Angels of Belle Meade

by Lindsey Iler

  There it is. The truth. Even without knowing what she means, I feel the walls begin to close in on me.

  “Serve the community?” I mull over her words, unaware how three teenage girls could possibly serve their community.

  “With an iron fist,” Mr. Reynolds emphasizes, stepping forward. “Now, let’s get this over with before the clock strikes midnight.” He flips a page in his pretty little book and locks in on my face, continuing down the line until Amilee and Emerson have received the same attention.

  My best friends’ parents have never appeared so tired and unhappy. Whatever this is must be important. My mother stands, toying with the polish on her nails, completely pleased with herself. Her eyes are cast down, but I still see the bright, cheerful smile. It blinds me as I wait for some answers.

  “I’m starting to freak out. Someone, please explain what’s going on.” I ease backward, away from everyone, hoping to put space between the crazy happening in front of us.

  My friends follow my lead, until a wooden chair hits behind my knees.

  “Perhaps we should slow this down.” Mrs. Kingsley glares at my mother whose soul barely fidgets, knowing fully well whatever is happening will rattle our lives.

  “Did we get the same courtesy?” My mother’s eyes widen, unblinking and unamused with Amilee’s mom’s suggestion.

  “It was a different time.” Mrs. Saville’s features soften as she watches Emerson.

  “That may be so, but no matter what we tell them, the truth is, they have no other choice but to do as tradition states.” My mother’s voice is boisterous. She’s unamused with their willingness to help us understand. “You three”— she points down the line, stopping at me—“better learn to fall in line.”

  “Or what, Mother?” I fake some form of confidence. My mind is empty, though. Barely a single thought forms.

  “Do you really want to find out?” Mother places a gentle hand on Mr. Reynolds’ shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Mrs. Kingsley holds up her hand. “Before we do, girls, you need to understand that, for generations, our town has been governed by an elite group of girls.”

  None of her words make any sense.

  “You three?” Emerson waves her hand at our mothers.

  “Yes,” they answer together.

  “And your grandmothers before us, and those before them as far back as history goes,” Mrs. Kingsley adds.

  “What do you mean by govern?” I ask.

  “Essentially”—my mother shrugs— “we are the judge, jury, and executioner.” She giggles this hysterical laugh, and it sounds like nails on a chalkboard. “I stand corrected. Were the judge, jury, and executioner.”

  “Meaning?” Amilee snaps. Maybe she’s starting to understand this isn’t going to be like our other birthdays.

  “Meaning we take care of anyone who gets out of line.” My mother taunts me with her words, knowing they’ll have an effect on me.

  “You kill them?” Emerson blurts, and I smack her across the stomach.

  “Of course not,” I scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I pull my attention back to my mother whose attention is being syphoned by the floor. “That can’t be true. Right, Mother?”

  “We didn’t have much of a choice,” she tries to explain the truth. “Much like the three of you don’t.”

  “There is always a choice, Mother,” I bark. “So, what, someone gets out of line, breaks some unwritten law, and you dispose of them as if they don’t matter?”

  “It’s not that simple. There are things about this town you are unaware of. Things you can’t even begin to understand.” She breathes out a heavy sigh.

  Please don’t tell me she’s bored with this conversation. There couldn’t be any less emotion radiating off of her.

  I stand up abruptly, giving her no choice but to move back. “Then explain it to us. Because I have a feeling this night doesn’t end with the three of you old bags continuing to govern over this town.” I cut my eyes to Mr. Reynolds. “Am I, right? It’s us, isn’t it? We’re nineteen, which holds some sort of weight in this twisted story.” Mr. Reynolds checks with our parents for permission. “Just answer the damn question.” My outburst causes him to jump.

  “Yes, it’s you three’s responsibility to step up and take over for your mothers,” he answers honestly.

  “And if we don’t?” Amilee asks.

  Yeah, what if we don’t? We have to have some sort of free will in our own lives. There has to be something that can be done. I swallow the lump in my throat, suddenly aware of every nerve in my body. It all feels like it’s beginning to shut down.

