Pooja and Rocco meet me in the driveway. Within seconds, I know Pooja can read me. She hugs me and tells me everything will be okay. Inside, Rocco introduces me to his parents, who do the oh-my-we’re-so-sorry-for-you speech I’ve heard a hundred times already. Still, I politely thank them and follow Rocco and Pooja into his basement apartment.
Touches of Pooja decorate the rooms, which makes me smile: a goddess statue, her red, silky bathrobe, Diet Coke, and chocolate bars. I’m glad she’s letting Rocco take care of her. I freeze when I see a framed picture on Rocco’s dresser of a beaming Frank standing next to Rocco, holding the Mr. New Jersey trophy.
Pooja and I take the giant Rocco-sized bed, and he sleeps on the couch in his little sitting room. Despite the late hour, we sit cross-legged on the bed and eat chocolate bars. The glow of the lamp on the nightstand makes Pooja look beautiful, but I can tell from her eyes that she’s tired. I put the picture of Rocco and Frank next to me on the bed. “Are you okay, Pooj?”
She sighs, picks up the picture, and holds it to her chest. “I can’t accept that I brought all that evil with me to you.”
“No, no, Pooj.” I touch her leg. “You brought us love.”
“I brought you Cameron.” Her face tightens when she says his name, but in an instant it relaxes again. “If I never walked into Sheridan Hall, Frank would still be alive today. I don’t know how Rocco’s ever going to forgive me, and Ben—”
“Hey,” I snap. “Rocco and Ben know this is not your fault. We all do. There’s only one person to blame for what happened here—”
“—and now Chase. He’s so lost. And you. The evil spreads over all of us.”
“Stop!” I bark. “It’s terrible what happened. Nobody blames you, Pooja. Please don’t blame yourself.”
Pooja reaches for me in the dark room and rubs my arm. “But—”
“No ‘buts.’ I’d be lost if you’d never walked into Sheridan. I don’t regret knowing you for one second, Pooja Pravali.”
She sniffles and rests her head on my shoulder. “I love you.” She wipes away a tear.
“I love you, too.” I can’t lose her to this. “I need you. I don’t have many people I can trust.”
Pooja reads my mind. “You have Chase, Juliet. He sees your colors. He’s supposed to be with you, but he’s scared.”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that—especially if he’s back together with that evil little goth girl. I wanted to smack the smug look off of her face today. And why is everyone scared of me, anyway?” I remember Ben using that word the first night of school.
Pooja sighs. “You’re very dynamic and colorful. You must know that. You’re smart, beautiful, and passionate—it’s an awesome combination. Ben was able to embrace all that about you.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah. It only took him four years.”
“Chase isn’t made like Ben. He doesn’t have the same foundation. He’s shaky, and he’s a challenge, and I don’t know if he’ll ever be easy. But Chase will come around. He’s not scared of you, he scared of being without you.”
Pooja’s right. When I decided to be with Chase, I knew he wasn’t Ben. He wasn’t going to be the guy who knew the right thing to say and do all the time. He’s been shaky and unsure with his New Life Plan—maybe because of his tragic history—since the day I met him.
“The real question is, when he comes around and finds his strength, what are you going to do? Do you give him another chance, or do you let him go?”
I don’t know the answer, so I don’t say anything. I twist the blanket in my lap.
“Do you know what I know for sure, Juliet Anderson?” She touches my chin and I look into her eyes. “That Ben or no Ben, Chase or no Chase, you are strong enough to get through anything on your own. And it’s time for that. Justine’s gone. Frank’s gone. Maybe even Chase is gone. But you’re here, and because of that the world is a really lucky place, and I’m a really lucky woman to have you in my life. It’s time, Juliet.”
I wipe away a tear, hoping Pooja doesn’t notice. If she does, she doesn’t say anything. She lays in the bed and pulls the comforter up to her neck. I place Frank’s picture between us and turn off the lamp.
“Sharing the bed with you is a lot different than sharing with Roc. He’s like a giant furnace.” She snuggles closer. “I may need more blankets.”
