by Callie Hart
“Fuck.” Cringing, he scrubs his face with one hand. When he lowers the hand, he’s kind of a little red himself. “Well. Apologies for that,” he says awkwardly. “I’m gonna go and get you another coffee. Please wait here. I won’t be a second, I swear.”
“Okay.” I really am going to be late for class if I don’t set off for the academy now, but there’s something so earnest and freaking cute about this guy that I think I’ll mortally wound him if I say no.
He grins the widest smile I’ve ever seen. “Great. Don’t—just—” He holds his hands out. “Just stay.”
I laugh. “Staying. Promise.”
The second he’s inside, I want to bail. The Firebird’s right there, and I’ve never been late for a class before. Never, in my career at Wolf Hall. I don’t want to start now. But I promised. I shouldn’t have promised.
The morning’s warmer than normal today—no ice on the ground at least—but it’s still brisk enough for me to shuffle from one foot to the other, trying to keep warm while I wait for this mystery clutz to come back. I eat my bagel in record time, just to get rid of the damn thing. The guy’s longer than he said he’d be. It’s nearly ten minutes before he comes hurrying out of the café with four takeaway coffee cups balanced precariously in his hands.
He looks a little bashful as he approaches. “So, I forgot to ask what you had again. I’ve got a double shot Cappuccino here. A latte. Some pumpkin spiced…foamy…I don’t know. Some girls like that shit. And uh…I think this is actually a tea of some kind. Hot tea with honey and lemon.”
He's so scattered and all over the place that I feel bad for him. His eyes, very close to mine in color now that I’m looking at them, are bright and sharp. “I’ll take the Cappuccino,” I tell him, smiling. I manage to take it without the remaining drinks ending up on the floor. He sets the other three cups down on the low wall by the café’s entrance and selects the one closest to him.
He takes a sip and winces. “Oh. Oh god, no. Pumpkin spice is…urgh!” He sticks out his tongue, grabs one of the other cups and drinks from that instead, sighing a breath of relief. “Man, that was fucking disgusting. How can people drink that?”
I try not to smile too hard. “It’s a very polarizing beverage. I, myself, am a card-carrying member of the ‘Pumpkin Spice is the Work of the Devil’ club.”
“Can I fill out an application? That shit was nasty.” He shudders. “Oh my god. I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Andre, the guy who broke three of your ribs because he wasn’t looking where he was going.”
“Carina. Carrie, actually. Nice to meet you. And don’t worry about the ribs. They’re totally fine.” I check my phone, grimacing when I see the time. It’s almost eight. “I am so sorry, but I really have to go—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Andre laughs nervously again. “Look, uh, you go to the fancy school, right? The one at the top of the mountain?”
I’ve never heard anyone refer to the academy as fancy before, but I suppose to an outsider Wolf Hall might appear that way. “How did you know?”
“My cousin lives here. I come back to Mountain Lakes all the time and I’ve never seen you around. Pretty sure I’d remember you. So, yeah. Kinda makes sense that you’ve been locked away up there on the hill.”
“So…you don’t go to school here? In Mountain Lakes?” I don’t know why but I’m kind of disappointed by this.
“No. I’m in college. Albany State.”
Huh. College guy. Nice.
“Look. I know you’ve gotta go, but…I’m here studying, it’s supposed to be easier to concentrate, but…god, I’m rambling. Would you like to grab some food with me this weekend? Specifically, would you like to go on a date with me? I still feel bad about mowing you down, and we’ve already been over the fact that I think you’re really pretty so…”
I gape at him. “Uhhh…a date? Well…” Dash’s face pops into my brain, and nausea spikes in my stomach. Why the hell do I feel like I’m doing something wrong? I feel like I’m cheating on him or something, betraying his trust. I’m not the one who betrayed his trust, though. He betrayed mine. Burned it to the fucking ground. And guess what? That was eight fucking months ago.
I make up my mind. “You know what? Sure. A date sounds awesome. Thank you.”