  “There are consequences, Amilee. Consequences you aren’t prepared to endure,” he says seriously.

  It’s not so much the words coming from Mr. Reynold’s mouth, but the determined, frustrated tone that brings the three of us to each other’s sides.

  “Don’t scare the children,” my father intervenes.

  “Did you hear what you just said?” I bark. “We’re children, and now you’re expecting us to, what, walk around town like the Grim Reaper, cutting the throats of our neighbors?”

  “Don’t be dramatic, Lennox,” my father barks. “You aren’t Grim Reapers.”

  I scan the room, landing on every face that stares back at me. They all have the same expectant expression. In this moment, I know we have no choice. This isn’t something we can decline.

  Everything goes numb, from my head to my toes. The low murmurs sound as if I’m not in the same room with them. Is it possible to have a heart attack before you’ve barely lived?

  “We’re the Angels of Belle Meade,” I say under my breath. “It all makes sense now.” I pace back and forth, deciding if this is something escapable. Pictures of my life flash in my mind, and I sigh a lungful of defeat. “Every time I asked any questions, you never had any answers for me, but this is why. You couldn’t tell me, because if you did, then I’d have every reason to run.”

  “This isn’t something you can escape, Lennox,” Mr. Reynolds explains. He wasn’t the one I was asking.

  She’s my mother, and somehow, she hates me enough not to have the decency to look me in the eyes to tell me my life doesn’t belong to me.

  “No, I get that.” I nod. “Now.”

  “Can we get started?” my mother urges, rolling her finger in a small circle, impatient.

  At her eagerness, my body goes into autopilot until we are nose to nose.

  “You’ve been waiting for this day to come, haven’t you, Mother? Your daughter’s beauty will now hold a purpose. You aren’t trapped by the role anymore,” I say, not backing away.

  “Precisely.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

  The devil himself has nothing on my mother. I’ve always known we didn’t get along, and for a long time, I’d convinced myself it was normal mother/daughter behavior. There’s no need to pretend or try to make excuses. She actually hates me.

  “Get started.” She pushes me back toward my best friends, and Amilee catches me.

  “Yes,” he answers as our parents sit down. “Girls, please come forward.” He gestures us toward him and places each of our hands on top of the pages of his book.

  This is it. Whatever is meant to happen, there’s no out, no trick door to help us escape our fate.

  “None of this will make any sense, but it will soon enough, I promise.” Mr. Reynolds holds the gold leaf book in front of him.

  I appreciate his tender smile. He doesn’t look happy about how this all has played out, but like us, I have a feeling Mr. Reynolds has no choice.

  The three of us stand, our shoulders smashed together, anchoring ourselves to a new world, an unknown, where we rule over all below us.

  We’ve always been each other’s support. Tonight, it will be no different.

  And just like that, it’s all over.

  Our lives, our freedom, they no longer belong to us.

  Chapter Four

  Lennox

 
My eyes won’t open. Maybe it’s exhaustion, or my will is at a tender low, but either way, they are firmly clamped shut. A pain, more a memory of excruciating torture, filters through my mind, reminding me of the awareness I’d first experienced last night.

  “Make it stop!” My own terror startles me fully awake. I blink feverishly, the intrusion of the light too much for my groggy mind and body to comprehend.

  My hand clasps around my forearm. The skin is raised like a fresh burn.

  “Why is yours visible?” Amilee’s soft whisper startles me.

  How did she get in here without waking me? She sits on the edge of my mattress, a sour expression on her face.

  “Do you have to sneak up on me like that?” I press my chest to calm my racing heart and sigh in relief when I slide down on the soft bed.

  “Sorry.” Her finger ghosts over my burn. “It’s strange yours is out in the open for anyone to see.”

  I gently rub the mark, a flood of memories rushing back from last night.

  “This is all pretty messed up, right? I mean, it makes sense that we’re sort of freaking out,” Amilee gushes, barely able to catch a breath, while I sit beside her struck by a debilitating silence. “Are you going to say anything?”