I do my best Rocco impression for Pooja. “Jesus, Anderson,” I growl and yell at the same time, making my voice extra deep, “you’d better be taking care of my Pooh Bear in there, or I’ll lose my shit.” I flex my jaw and try to make my veins in my neck throb.
“Shh, he’ll hear you!” She giggles. I smile, mirroring her position.
I relax and shut my eyes, one hand curled under my head and the other on Frank’s picture.
Pooja sighs next to me. “Juliet?”
“Hmm?”
“How do we get through this?”
I wish I knew the answer. “I think we all need to reset, you know? Regroup. We need Ben to quarterback us into a huddle and tell us what to do,” I say it teasingly, but I’m really not joking. Thinking of Ben leading us through a huddle in the lounge, across from room four, surrounded by Frank’s machines and weights, the answer hits me like a ton of bricks.
I sit up and tell Pooja, “We need to get back to Sheridan.”
Chase
After the disastrous morning with Juliet, I walk Sara home. She apologizes for getting me wasted the night before and for trying to take advantage of me. She says she didn’t know that Juliet would show up in the morning or she would never have stayed over.
I barely remember the night. All I know is I didn’t want to go to Frank’s funeral, but I didn’t want to be alone, either. Memories of the bar and Sara flash through my mind. She assures me we didn’t do anything in my room except pass out. But waking up with Sara in the bed I shared with Juliet makes my stomach churn more than my hangover. I chalk the day up as “terrible” and fall asleep after Rob cooks me dinner and gives me a lecture about calling my AA sponsor.
The next morning, I know what I need. I need Gram. Fuck it. I’m going to talk to her. I drag myself out of bed, make a cup of coffee to go, bundle up, and drag a lawn chair to Rob’s car. I drive myself to the cemetery, flip open the chair, and park my ass near her headstone.
The dirt over her coffin is covered in a light dusting of snow. Her shiny, new headstone mimics my grandfather’s, except she added a word. His reads, “Henry Chase, Beloved Husband, Father, and Friend.” Her headstone reads, “Gloria Blackwell Chase, Beloved Wife, Mother, Grandmother, and Friend.” She was always thinking of me, even when she ordered her own headstone.
I tighten my hands into fists in my coat pockets as I fight the cold. I don’t talk out loud, because that would mean I’m crazy. Like I’m not crazy enough, planted in a lawn chair in a cemetery in December. I make a mental note to bring flowers next time so I can make Gram’s resting place look like the other graves here. I talk to her in my head. I wish she could talk back.
After I say all I need to, I look to the sky. The weak winter sun warms my face ever so slightly, and I hear Gram. She’s telling me I’m not alone, that I’ll always have her. She’ll talk to me whenever I need her.
“I am fucking nuts,” I say, hearing her through the clouds. I can’t help watching them move, white swirling with blue. She sees the colors, too, she’d told me on the night she’d died.
The same night she’d told me about Rob.
I have a father. I can’t imagine Rob will ever be Father-of-the-Year, but at least I don’t have to go through life alone.
The swirls in the clouds move faster. Either Gram’s happy with my conclusion, or I’m insane. Or maybe she’s trying to tell me something else. When the clouds swirl with pink—the same pink that I paint around Juliet, the same pink that engulfs her whenever she laughs—I know what Gram’s saying.
I shake my head at the sky. “I’m sorry, Gram,” I say out loud. “I’m sorry that I los
t her.”
Gram doesn’t let up though. The pink in the sky widens and overtakes the whiteness of the clouds. “She’s gone,” I yell. “I blew it.” I can’t look at the pink anymore, and I’m sick that I disappointed my grandmother even in her death. I fold up the lawn chair, kiss Gram’s headstone, and leave. I may not be able to fix things with Juliet after the way I’ve acted, but I can listen to her about Rob.
I race home, park in the alley next to the gallery, and run upstairs to my room. I find the box I’d packed and hidden for Rob. I wanted to be sure before I did anything with it. I’m still not sure, but if Gram wants this to happen it’s the least I can do for her.