Andre beams. He sticks a hand into the pocket of his thick red down jacket and pulls out a Screamin’ Beans napkin. There’s already a bunch of neat, blocky writing on it, followed by a telephone number. “I was kind of hoping you’d say yes.” He looks sheepish. “That’s why I took so long in there. They couldn’t find a pen.”
I take the napkin from him, laughing. He blows out his cheeks, looking around. “Gotta check the bushes. Make sure none of my friends are watching me make a fool of myself,” he says.
“You’re not making a fool of yourself.”
“No?”
I shake my head. “Promise.”
“Best news I’ve had all day,” he says. “Okay. Go. Don’t wanna be late, right?”
I back away from him, tucking the napkin into my pocket. He watches me, nursing his latte as I get into the Firebird and start the engine. I stop at the parking lot’s exit, winding down the window.
“Hey, Andre?”
His eyes light up. “Yeah?”
“No more coffee, okay?”
He grins. “No, ma’am. Scout’s honor. No more coffee for me.”
40
CARRIE
I go on the date with Andre. I go on a second date with Andre the next night, too. He’s sweet, and he’s funny, and when he leans in and kisses me, it doesn’t feel like the world is ending. It doesn’t feel like it’s on fire, either, which is good, I suppose. It feels safe when his lips meet mine, and safe is something I haven’t felt for as long as I can remember. Safe has its merits. It means I don’t feel like I’m going to be let down any second. Andre also doesn’t have two hostile, highly aggressive best friends who want to make my life a living hell, either, which is a mark in his favor.
On our third date, he invites me to a party that his friend’s brother is throwing, and I accept. The week trudges by slowly, and everyone starts talking about the fact the Riot House boys are heading into Boston for some charity ball Dashiell’s father is hosting. I know the Edmondson party was a fluke—there’s no way Dash would show up a party being held by some college football player—but just knowing they’ll be out of town the night of the party is a relief. There won’t be any surprises with the three of them a hundred and sixty miles away in the city.
Elle doesn’t want to go to the party at first. Pres is ambivalent, because obviously Pax won’t be there. It takes a little work to corral both girls into agreeing to go. Soon enough, we’re at Andre’s friend’s place, though, and everything feels…good. Free. This is what I’m supposed to feel like—a regular teenager, attending a regular party with a regular boy that she likes.
The girls and I touch up our makeup in the bathroom, and I finally come clean to Elodie and Pres about Andre. They’re both so happy for me, secretly relieved, I’m sure, that I’m finally getting over Dash. I know I haven’t exactly been a barrel of laughs to be around lately. I cried in front of Elodie at Screamin’ Beans when Dash rolled up out of the blue, for fuck’s sake. This melancholia I’ve been lugging around with me like a suitcase full of bricks has been a drag for my friends as well as me. They’d never say so, they’re far too polite for that, but it’s probably been hellish for them, having to deal with my rollercoaster emotions.
Andre represents a new chapter in my life. A fresh start and a fresh outlook. He’s cute. He’s smart. Uncomplicated. I can picture having a future with him, whereas a future with Dash always looked murky at best. His title. His family. His money. His friends. There were so many roadblocks standing in our way. With Andre, there are no obstacles.
I probe Elodie gently while we’re in the bathroom about this tension that’s still mounting between her and Wren, but she refuses to talk. I’ve seen all of the signs. I know what denial l
ooks like when I see a girl falling for a Riot House boy—I used to see it in the mirror every damn day—and there’s nothing I can do to save her now.
Andre shows up at eleven. I’ve only had two beers, so I’m fully in control of my faculties. Elodie and Pres shoo me away, telling me to go and talk to the handsome boy grinning at me from across the other side of the room, and I don’t need telling twice.
He greets me by pulling me to him and kissing me deeply—something Dash would never have done—and being in his arms feels warm. Normal. When we finally come up for air, he holds me at arms’ length, laughing. “Wow. Corduroy overalls. Purple corduroy overalls. And shamrocks. Quite the outfit there, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? Well, doesn’t that feel warm and fuzzy? Even his terms of endearment fit nicely. They’re inoffensive. Comfortable. Like putting on a well-worn favorite sweater. Dash’s nicknames for me felt like a tight, slinky silk dress—good to try on for size, but they were never comfortable. They made me feel…electrified. It was a sensation I always craved, but isn’t it the case that our addictions are never good for us? I mean, when is being electrocuted ever a good thing?