  “This hurts.” I run a single fingertip over the burn. The dull throb is nothing but a reminder of what I am. Yesterday, I woke up seemingly normal, and now, I no longer am. “And I don’t know why only mine is visible, and quite frankly, I don’t want the answer. After the madness I witnessed yesterday, I’m not sure I can handle the truth at this point.”

  “What are we going to do?” Amilee rests her head on my shoulder, winding her arm through mine.

  “First, I’m going to get dressed, and then we’re going to pick up Emerson and head over to see Mr. Reynolds.” I stand, forcing Amilee’s grip to loosen. “I bought a cookie cake to celebrate, you know, before all this happened.”

  “Mr. Reynolds freaks me out,” she admits, stooping to inspect her hair in the mirror. As always, she’s flawless. Her sleek, red hair is in a high ponytail. Her eyes are darker than usual. Where they used to be this light peridot, they are now a striking emerald, a complete contrast to her pearly skin.

  “Only because of the voodoo magic he pulled last night.” I roll my eyes, trying to feign confidence. “Mr. Reynolds is on our side. He’s going to teach us everything we need to know.”

  “How to govern and kill those who overstep their boundaries?” Her tight laughter makes me smirk. She stands to her full height. “It’s not funny, Lennox. It’s really not.”

  I waltz over in front of her. My hands reach for hers, and I hold them tight. With each deep breath, Amilee inhales and exhales in rhythm with me.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. We’re going to walk into that place with confidence. Clearly, this isn’t something to mess with. We’re going to hear Mr. Reynolds out, listen to everything he can teach us, because whether we like it or not. This. Is. Our Life,” I urge, fighting to believe my own words.

  “And what if we don’t want this?” Amilee lets go and presses her palm against her throat.

  “I don’t think we have much choice, and until we figure this whole thing out, I think it would be best if we rallied together. We can’t show our fear.” I walk into the closet, pull out a pair of torn black jeans and a tank top, and breeze out, sporting that confidence I speak of but completely lack. “There’s no telling what could happen if we don’t do this, Ami, and I don’t plan on finding out.”

  Once I’m “public ready,” as my mother likes to call it, Amilee and I walk into the kitchen to find the devil herself. The point of her stiletto assaults the bar stool she sits upon, making her look everything like the predator she is.

  “Good morning, girls.” Her smirk tells me everything I already know. She’s enjoying no longer being in my newfound position.

  “How’s your freedom feeling this morning, Mother?” I growl under my breath, plucking an apple from the silver bowl on the island. The crisp sound as I bite into the skin draws her attention.

  “Quite well, actually.” Her eyebrow ticks. “If you must know, I slept like a baby. Thanks for asking, sweetheart.” Her words are tender, but her tone is the opposite.

  “Did you even try to stop this from happening? You clearly know what this will do to us, what kind of position we’ll be in until the next generation takes over. Do you love me so little, Mother?” The marble countertop rumbles under my fist as the two connect.

  “This is the reason why you were born.” She stands abruptly and leans forward, her voice loud and assaulting. “Don’t think for one second I actually wanted you.”

  My cheeks burn with embarrassment.

  “Mom?” Sarah Beth’s sweet voice breaks our fight. “Please don’t argue with each other.”

  “Oh, honey, good morning. Do you want some breakfast?” Our mother lovingly embraces her, ushering her to the table, while I silently watch something I’ve never seen before. Our mother, being a mother.

  “We’re going to be late. We better get going.” Amilee stands beside me, a soft hand on my shoulder. She’s the support I needed without knowing.

  “You Angels enjoy your day,” my mother says, smirking over Sarah Beth’s head. I lunge forward but am caught by my best friend.

  “Sarah Beth, can you do me a favor and cover your ears?” Amilee asks, smiling when she mimics what she expects. Once my sister’s ears are masked, Amilee’s attention flips to my mother. “No offense, Mrs. Callahan, but you’re a filthy, miserable excuse for a human being.” She leads me toward the front door before addressing my mother one last time. “Oh, and it’s no wonder your husband is always sneaking away with anything that has a sweet little pussy.” She winks at my stunned mother.

