Scars Like Wings

by C. B. Stagg

  “Any luck with finding an apartment yet? I noticed we’re still using your campus PO Box as your residence, but I’ll need to replace it with a physical address soon.”

  I shook my head, keeping it down. “No, ma’am. Not yet, but I’m working on it.” But was I? No, not really. I hadn’t let myself believe any of this was actually happening until this very moment. It was only when I saw my full name at the top of an actual academic schedule I finally realized I would have a reason to stay in town.

  “Bennett, do you need help? I could—“

  “No, ma’am, finding a place to rest my head is now my number one priority. I’ll get on it right away.”

  “Well, okay then… ” She didn’t believe me, that much was clear. “Here,” She grabbed a card from her desk and shoved it into my hand. One side was a map. On the other, an address. “And grab a few of those apples from the basket on the way out. You’re hungry. Don’t think I didn’t hear that stomach of yours rumbling. I had to look out the window to see if a storm was rolling in, it was so loud.”

  I laughed. It felt good to have someone fussing over me again. After four years in the army, Lillie Lowe’s deep, warm voice was a nice change from the clipped, dry communication style of the military. She reminded me of Doc’s wife.

  Foster care made me feel invisible, like I wasn’t even worth looking at. But once I landed at the ranch, everything changed. Rosie, my foster mom, fussed something awful… but even with all the eye-rolling attitude I handed her for it, she knew I loved her as much as she loved me. She and Doc always knew exactly what I needed and in the three years I was placed with them, I thrived.

  “I’ll see you soon, then?” I nodded as she opened the door and ushered me out into the small, stuffy lobby. It was packed, students filling every chair and most of the floor space. Were they all waiting to see her? I did not envy that woman, but I had faith she’d handle it all with grace.

  “Go to the first floor circulation desk at the main library. My husband is in charge over there. He can help you find books to get you started and I expect you to check in with me toward the end of the week, you hear?” I wanted to reply, Yes, Mom, but held my tongue, given the sad story she’d just shared.

  “Miss Walker, come on in.” She was signaling to someone over my shoulder, already moving on to the next fire she had to extinguish. As I grabbed a few apples, shoving them into the pockets of my cargo pants, before grabbing a few more, a beautiful blonde brushed past me and into Mrs. Lowe’s office.

  The air surrounding her smelled like vanilla and girl. She plopped down in the seat I’d just vacated, but not before giving me a pinched face glare, making it clear I couldn’t even afford to breathe her vanilla-scented air. I shrugged, taking a noisy bite of a green apple, as I set out for the library.

  Chapter 4

  Jillian

  THE SUMMER HEAT WAS STIFLING. For those wearing cheap rayon blends, it must have been A-OK. But my dry cleaning bill this month was already shaping up to warrant a call from Mommy Dearest. I was already preparing for another fire-breathing tirade from atop her fire-breathing dragon. But it was hopeless. Lowe’s office was suffocating.

  “So, who’s the hobo?” The man in the lobby with the interesting swagger, had been fashion backward in his ill-fitting cargo pants and plain, black T-shirt. He was also desperately in need of a razor, but he smelled like a Christmas tree. The chair I was sitting in smelled like one, too.

  “He’s not a hobo, Jillian… just a student, same as you.” She was handling me. Gareth often did that. I hated being handled.

  “Really? I didn’t realize we allowed bums into our esteemed university now. I worry this may have a negative impact on recruitment if it gets out, but you can trust me. I won’t tell.” I mimicked the motion of zipping my lips for added effect. She rolled her eyes, clearly immune to my brand of humor.

  “Hmm.” She mused, tapping her pen on her chin. “I wonder what allowing those with a history of criminal activity would do for recruitment? But don’t worry. You can trust me. I won’t tell.”

  Well, okay.

  “Now, do you want to tell me why the DA’s office called this summer, asking me to help supervise your community service?”

  “Yeah, about that, I—”

  “Jillian, you are a smart girl, but you make some really stupid choices sometimes.” Why was it harder explaining this to my academic advisor than it was telling my own parents?