I bring the box to the gallery and walk through the artwork to Rob’s room-slash-office. “Rob?” I ask, as I push open the door. He’s waking up as I walk in.
“Chase? Are you okay?” He stands and stretches.
“Yeah, oh, I’m fine. I…um…I have to give you something.” I wave the box at him. No turning back now.
Rob rubs his eyes and yawns. “Huh? Christmas isn’t until next week.”
“I know.” I shake the box at him again. “I want you to have this now though.”
Rob shrugs. “I have something for you, too. Should I go get it?”
“No, no. I don’t mean to rush Christmas. It’s just…” If he keeps stalling, I’m going to bail. “Please, just open it.”
“Do you want to go upstairs?” He points to the door.
“No. For the love of Christ, open the damn box!” I practically yell.
“All right, all right. Calm down.” But when he reaches for the box, I pull it away.
“Wait.” I hold up my free hand. “I have to tell you something first.”
I spend a few seconds thinking about what to say, then decide to follow my heart. “What’s in this box is going to change your life. I want you to know whatever you feel about it, you can tell me. I’m prepared either way.”
Rob squints and scratches his head. “I’m guessing it’s not a sweater.”
“Not quite.” I hand him the box with a shaky hand. As he unwraps it, I debate whether or not to stop him again—whether or not I should grab it and run away. But I don’t.
He pulls out the picture frame first. While cleaning out Gram’s room, I’d found a picture of Rob and my mom. Young Rob looks exactly like me. My mom, Heather, looks into the camera, a giant smile plastered on her face, while Rob sits shoulder-to-shoulder with her, staring at her. It’s obvious from the picture how much they loved each other. He didn’t seem to notice that someone was taking their picture—he’s focused on her, and she looks so damn happy to be there with him.
Rob’s eyes fill with tears. “You knew the woman I told you about was your mom?” he asks in a shaky voice.
I nod.
He looks back at the picture, and I can almost see the memories running through his mind. Eventually, he comes back to the present. “I miss her. She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved. Thank you for this.”
His eyes get misty, so before he gets too overwhelmed with emotion I point to the box. “Um, there’s more.”
Rob digs into the box and pulls out the folded piece of paper. I hold my breath as he opens it. His eyes scan the paper, grow wide, and dart up to mine.
I raise my eyebrows. “It’s a boy,” I sing, throwing my hands up in a gesture of fake surprise. He’s frozen, staring, studying my face, his eyes widening. His silence freaks me out, so I babble, “Gram had the test done when she found out she was terminal. I think she had her suspicions when she wanted you to come back here. She gave me the paperwork the night she died, leaving it up to me whether or not to tell you. I debated. I didn’t know if you would want to know.”
“Wow.” Rob studies me. Then the paper. Then me again.
“Yeah, wow,” I repeat.
“Wow.” He looks at the paper then back to me.
I fake smile as he stares. “Um, are you just going to stare at me? Because it’s creepy.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t believe…I mean, Heather and me. I know Dave is your dad, but I’m your…dad…too. Wow.”
“Wow,” I repeat, nodding.
His eyes stay wide but the corners turn up, the way Juliet says mine do when I’m happy. “This is the best present I could ever get.” His half-smile turns full. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You’re welcome.” I exhale.
“Would it be weird if I hugged you?”
“Yes. Please don’t.”
“Okay, later. Wow.” Rob’s eyes lose focus as he wanders down memory lane. He looks from the picture of my mother to the paperwork, then back again. “My brother was a good man. A better dad than I could ever be.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to know him.” I’ve always regretted losing my dad. I never knew what it would be like to paint next to him, to talk over breakfast, to ask him about life. I’ll get the chance to know Rob, instead. I’m going to have a father. “Listen, I know there’s probably stuff we should talk about. I’m a little overwhelmed today, and maybe you are, too. Would you mind giving me until the end of the day? You can ‘wow’ and freak out all you need to. I…I need to do something.”