  My laughter booms through the foyer. Amilee drags me by the arm until we are free and clear of my mother’s watch.

  “I can’t believe you just said that to her,” I say, buckling at the waist to catch my breath.

  “Get in the car. I may have said it, but that doesn’t mean that lady doesn’t truly scare the shit out of me,” she urges, shooing me toward the passenger seat.

  “Oh, shit!” I peer over the hood. “I forgot the cake.”

  “I think Emerson will understand.” She giggles. “Unless you plan on going back in there, because if you do, you’ll be doing it alone.” Her thumb jabs toward the house.

  “No, you’re right,” I say, slipping inside Amilee’s car.

  We drive for a short while in absolute silence. Maybe we are both afraid to truly admit we heard the hatred from my mother’s mouth, or perhaps everything is too heavy right now. Too new. Too complicated.

  With a few deep breaths, I press my forehead against the window. My warm breath creates a fog, distorting the only world I’ve ever known.

  “About what your mom said . . .” Amilee whispers.

  “Mother, you mean?” I glance over at her. “You see, it doesn’t take much to be a mother. It’s biological. A mom, now, that takes work.” I lean against the glass again, embracing the coolness. “That bitch has never had anything but disdain toward me, and now, I understand why.”

  “Lenny, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t, okay? I don’t want your pity,” I urge, sitting back against the seat. My head rolls to face my best friend.

  “It’s not fair.”

  “Life’s not fair, Amilee. If it was, do you think we’d be spending the day after our nineteenth birthday learning how to wrangle the town’s weak and disobedient?” My lip curls up in the corner, because feeling her pity for me is a special kind of hell. “Let’s just go pick up Emerson and get this first day behind us, all right?”

  “Always the wise one, you are, Lennox,” Amilee states, turning her full attention to the road leading to our best friend’s house.

  *****

  Something about Emerson’s home is comforting. The walls bleed acceptance while the floors whisper their gratitude. It’s unlike my own, and perhaps w
hy, when I’m here, a pressure lifts from my shoulders. There is no reason to worry, no glancing over my shoulder, and certainly, no sign of my mother.

  “What do you think this means?” Amilee scoots forward so Emerson and I can join her on the bed. A book with worn edges and stained pages is propped up on her lap. “Mr. Reynolds says we each hold our own source of power, and to be careful until we learn how to control it.”

  “So?” I say, rolling to my stomach and folding the pages in my own book.

  Starved for information, we’ve stooped to stealing from her mother’s private journals. If it isn’t given freely, then we’ll take and take until there is nothing left to learn.

  “So, the point is, we should master those things before Mr. Reynolds tries to teach us,” Amilee explains, gawking at me when I glance at her.

  “What does the book say?” I ask.

  “Well, apparently, we’ll be able to see events, in real time, as they occur, from the comfort of our thrones,” Amilee says.

  “What else?” Emerson asks.

  “Check this out.” Amilee lies down beside me, her legs kicking, carefree and relaxed. She points at the page scribed in old cursive. Buried in the information we’re desperate for is the most fascinating picture.

  “Is that an angel? Are we supposed to look like that?” I ask, curious when my wings will sprout.

  “We aren’t your average angels,” Mrs. Saville says, slinking past the small opening in the doorway, her hands held up in peace. She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. “We’re the first of our kind. We don’t quite fit into any particular box but have similar traits as the traditional angels you girls have probably read about.”

  “So, what makes us so different?” Emerson asks her mother.

  “We kill, for one.” Mrs. Saville shrugs. There’s no shame in her voice over the fact of what our bloodline dictates. She’s settled with the knowledge of our responsibilities. I hope the feeling of acceptance will come with time. “And another thing is, we don’t walk around in white robes, extravagant wings, and a luminescent halo. You girls are undeniably beautiful, a light in the world around you.” She skims the back of her fingers down Emerson’s cheek, reminding me of what I’m missing. “But there’s also a dark layer that surrounds our kind.”