  “But—” I was ready for my practiced rebuttal, but she stood, sending a piercing glare my way to shut me up. It worked. This woman, all five feet of her, scared me sometimes.

  “I’m not really in the mood for you to make excuses for your behavior or to listen to you whine and blame other people. From what I understand, you got yourself drunk and drove that pretty little sports car of yours into a telephone pole. Does my account of the events sound about right?”

  If anyone else had looked at or spoken to me the way this woman did, I’d have their head on a platter. But Mrs. Lowe had a direct number to my father and, after the summer I’d had, I needed to lay low for a while. “Yes, ma’am, I totaled my car.” The look I had plastered on my contrite face wasn’t working. Out of practice, I was out of luck.

  “And you were hurt, I see?” Understatement of the year. I nodded.

  I was walking better. I didn’t even need a cane for assistance anymore. As long as I took breaks and kept to a slower pace, no one would ever know about my three-month-old injuries.

  “Are you feeling better?” Her concern was genuine, but I heard something else in her voice. She held her students to a high standard and I’d disappointed her.

  “Yes, I am. Thank you for asking.” She nodded, shuffling through files, until she got to mine.

  “All right then, Miss Walker, are you ready to declare a major?”

  God, I hated this question. I wasn’t at college to get anything other than an MRS. degree, and I was well on my way to the ring and the white dress. An actual degree meant nothing to me. There were no degrees in planning charity events or climbing the bejeweled ladder to the Junior League presidency.

  “No, I’m not. May I have another semester to figure it out? I promise I’ll declare before classes start in the spring.” Lie. I’d hopefully be planning my wedding by then.

  She took a few deep breaths, thumbing through page after page. I’d only been here a year, why on earth was my record so full?

  “This is it, Miss Walker. You’ll be finished with your core classes after this semester and you’ll have to choose a major, got it?” I nodded. “Now, let’s discuss this little incident and its subsequent commun—”

  “Mrs. Lowe,” I interrupted, “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how important it is, this little incident staying hush-hush. My father’s political career, not to mention my relationship with—”

  She held her hand up, halting my words. “You can tell your father, Governor Walker, that his daughter’s questionable life choices won’t make it back to the fine people of Georgia… nor will it become public knowledge that our own fine governor’s son’s girlfriend hits the sauce before hopping behind the wheel. But I will tell you this: What you did that night was unacceptable and it was by the grace of God Himself that the only things you killed that night were your ridiculous sports car and an innocent telephone pole.”

  I couldn’t meet her eyes. She was not only disappointed, she was pissed.

  “I can only imagine how you wormed your way out of an appropriate consequence, but if the DA expects you to serve our community, then that is exactly what you’ll do.”

  It was like court, all over again, but this time there was no Jamison to defend me. Biting my tongue, I kept reminding myself, this was a means to an end. Get the community service assignment, get it over with, then things will go back to normal. I could do anything for a semester, right?

  “Here.” She snapped a card down in front of me.

  “The Community Cafe? What’s this?” The busi
ness card had a map on one side and an address on the other.

  “The Community Cafe is a student-sponsored, student-run soup kitchen located on the west side of campus.”

  “Soup kitchen?” This was one of the options the philanthropy committee considered, until we realized we’d probably have to wear hairnets. Anything involving hairnets was an automatic nope from me.

  “Listen, I don’t cook. And I don’t do food.”

  Mrs. Lowe sat back in her chair. A knowing, satisfied grin spread across her face as she nodded her head. “You do now.”

  There had to be a way out of this. I’d call Jamison. My plan had been to play this off as me volunteering out of the goodness of my heart, but, being foodservice, my sorority sisters would see right through this.

  “The cafe provides free hot meals to anyone in the community on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday of each week. We have no trouble getting volunteers on Monday and Wednesday nights, but Friday is another story. That’s where you come in.”