Rob shakes his head and refocuses. He runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Of course.” His voice squeaks, “You’re coming back though, right? This isn’t the part where you run off and go get high and all depressed and shit?”
I smirk as I dig his keys out of my pocket. “Honestly? I’m not too disappointed that you’re my old man. I mean, I thought you were a piece of shit a few months ago, but you’ve sort of grown on me.”
He grabs my shoulder hard and squeezes it. “Ha. And I thought you were a smart-ass brat, but I guess you’ve grown on me, too.”
“You’re the only one on my team now. Better gear up, because I’m a fucking mess, Pop.” I pull the keys out of my pocket.
“Pop?” he yells as I walk through the gallery and out to the car. I don’t turn around to show him my grin.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Juliet
Rocco drives me to the little beach town where Frank grew up and is now buried.
He points me to the grave and kisses my cheek. I promise to text him when I need to be picked up, and he drives away. Rocco’s not dealing with his emotions well these days. No wonder Pooja thinks he blames her. God knows he needs her now more than ever.
I walk through the headstones and look at the dates of the deceased. Nobody died as young as Frank. It’s easy to spot his grave because the dirt is still mounded, and his headstone glimmers. Francis Patrick O’Leary.
I think about Frank under the cold December ground. Tears roll down my cheeks. I pull my jacket tighter and wrap my arms to my body. The wind threatens to blow my hat away, so I pull it further over my ears. Oh, Frank.
I shut my eyes and say a prayer—the same prayer I say for Justine. Dear God. Please let him rest in peace and have everything he’s ever wanted. Please tell him that I miss him.
The ground crunches behind me as footsteps approach. I smell his aftershave before he speaks.
“Hi,” Chase says to my back.
“Hi,” I answer.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
I glance back at him. The sun shines down on us, and Chase shields his eyes as he squints back at me. He shaved and got a haircut. “I missed the funeral yesterday when I went to your apartment. I felt I had to see it,” I say.
“Me, too. I feel like shit for missing the ceremony.”
“You should.” I sound like my mother.
“I do. Satisfied?”
I flinch at the tone of his voice. He turns his back to me.
I want to yell at him about Sara, but I remember Pooja’s comments about Chase’s shakiness. “I’m sorry,” I say to his back. “Let’s not fight here.”
I go to him and wrap my arms around him. He spins and tightens his arms around me. I sag, full of sadness—for Frank, for Chase, for Be
n, and selfishly, for me. I sniffle into Chase’s coat and try to bury myself in his warmth.
Chase’s tears wet my cheek. “I don’t know what to do.” It’s the same thing he said to me the night his grandmother died, the night we were together.
“Me neither.” My voice shakes as I pull away and sit next to Frank’s headstone. The ground is frozen solid, but I don’t care. I pull my coat low to cover my hips and sit on it, bend my legs, and hide my face in my arms. I don’t want to look at Chase, but when he sits down next to me, I rest my head on his shoulder. Neither of us say anything.
I’m tired of feeling sad. I’m tired of the world fucking with me. When I look to the sky and see the sunshine streaming through the grey winter clouds, I remember Pooja’s words. It’s time.
I sit up and twist toward Chase. The bags underneath his red-rimmed eyes drain the purple color from them. He really is lost. I don’t want to be lost.
I push his hair over his ear and meet his gaze. “Do you know they say twins are connected?”
He tilts his head and frowns. “I’ve heard that.”
“She was trying to save me when she died. I couldn’t save her—”
“It’s not your fault.”
He doesn’t know though. He doesn’t know what I told Gloria before she died. “It is, Chase. She was protecting me. She took my place and saved me from her killer.” I tell Chase about the mall, Justine disappearing, the empty part of me that I can’t seem to fill since she died.
He listens. With tears in his tired eyes, he listens. Then he holds me the way I held him after Gloria died.
“How are you so strong?” he says quietly, and I’m not sure he wants an answer.
With my face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, I shake my head. “I’m not, Chase. I wasn’t. I’m trying to be now though.”
Then it hits me.
She Laughs in Pink (Sheridan Hall #1) Page 25