“I did find this cute little hessian sack at the store, but they didn’t have it in my size,” I tell Andre, pretending to pout.
He plays along. “Damn shame. Hessian sacks are itchy, sure, but they’re really fucking cute.”
He kisses me again, and his mouth tastes like butterscotch, so, so sweet. God, everything about him is sweet.
We dance. Andre holds me, arms wrapped tight around me, and I can’t imagine what this would have felt like with Dash. Dancing didn’t seem like an activity he’d be caught dead doing. A loud romper stomper of a song comes on, and we bounce around like idiots, laughing, trading kisses and sips of our drinks as we jostle for space on the dance floor. Andre takes my hand and pulls me from the dance floor. “Come on. Let’s find somewhere to take a breather—"
My phone buzzes in my back pocket as he leads me outside. I’m going to silence it—I want to spend tonight enjoying myself with Andre, not scrolling through Instagram notifications—but then I see the name on the screen and the smile slips from my face.
Ashley’s Emporium Bridal…
The name is cut off, but I recognize the business: Alderman’s latest sham company for his burner phone. We’re outside now. Andre’s successfully guided me out into the freezing night air without letting me walk into anyone. He tugs his beanie from his head and gently puts it on me, tucking my curls out of my face. “There,” he says. “Don’t want you catching cold.”
I wince down at my cellphone, and Andre notices for the first time that the screen is lit up with an incoming call. “Oh damn. Do you need to get that?”
I cringe. “Kinda.” Alderman never calls unless it’s important. Screening him would be a dumb idea.
Andre isn’t fazed in the slightest. He kisses my forehead quickly and begins to walk back to the house. “No worries. Take your time. I’ll grab us some more drinks.”
“Thank you.” He really is perfect. The second the front door’s closed behind him, I pick up. “Hey. What’s up?”
Alderman’s voice is business-like and as cool as ever. “Where are you?” Straight to the point. The man’s never been good at small talk.
“I’m at a party. With my friends. And a boy. And I’ve had four beers, too.” Once one truth pops out, there’s no stopping the others. They keep on coming, one after another. I should have cushioned the blow somehow, spaced it out instead of flaunting the fact that I’ve completely lost my goddamn mind and broken all of his rules, but what’s done is done.
I grit my teeth, waiting for the shouting to start…but then again, I should know better. Alderman doesn’t shout. That’s just not who he is. He gets quiet. Serious. Disappointed.
“Okay. Having fun?”
I blink, relaxing my shoulders. Wait. He doesn’t sound quiet, serious or disappointed. He sounds…amused? “Yes?” My guardian isn’t the type for jokes. If he’s trying to lull me into a false sense of security before he brings the axe down, telling me I’ll have to be on the first flight back to Seattle in the morning, then this is a cruel attempt at humor. “Are you…okay?”
“I’m fine. I just thought I’d call to give you some good news.”
“Good news?”
“As you know, I have family in Grove Hill. That’s why I was there that night,” he says. “When I found you on the side of the road.”
I frown, trying to preempt what he’s going to say next. “Right?”
“There are things I haven’t told you, Carrie. Things that’ll take too long to explain over the phone. But one of my family members there is a man of considerable power and wealth. He’s not a nice person, but that’s beside the point. He’s important. He and I do not see eye-to-eye. I’ve been working on him for a long time now, trying to get him to do me this one favor—”
For some reason, my heart’s pounding. It makes no sense. Nothing he’s saying should be making me anxious, and yet my whole body is shaking. “God, can you spit it out, Alderman? I’m freaking out over here. Is this about…is it about…”
Kevin.
The man I killed.
The crime I cannot escape.
I can’t even say his name out loud.
“Yes, it’s about what happened,” Alderman confirms. “I’ll cut to the chase. I didn’t think I was going to be able to get this man, my uncle, to help me in clearing your name. But certain events have altered his circumstances recently. I dug up a few pieces of choice information that helped him see how beneficial it would be to him, personally, if he were to make it his business to clear your name.”