  Visions of beer pong and theme parties with my girls from the Kappa house went up in smoke. Friday night was like the Sabbath in Greek life. Taking away my Friday nights would be the death of what little was left of my social life. After a summer of wheelchairs, walkers, crutches, canes, and physical therapy—my social status was on life support. This would be pulling the plug, for sure.

  “Look, Mrs. Lowe, my tax dollars already pay to feed these lazy, jobless degenerates by giving them welfare and food stamps. Why should I have to serve them too? It’s degrading.” She was ignoring me, something she’d become good at over the last year.

  “Your tax dollars? From that job you have?” Ugh. “I think you’d be surprised at what brings people to the cafe.”

  I snorted. “Doubt it.” I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.

  “Don’t look so sad, Jillian. The good news is, only you and I will know why you’re really there. You can claim you’re volunteering out of the goodness of your big ole squishy heart.” She rolled her eyes, thinking, Yeah, right, like anyone would believe that! I know this because I had been thinking the exact same thing thirty seconds before. Social suicide, that’s what this assignment was.

  She handed me some paperwork, already filled out in her neat, unmistakable hand. “Report this Friday for training. You will be expected at five and you should plan to stay until the last person is fed and the last dish is washed. That’s usually around nine, give or take.”

  Well, wasn’t this just perfect. I never thought taking one corner a little too tight could ruin my reputation so completely.

  After tucking the Community Cafe paperwork into my satchel, I stood. The backs of my legs stuck to the cheap vinyl seat and I inwardly cringed at the idea I’d be wearing the recycled sweat of others for the rest of the day.

  The walk to the parking garage in the stifling Texas heat took longer than the drive home. The summer before my freshman year, my father snatched up some land a few blocks from campus and built a row of one and two bedroom condominiums. He let me pick everything from the deep maroon brick on the outside, to the earth tones adorning the walls and countertops inside. I was even given carte blanche when outfitting the one built especially for me.

  Each day I passed the majestic condo on the end of the property, I died a little inside. As part of my penance for the wreck, my father had all of my belongings moved into the smallest unit in the complex. Therefore, my current home had three times the furnishings and decor in only half the space. It was heartbreaking.

  The phone was ringing when I unlocked the door and I grabbed it just before the answering machine picked up.

  “Hello? I’m here, I’m here.” Out of breath was not a good sound for me.

  “Hey, hooker!”

  Ugh, Lori. I was too tired to deal with her today. Her voice was like squeaky brakes. And there would never be a moment in time when I wouldn’t hear her, and instantly recall the night she had Gareth pressed up against the wall of his fraternity house, mauling his face like a dog with an empty peanut butter jar.

  “See Gar,” she whined between sloppy licks and kisses. I’d wandered inside the frat house, sick to my stomach from the mountain of vodka-infused jello I’d consumed at the end-of-year luau, when I stumbled upon my best friend and my boyfriend, tucked into the doorway of a locked storage closet. I stopped at the sound of her mewling. “You like me, I know you do.” The low rumble of his voice followed, along with more slurping and a little giggle from Lor. I didn’t wait around to see where her hand was headed, but as I turned the corner, I heard her whimper “I’ve got everything she’s got. We could be so good together.” I made it to the bathroom just in time to empty the entire contents of my stomach: four red jello shots.

  That was the night my life blew up in my face. Literally.

  “Yeah, so like, I need your help coming up with a costume for Friday’s social at the Kappa House. The theme is ‘Barbie Girl in a Barbie World.’” Her Pepto Bismol sing-song voice made me want to hurl.

  “At first, I wanted to go as Malibu Barbie, but Janie already called it. I told her you’d probably already claimed that for yourself, so you may need to give her a shout. Anyway, I’m thinking of going as Great Shape Barbie, since I have all that spandex from dance team, but then I thought of Astronaut Barbie. I totally bet I could make that mad slutty.” Lori could make a potato sack look slutty, so if that was her goal, it was in the bag.

  “What do you think? Which one are you going as?” Janie could be Malibu Barbie for all I cared. No one knew it, but my days of prancing around nearly naked were long over. Now, how to get out of this one...

