“If you’ve got it all figured out, then why aren’t I in cuffs? Where are the police, huh, Low? I think you’re bluffing.”
He turns to his boxes, feigning disinterest, but it’s too late for that. I’ve already seen his hand. He laid his cards on the table, and they’re mine for the taking.
“I’m not pressing charges today, and maybe not tomorrow, but I plan to wake up every morning and ask myself, ‘Am I strong enough today?’ God help you when that answer is yes.” I turn to the door and open it, taking a moment to look back at him, so small and insignificant looking. If only that were true. “Goodbye Remy. I hope you rot in hell.”
Evelyn doesn’t say a word when I return home empty-handed. We order pizza instead.
Marlo
“IS THERE NOTHING I can say to change your mind, Marlo? I urge you to think long and hard about what you’re doing,” Mrs. Santos, my academic advisor, says as she holds my signed resignation letter in her hands. “I can rip this up right now, and we can forget the whole thing.”
I look at Evelyn sitting across from me, and she nods. I don’t know if she’s nodding because she thinks I’m doing the right thing, or if she agrees with Mrs. Santos and thinks I should come back to Orleans Academy in the spring. No matter how many times I ask, she won’t say anything other than “I support you in whatever you decide. I just want you to be happy.”
How do I tell her happiness will elude me no matter where I go? I’m not sure I can put a timer on my healing. It’s a process I don’t think can be measured in minutes, hours, days, or even weeks. Or maybe it can’t be measured at all. We all heal in our own way, in our own time, and the best I can hope for is the scars don’t over shine the progress.
“This is the right thing for me, Mrs. Santos, but thank you for caring. I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but now is the time for me to officially graduate.”
She raises her hands in defeat and places my letter in her outbox, ready to be stamped by the headmaster and filed for good measure.
It would be easy to see this as failure. To look at my resigning as laying down and dying, but I see things differently. I’m doing what I have to do to move on and start over. I want to move past victim and become a survivor. In order for that to happen, I need a change of scenery.
All three of us stand and exchange heartfelt thank yous and goodbyes, and Mrs. Santos walks us to her door. Evelyn walks by my side down the administrative hallway, arm looped in mine. She pushes the elevator button and waits.
“Oh,” I say, breaking her grip on my arm and shuffling down the hallway. “I forgot to turn in my ID to Mrs. Santos. I’ll only be a minute. Stay here and hold the elevator?”
“Of course,” she says with a smile, and watches me as I turn down the corridor.
Once I’m out of her sight, I pass Mrs. Santos’s office and continue down the hallway. I release a pent-up sigh of relief at seeing the door closed. I trace my fingers over the nameplate on the door, wondering for the hundredth time if I’m making the right decision. The truth is I love Ever enough to accept the consequences. I love him enough to accept that, after today, he will probably no longer love me.
I’ve dialed Ever’s number a hundred times, my trembling finger hovering over the call button, but I can’t bring myself to press it. How can I begin to fight for what we had when I’m only a shell of who I was? Ever is just one more thing Remy ripped away from me. Shame and regret roll in my gut where resolve lied only days ago. Turning my back on him is one regret I refuse to have. Before I walk away, I’ll do what I can to save him from himself, knowing he’ll never want to see me again.
If it keeps him safe, then I’ll take it. I’m not sure I can change anything, but I have to try. It feels as if the wheels of destruction have been in motion for far too long, and if I’ve learned anything over the past few months, it’s that momentum is much more powerful than love.
Whatever the case, it feels wrong to leave Ever in Remy’s clutches without a word of warning. If anyone knows what a monster he is, it’s me.
Jeffrey Simmons, Headmaster.
I hear the bell of the elevator in the distance, and I know my window is closing. I pluck the letter out of my cross body, and slip it under the door without another thought. It slides with such ease, nearly floats through to the other side, almost as if the office wants the letter.
“Marlo?” Evelyn calls from down the hall.
Evelyn’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I rush to meet her, pushing all thoughts of Ever and the letter out of my mind.
Dear Headmaster Simmons,
I know we’ve only met a handful of times, and I may be overstepping by writing this letter, but please know I only mean to help. I care very deeply for your nephew, and I’m very worried for him, as I’m sure you are, too.
I’m so sorry for your family’s recent loss. It must be devastating for all of you, possibly even more so for Ever. I feel as if he’s been floundering without Easton, making decisions that will only hurt him. In some ways, it’s like he’s lost his purpose, like he no longer cares what happens to him.
Please, if you want to help him, demand he stay with you, don’t let him out of your sight, drug test him. Yes, I said drug test him. Headmaster Simmons, Ever is spending time with people who only mean to hurt him, and I’m afraid of what will happen if you don’t intervene.
I hope you receive this letter in the way I intend it, with great concern and care for your nephew. Please take this warning seriously, because Ever’s welfare depends on it.
Sincerely,
Marlo Rivers
Marlo
“LOW, ARE YOU sure you don’t want to stay in China for a semester, attend the community college in Beaumont before you make any big decisions? I’m not too keen on the idea of my baby girl gallivanting all over creation. I’m worried about you, baby.” Dad walks beside me through Jackson Square, my seemingly tiny hand covered by his big mitt as I drag him through the row of portrait artists and tarot card readers.
