dresser.
“This is nice.” Jules giggled. “Our little family.”
She patted my hair and kissed my forehead before stepping around my bed to open the linen curtains. I don’t know why she bothered—they barely kept out the light as it was. I studied Simon as he finished preparing himself for the morning.
“Are you okay, Sophia?” he asked, catching my eyes in the mirror.
I nodded, quickly looking away from him and out the window. Jules wandered the small space with her hands against her narrow hips, almost pacing. Simon finished dolling himself and turned to receive another kiss from my aunt. Barf. Do this in someone else’s space.
“I’ll get that tea, ma chère.” Jules winked at me, pulling Simon out of the room as she wandered toward the kitchen.
Simon smiled at me with an expression that offered condolence and support, as he willingly followed Jules. I fell deeper into my pillows, attempting to collect my thoughts before joining them in the kitchen.
Shreds of my nightmares flashed in my mind with scattered scenes that burned with discomfort in my belly. My head rolled to the left, gazing out the window at the bright Saturday sunlight for a moment as I collected my thoughts and returned to reality. I remembered, with a grin, that Simon and Jules gifted me a sophisticated phone the night before and eagerly reached for the black machine. The large digital clock was unnecessarily rude, informing me that I was conscious before nine in the morning.
I scrolled through the contacts that Simon had entered, studying Jules’s phone number, Simon’s two numbers, as well as Michelle’s and Olivia’s. My heart warmed thinking about Simon going to lengths requesting the phone numbers for Michelle and Olivia. I wondered if they knew, but then I felt a little like my privacy was invaded…for the greater good though…I grumbled to myself and pressed on the little envelope icon next to Olivia’s name.
Sophia: Hi, Olivia. It’s Sophia. I got a new cell phone. Do you…erase, erase…
Sophia: Hi, Olivia. It’s Sophia Reid…erase, erase…
Sophia: Hi, Olivia. It’s Sophia. Coffee at our place this morning?
I tapped my fingers against the protected screen of my phone once, sending my last attempt at a message. I was nervous—did I want to go out anywhere? Did I want to see anyone? I needed to distract myself from my night and, as much as I appreciated her comfort, if I stayed with Jules, I would need to talk about my nightmares, and that was the last thing on my mind. The phone quickly buzzed in my hand.
Olivia: Hey! I’m so glad you texted. I’d LOVE to. Our place in thirty?
“Our place”—like we had been there more than the one time we went with Derek to study last week. Either way, she got the message and I had half an hour to shower, change, and meet Olivia across town.
“Jules,” I called as I opened my bedroom door. “Can I borrow your car?”
“What?” She giggled as she walked into the hallway, sipping from her tea mug.
“To meet Olivia.” I shrugged, anticipating her relief at my willingness to socialize. I was beginning to regret it.
“Absolutely, dear. Keys are near the door. Enjoy yourself. Take my credit card in case you want to go anywhere else. Don’t hurry home either. You stay out with Olivia.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I blushed as she heavily encouraged my socializing, and returned to my bedroom once she had smothered me in a hug.
My feet pranced with newfound excitement when I realized that not only was I going to hang out with Olivia, but I could drive Jules’s petite red Mercedes convertible. I nearly tumbled over my feet in the hallway when returning to my room, frantically scouring my closet. I wanted to dress up—or at least look like I cared about myself.
***
I looked up from my vanilla and hazelnut latte when the bell above the coffee shop’s door rang and Olivia entered. She noticed me instantly and waved with her fingers, not drawing attention to either of us—respectfully. As she swarmed and engulfed me in a tight snuggle, I was bathed in relief and comfort. Olivia had sincerely grown on me and, as Mr. Fitzgerald described, she was welcomed into my bubble.
She ordered a drink for herself and we found ourselves tucked into a booth near the front window, which stuck out over the sidewalk with a curtain of wild orchids dangling from pots arranged at different heights.
“I’m so glad you texted me.” She grinned. “My dad told me your uncle gave you my number.”
“He isn’t my uncle.” I blushed. “But whatever. Close enough. I felt awkward. I didn’t want you to be worried with how I got it.”
“Oh, Sophia, not at all. You’re my friend! Hey, I had a lot of fun studying here with you and Derek the other night.”
“Me too,” I realized. “I know we did well on that stupid test too.”
“He’s really nice,” she cooed. “Derek, that is. At least I like him.”
“He’s no Owen,” I teased, sipping from my latte.
She blushed at the mere thought of her new boyfriend, most likely daydreaming of their date that evening. Olivia softly placed her hand on my wrist.
“When my parents got divorced, the last thing I ever thought I’d do is date,” she revealed. “Whatever happened in Oregon…it’s okay to start fresh here.”
What? As if she read my thoughts, or even the blank expression on my pale face, she shook her head and smiled while continuing.
“Derek.” She shrugged. “He’s cute. That’s all. I know he thinks you’re a gem too.”
“A gem?”
“You know…a babe. They all do, but no pressure.” She laughed. “You’re foreign, so you tempt them all.”
“Gross,” I sneered, never wanting attention like that of any kind…from any of them…sort of. I found myself wanting to bring up Jameson to Olivia, but the thought overwhelmed me, so I let her continue discussing Derek and how she planned on seeing Owen that evening.
“Speaking of those guys though, I can’t believe Jamie was such an ass on Tuesday.”
Finally, she brought him up.
“Me either.” I shrugged without further thought tumbling from my mouth.
Okay, so I didn’t really want to talk about him too much, because I realized the mention of his name swirled my thoughts into incoherent symbols and I felt my mind fill with exploding bubbles of confusion, and I simply wanted to go to bed…or talk to him again.
“He wasn’t at school again,” she observed, sipping away.
“Where does he go all the time?”
“Beats me.” She shrugged. “Probably somewhere where the rich kids go. The Bahamas?”
“Every week?” I giggled at her exaggeration. “His uncle is going to a party my aunt’s boyfriend is hostin
g this weekend. I have to go there. I think your parents are invited. No offense, but I’d rather stay home.”
“I don’t blame you.” Her drink almost crashed as she set it on the table. “Wait a second…Simon is your uncle?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. I’m definitely going now.” She grinned. “We can be miserable around the adults together. You, me, Jamie, and Michelle…I think her parents go every year too.”
“Jameson won’t be there.”
I liked the way his name rolled off my tongue, but it still felt awkward using it, as though he was a secret I couldn’t even share with Olivia.
“Oh,” she pouted. “Well…are you going to invite Derek?”
“Why?”
“Never mind.” She winked at me. “Can we invite Owen? Maybe we should go shopping after this. I should buy something fancy.”
“Fine.” I laughed, warmed by Olivia’s daydreaming.
We stayed for another hour, sipping away at our coffees and talking about Owen. Olivia’s demeanor changed when she spoke of him, but in an adorable way. She was entirely smitten by him.
With our java buzz increasing our heartbeats, I felt like my mouth wouldn’t stay closed and I felt comfortable talking with Olivia. She told me more about her parents’ divorce, having brought it up earlier in our conversation, and didn’t ask about my life in Oregon other than the weather compared to Florida.
I resented her on my first day, but Olivia had become the closest thing to a best friend I could have. She never asked for my secrets, yet the empathy and absence of judgment or curiosity Olivia expressed made me want to tell her anything I could about life here…so I accidentally did.
“Olivia,” I mumbled, pressing my hands around the warm mug, “can I talk to you about something?”
“Anything.” Her eyes gleamed as she nodded.
Her blonde bun bounced atop her head as she moved with excitement. I shifted in my seat and she mirrored my posture, her icy blue eyes patiently waiting.