  “Um, so, I have a thing on Friday, actually, so I don’t think I’ll make it this time.” What a total crap situation, since I had the perfect blue lamé jumpsuit and mink stole that would put Janie in her bikini and Lori in her spandex to shame.

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” Could not be less genuine if she tried.

  “Tell me about it.” I was over this convo.

  “Hey, it’s Kappa’s first function of the season. Isn’t Gareth coming to town? He is the former president.”

  “Oh, um… I’ll call him, but I doubt he can come in from Harvard for a little party.”

  Lori was what my mother referred to as new money, an insult of the worst kind. New money lacked the sophistication and class of those who’d been born into wealth and privilege. Lori didn’t attend cotillion or finishing school. She didn’t attend an elite private high school with the children of celebrities and sports greats. She didn’t have a full-service, luxury box at Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium, home of the Braves.

  No, Lori bought her lipstick and hair dye at the same place she gets her birth control. I only know this because I saw the receipt one time. That was unforgivable in my social circle. She faked it well enough, but Lori is in way over her head buddying up to me. And if she thinks she has a snowball’s chance in hell of getting anything other than a drunken make out session from Gareth, she is dumber than she looks.

  “Oh. Well, it’s probably for the best, anyway.”

  “Yeah.” Would it be rude to just hang up?

  “Hey, has Angie called you yet?”

  “No, Lori, I just got home.” I glanced at my answering machine, at the big red digital three blinking the same rhythm as my pounding heart. “But I have messages. Why? What does Angie want?”

  “Oh, nothing much.” Lori’s overly cheery tone contradicted her words which were dripping with sugary poison. “Only that her maid and Gareth’s mother’s assistant play bridge together on Monday nights and according to her, Gareth has taken the four-carat diamond ring he inherited from his grandmother to get sized.” She ended her revelation on a high note, expecting what, I wasn’t sure. My silence upset her. “Hello? Did you hear what I just said?”

  I nodded, before realizing she couldn’t see me. “Yes, yes, I heard you.” It was like my breath was stolen right out of my chest. “But, she must be mistaken. Isn’t this a littl
e soon?” But was it really? Hadn’t I just been hoping for this moment so I could ditch college and live the life I was meant to lead?

  “Too soon? Are you high? Gareth Baines Johnson, son of Texas governor Thomas Mitchell Johnson, grandson of the late president of the United-”

  “Lori, stop, Jesus.” I couldn’t think. My head felt like someone set fire to a fireworks stand. “Tone down the drama a few decibels. I’m well-aware of my boyfriend’s genealogy.” My heart was using my stomach as a trampoline and despite having skipped lunch, I felt vomit creeping up into my throat. What’s wrong with me?

  “Then what’s this talk about ‘too soon?’ I mean, you are dating the most eligible bachelor in the state and I just told you there is a good chance he’s planning to propose soon. This is what you’ve been dreaming about, right? Aren’t you the least bit excited?”

  Of course I was excited, right? “Of course I’m excited. God, Lori, you just took me off guard. And of course I was expecting something like this eventually, but not quite this soon. Did she mention a timeline?”

  “Well, actually she did. Clear your calendar for Christmas break, sweetie, because I have it on good authority you’re being whisked away to Aspen! I wonder if there’s a Snowbunny Barbie? That would be totally cute.”

  Chapter 5

  Bennett

  THE SIX STORY LIBRARY, built in the seventies from sand-toned brick, sat right in the middle of campus and the doors opened at six in the morning. It smelled of old books, stale coffee, and freshly sharpened pencils. I’d spent many an hour scoping out the routines of the people who ran the place and it was a rare day when an employee arrived any earlier than 5:45. And even then, the library aides, most of them student workers, didn’t make their way up to the stacks until much later.

  My military alarm clock woke me at five o’clock on the dot, which fit my new arrangement perfectly. Leaving the fifth floor bathroom in the east wing of the library with a good fifteen minutes to spare, I stopped short when I turned a corner and ran right into a giant wall of a man.