“I don’t…understand. I mean…how could he clear my name?”
“When I say he’s important, I mean he’s very important. He’s the governor of Alabama. He oversees the entire state police department. It was within his power to pardon you and have all mention of Kevin Winthrope’s name expunged from your file. He just wouldn’t do it because he’s an evil son of a bitch. I’ve changed his mind, though. Finally. Only took me six years, but—”
I clap my hand over my mouth, tears blurring my vision. “What? What do you mean?” My voice cracks. I try to hold myself together, but it’s impossible. “I don’t understand,” I whisper.
“Are you crying?” Alderman is not a huge fan of emotion.
“No.” The lie is pathetic. I don’t even know why I bother.
He grunts. “Well, we can go over the details another time. There are a lot of things we need to talk about, but for now this is enough. Everything finally came together. Your name has officially been cleared, Hannah. You don’t need to worry anymore. You’re safe, kid. You’re free.”
I screw my eyes shut, trying not to make a sound as I sob silently into my hand.
Safe? Free?
The words ring in my ears, two simple terms that so many people take for granted. I’ve never had much cause to believe either would apply to me, and yet the man who saved me from the side of the road has just told me that I’m now both.
“Go and enjoy your party, Hannah,” he says.
I sniff, wiping at my eyes. “You know…” I say, my voice shaking a little. “I think I prefer Carina.”
Alderman laughs. “Fair enough. Carina, it is.”
“What…what about the rules?”
“The first, second and fourth no longer apply. The third does, but by the sounds of things it may as well not exist, so—”
I burst out laughing. I can’t stop myself. I never thought I’d experience this feeling. The pain and the horror I suffered that night in Grove Hill will never go away. Not fully. But I don’t have to keep it a secret anymore. I don’t have to keep lying. My entire future has just completely transformed in the span of one short phone call. There are so many possibilities now. And Alderman, in his very awkward, fatherly way, is still trying to warn me off boys.
“Just go, Carrie. Have a good night. Your police reco
rds have been sealed. All of the relevant documents have been signed. I have everything here, waiting for you. There’s nothing for you to worry about anymore.”
I can’t believe it. I really can’t. “Thank you. I—I don’t even know what to say.”
“An incredible injustice has finally been set right. You don’t need to say a word. Goodnight, Carrie.”
“Goodnight.”
Alderman disconnects the call. I’m still staring at the phone when a girl I don’t recognize comes careening out of the house, screaming my name at the top of her lungs. “Yo, Mendoza!! Get your ass inside! Your friend’s about to start a fight!”
41
DASH
There are a thousand types of alcohol I prefer over champagne, but my father’s a pretentious prick, so that’s all that’s on offer this evening; there’s enough Möet & Chandon in this ballroom to drown a fucking naval fleet.
I drain my third glass, tugging angrily at my tie. I swear, the damned thing is trying to choke me. I haven’t seen my old man yet. He likes to make a grand entrance once all of his guests have arrived and it’s early yet. I’m antsy as fuck, though. There will be fireworks tonight for more than one reason: Mercy Jacobi is here, and Wren still hasn’t forgiven his sister over the Fitz/Mara debacle.
By the buffet table, I’m talking about the current state of the stock market to a guy with a very shiny head, very bald head, when Wren appears with steam blowing out of his ears. His suit is coal black, as is his shirt and silk tie. With his pale skin and his mass of black, wavy hair, he looks like death himself. “You invited Mercy?” he seethes.
“Excuse me. I see my wife beckoning me.” Brad, the bald guy who was boring me to tears over a shrimp vol-au-vent, has the good sense to scarper. Lucky bastard.
I need to tread lightly here. But y’know what? I shouldn’t fucking have to. I’m treading lightly because Wren’s temper is ridiculous these days. He’s all worked up over the new girl, Elodie. It’s so painfully fucking obvious. By rights, I should be making his life a living hell. Isn’t that what he would have done to Carrie, if I’d been open about seeing her? Wasn’t that the whole point of creeping around, feeling guilty, feeling like absolute shit, actually, hiding the way I felt?