I swipe the beads of sweat off my upper lip just as the faintest hint of a drizzle moistens my arms. My time in New Orleans can easily be summed up by a state of perpetual moisture—rain, fog, sweat, tears. If Mother Nature would do me a solid and throw in some snow this afternoon, we could bring this baby full circle.
Every so often, my dad stops in awe, watching the charcoal take form on the easel, listening to the haphazard jazz bands, stopping to stare at the occasional drunk sleeping it off in the middle of the sidewalk. At this rate, he’ll make us late for mass.
“Daddy, I’m not gallivanting. Northern Louisiana University is a great school. They were able to fast track my application, and still had student housing available,” I say, with a smile. I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m a college freshman! Can you believe it?”
He lowers his head and mutters to himself about years flying by like mere seconds and daughters staying close to their fathers. I smile and let him have his fit. He deserves it.
He and Declan drove into town yesterday, and, at Evelyn and Oliver’s gracious insistence, they’d stayed the night at the James’ residence. What had started out as incredibly awkward morphed into a tentative partnership of sorts. Even Declan is warming up to Evelyn.
My dad and brother went to Boozman Hall to box up my stuff while I stayed at Evelyn’s house. I’d called both Delilah and Charlotte to apologize for my absence over the past week and for not showing to pack my things. They were understandably confused, but could tell from the tone in my voice not to push. When my dad had asked if I was sure I didn’t want to come and say goodbye to them this morning, I shook my head and went back upstairs. I’d closed myself in the bathroom, and gave into the crying jag that was a long time coming.
I hate that I wasn’t strong enough to say goodbye to them. I wish things were different, but I’m doing the best I can. I don’t have answers for their questions.
Where have you been?
Why did you leave?
&nbs
p; Why aren’t you coming back?
No. Just no.
And the chance of running into Ever? That’s a blow my heart can’t withstand. Despite it all, I love him.
No, I’d loved him—past tense. I need to let that part of myself go. He has it, and I gave it to him freely. But now I’m walking away with my half of a heart, and calling it done.
To let in that kind of love, the kind that feels like nothing can tarnish it, you have to embrace the hurt. I’m nowhere near ready for that; I’m not sure I ever will be.
I’m not foolish enough to think my letter to his uncle will save him, but I pray that it can serve as a catalyst. A starting point for the healing of his family. No one deserves that more than Ever.
“I don’t like feeling like all of this is so rushed. You have your whole life, Low. What’s the hurry?”
I stand on the steps of St. Louis Cathedral and give my dad a hug. Not just a cordial, fit for public consumption hug. I give him an arms wrapped all the way around his waist, head buried in his chest, full-on, two-minute hug. I do this partially because I love him, but also to avert his knowing gaze.
Evelyn is right about my dad. He sees too much. The truth would kill him.
So when Mrs. Santos called me about Northern Louisiana University, I jumped at the opportunity. It’s what’s best.
“I love you, Dad.”
He blows out a resigned sigh and kisses my temple. “I love you, too, baby.” He pulls away from me to meet my eyes. “And since when do we attend a Catholic church?”
“Since there’s something I need to do.”
The screened window slides open, and I sit up straight and square my shoulders.
Confession 101. Let’s do this.
“Forgive him, Father, for someone has sinned,” I whisper, feeling the weight of silence just outside this wooden box. I hope no one else can hear me.
“My dear, I’m available to hear your confession today, but—”
“It’s not my confession I’m concerned with, Father. I’d like to tell you about someone who has sinned against me.”
He’s silent for a moment, and I see his shadowed form shift in his seat.
“I’m afraid that’s not how this works.” Irritation creeps into his voice, but I can’t find it in me to care.
“You see, Father, a very short time ago, a man drugged and raped me, and by your rules, he can come in here and tell you his sins and be absolved. Now, don’t you think I should be able to sit in this chair and tell you of my hurt, and be granted the same absolution?”
“I wish that were true, my dear, but unfortunately, I don’t think it works that way.”
“But shouldn’t it, though? Shouldn’t it?” I ask, pushing away the pesky tears clouding my vision.
“You certainly make me wish it did,” he says introspectively, all aggravation gone. “While I can’t take away your pain, you’re never alone. The Lord is always by your side to carry you when the burden is too great.”
“But today, I want to give it to you. I feel it’s too great for me to carry, and I need you to take the burden. I need you to absolve me.” My traitorous voice cracks, and the tears clouding my eyes now moisten my cheeks.
I raise a hand to steady myself, unknowingly covering the confessional screen. The priest reciprocates and mirrors his hand to mine.
“I absolve you. I absolve you,” he whispers. “I’ll help you carry the load.”
We sit in that confessional, for I don’t know how long, ignoring the impatient coughs of other parishioners. The rational part of me knows he can’t do what I’m asking, but the lost girl deep inside feels lighter. The broken part of me is one step closer to moving on.
And it’s time to do just that.
“I’d be happy to hear your confession now, my dear,” he says.
And I freeze. Is now the right time to admit I’m not really Catholic? I’m thinking no.
And for the first time in weeks, a giggle escapes me before I can suppress it. A real, live giggle.
Yes…
“No, thank you, Father, I’m good,” I say, the giggle still present and painting my words. “May the force be with you.”
“Excuse me?”
Oh shit! Abort, abort!
“Good day,” I say, cringing at the ridiculous British accent that comes out of my mouth.
On that note, I swing open the door and take my leave. Better to quit while I’m ahead.
My dad is waiting in the back of the church, and his expression floods with concern when he gets a look at my bloodshot eyes.
“Is everything okay, Low?”
I loop my arm in his and give him a toothy grin. “I just needed to get rid of something. Everything is gonna be just fine, I know it.”
And with a firm grip on my dad’s arm, and a somewhat lighter heart, I say goodbye to so many things.
The Quarter.
My friends.
My newfound family.
My innocence.
And Ever.
I say goodbye to Ever.
Ever
Eight years later
I FILL THE platters of praline chicken and crawfish fried rice, making sure the guests don’t get dregs from the bottom of the pan. I can’t dust off this air of irritation swirling around me.
I didn’t want this job. Jeb and I aren’t caterers; we’re chefs. I don’t enjoy food in bulk. But when the owner of Oakbourne Country Club’s daughter gets married, it’s time to pull out all the stops. And tons of cash.
So I may not like food in bulk, but I can get on board for the right price.
I keep my grumbles to myself because the money’s good and this is great exposure for us. We’ve been dreaming of breaking out on our own, making our own way.
So shrimp and grits by the bucket it is.
I give a curt nod to the waiter, and he nods back, obviously irritated by my constant hovering. He’ll get over it. Or he won’t. Like I give a shit. Satisfied that everything is as it should be, I turn around to head back to the kitchen.
I survey the room one last time before walking through the door.
And that’s when rush of nostalgia hits me like a battering ram in the chest.
A flash of wild auburn curls.
Hip jutted, head cocked, with attitude only she can throw.
And that laugh. That fucking laugh.
I’ve been woken from a dead sleep with the sound of her throaty voice shooting straight to my dick more times than I care to count. My dreams never did it justice.
A millisecond at most, but I see it. I hear it.
I see her.
I shake the thought out of my head and keep moving. I don’t dare mention it to Jeb. God knows he’s heard enough about my sightings through the years. They never pan out to anything, and I’m sure this is no different.
I catch his eye from behind the bar, and he raises an eyebrow in question. I shake my head and wave him off, and he’s back to mixing drinks and flirting with every skirt in the place. From the looks of it, he’s making his peach rouler, a mix of sweet rum, peach, and ginger. There are other “proprietary” ingredients, as he calls them, but that’s the gist of it. Don’t let him hear me simplifying his creations. He’ll go crazy and start spewing shit about the under appreciation of a top-notch mixologist.
After all these years, the fucker still manages to be a pain in my ass. Fortunately for me, he truly is a master behind the bar.
A rush of familiarity washes over me as the scent of vanilla and sunshine circles me, invades my nose, touches the back of my throat. It’s been eight years since I’ve smelled anything like it, and now I know my mind is playing tricks on me.
In this day and age, you wouldn’t think it possible for someone to vanish into thin air.
But she had. All those years ago, she’d disappeared like a puff of air. And she continues to elude me. We’d only had four stolen months together eight years ago; so the question that batters my brain is why do I even care?
&nb
sp; But I have always cared, and I’m afraid I always will.
I shake my head, dusting off the memories from long ago, but never forgotten. When you turn your back on the best thing that’s ever happened to you, that shit tends to stick with you like a bad rash. I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, but pushing Marlo away is a level of stupidity all its own.
Get it together, you’ve got a fucking job to do.
And with that, I return to the kitchen to do what I do best.
“Excuse me?”
Her words are barely audible over the clanging of pots and the rushing water of the faucet. I can only see her head peeking through the swinging door, but I recognize the bride from earlier.
“Yes, can I help you?” I ask, wiping my hands on a nearby dish towel and moving closer to her.
She steps inside the kitchen and clasps her hands in front of her. She looks like a bohemian princess, all dreamy smiles and peace signs. She’s beautiful in a unique way, and just being near her lightens my mood slightly. She’s like a wood fairy spreading glitter and good thoughts.
“We’re about to call it a night, but I didn’t want to leave without telling you what a wonderful job you did. The food was delicious.” She smiles, rests her hands on her stomach, and closes her eyes. “Honestly, I can’t say enough about it. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her lips twist into a smirk, and she giggles.
“What?” I ask, having no idea what I could have said that she found funny.
“Well, I’m not actually welcome, am I?” She gives me an expectant look, and I laugh.
She’s got me there.
“I know my mother can be … persistent when she gets it in her head she wants something. She can be relentless, can’t she?” When I simply shrug in return, she gives me a knowing smile. “Anyway, thank you for humoring her. The food, the drinks, all of it—impeccable.”
Low Over High (The Over Duet #1) Page 22
