The Girls On the Hill

by Alison Grey

  The room was suddenly filled with the sounds of moaning. Groaning. Screaming. Spanking. Slapping. Begging.

  We had hours and hours of men, and a few women, parading in and out of Mrs. Wendi Hughes’ marital bedroom. Miguel told us she was insatiable, but this was impressive.

  “Sex addiction is real, and you need help, friend.” Brooke contrived her best sad face. The kind she’d probably used on her kids when they were younger. “I just thought maybe you’d appreciate the video. You know, sometimes we don’t recognize a problem until we see ourselves through a different lens.”

  The sound of Wendi climaxing was the perfect crescendo.

  “Turn it off.”

  Her voice was eerily calm and for the first time I realized if this didn’t work, we had no other back up.

  “Fuck.” She had walked back to her desk now and placed her hands on it, her head thrown back, eyes closed, as she faced the ceiling.

  “I’ll sell the hotel,” she said, her eyes still closed. “I’ll talk to Jason.”

  “Great.” Rufus smiled. “I’m so glad we can agree on terms. There’s one more thing though, Mrs. Hughes.”

  She turned around to face him. Tears slid down forming little black rivers across her contoured cheeks.

  “What else do you want from me? Isn’t that enough?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, none of this will be enough,” Rufus answered. “But I’m hoping the next life takes care of the rest.”

  Wendi rolled her eyes.

  “Fine. What else?”

  “Olivia’s parents,” Rufus said. “You will fund a memorial for Olivia. And you will sponsor a scholarship in her name for underprivileged applicants looking to go to Martha Jefferson. In perpetuity. That means the scholarship lives on, even past your death.”

  “I know what in perpetuity means, fucker,” she snapped. “Whatever. Fine. Where does it need to be built? And how do I get you out of my office and life as fast as I possibly can?”

  “Oh, that’s the best part,” Hollis said. “The memorial will be on the old Brentmore property.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “We’re tearing it down,” I said. “The day the sale closes, that building is getting imploded. We’re turning it into a memorial park, and you’re paying for it.”

  She stared at me for a long time. The hate coming through that stare was something I’d never seen in another person in my entire life.

  And that’s saying something when you live in LA.

  “Okay,” she said. “And if I do all of this, you give me the journal and the video footage?”

  “Uh, no.” Hollis laughed. “We’re not idiots, Wendi. You never get the journal. Or the video footage. But as long as you keep your end of the bargain, we guarantee they never see the light of day.”

  “And part of that bargain is keeping your people from coming after us,” Brooke inserted. “No retaliation efforts or even the hint of them. Or the journal and the videos get leaked.”

  We all stood there for what seemed like a long time, but what was probably only a few seconds.

  “You win.” Wendi tucked her chin down and suddenly I knew what writers meant when they described someone’s wind leaving their sails.

  “No one wins,” Rufus replied. “That’s the whole point.”

  He turned to walk away. Brooke followed him, a little skip in her step. Hollis looked at me and then looked at Wendi who looked completely defeated.

  “Any other questions?” I couldn’t help asking. The door to her office was open now so I’d assumed there was nothing left to say.

  “Only one,” she replied. “What does YAF stand for in the name of the bullshit company you booked this meeting under?”

  Hollis grinned at me. “You tell her.”

  I turned to Wendi Hughes, the nastiest person I’d ever known and hoped I’d ever know.

  “You. Are. Fucked.”

  * * *

  The thing about revenge is that it only feels good for a little while.

  Afterwards, you’re still left with your loss. Revenge can’t get that back for you.

  But you make do with what you can.

  A year later we broke ground on Olivia Barron Memorial Park. All four of us were there and we cried watching the Barrons cut the ribbon that day that opened the park.

  “The longer she’s gone, the more I remember what was good about her,” Sheridan said. She was freshly divorced from Heath and she’d never looked better. It was like having the old Sheridan back, the one I’d always loved differently from the rest of the girls. Sheridan was always the first hug when I was back from break. She was the first to worry about Olivia when no one could find her on 9/11.

  Sheridan was our nurturing girl on the hill.

  “I think that’s how it’s supposed to be,” Hollis said, handing Sheridan a tissue. Hollis, as usual, was the only one not crying. “In death, everyone is perfect. I think that’s a quote by the way, not my own words.”

  I laughed. Hollis lives in LA now and is getting into entertainment law, so she’s all about respecting intellectual property in all its forms.

  We’re roommates again, but this time we live on separate floors and neither of us ever seem to be home at the same time.

  But it’s still the best thing to come out of this.

  Hollis Cobb is still my best friend.

  “It’s really hot for April isn’t it?” Brooke joined us, an ice cream cone in her hand. “I just caught the boys peeing in the bushes. They said they couldn’t find a bathroom. I hope no one saw. Can you even imagine?”

  And Brooke. The one who we owed so much to. The girl who had somehow come out of this entire ordeal still the same Brooke.

  But maybe better.

  Maybe that’s what’s great about your college friends. They’re the ones that saw you at your worst.

  And the ones who also get to see you turn into your best.

  And love you through it all.

  “I wish Olivia was here,” I said. “I think she’d really like this.”

  And for the first time since graduation night, I realized, I meant it.

  “She’d love it, are you kidding? A day all about her? Her dream come true.” Hollis laughed. “Let’s be real though, she was no angel. God, she was twisted. And we’ll never really know why.”

  It was true. Olivia had been awful, no doubt.

  But she hadn’t deserved to die.

  The three of them walked away, but I stayed behind a moment, deep in a memory.

  Before she’d hurt us, Olivia Barron had loved me. It was a complicated love because we were young and still figuring out what it means to be not only a friend, but a friend to someone trying to figure out how to like themselves in a world that pitted us all against each other. There’s a trickiness to it that I recognize now. It doesn’t mean Olivia wasn’t wrong or that we’d still be friends if she were still alive. After all, just because things could have been different, didn’t mean they’d have been better. But with life, there’s always a chance.

  There’s always hope.

  “I forgive you, Olivia,” I whispered over the buzzing chatter and merriment of the people surrounding me. “I forgive you. I’m sorry.”

  I closed my eyes.

  And I felt her. At long last.

  Olivia Barron was okay. Wherever she was.

  And now, after all these years, I could move on. I could not just forgive her.

  I could also—finally— forgive myself.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading The Girls On the Hill. Feel free to download my next book, Who She Became, which is up for preorder now. For news on future releases, sign up for the Alison Claire Grey mailing list. And email me any time at alisongreybooks@gmail.com. I would love to hear from you!

  Acknowledgments

  This book wouldn’t exist without Mary Baldwin College. You were a brief moment in my life, but one that imprinted on me in a way I didn’t realize until recent
ly. I’m probably one of the most mediocre women to roam your halls, but you made me a better person. And I will always appreciate my time on your hills.

  None of the events or characters in this book are based on any real people, but my time at Baldwin and my experience as a Virginia college kid coming of age in the early aughts, influenced every word of this novel.

  Thank you to my fellow Baldwin girls and friends who I’m lucky enough to know to this day. You inspire me to be a better woman, friend, and partner in this great sisterhood of ours.

  It’s one of my great privileges and honors to be among your ranks.

  About the Author

  Alison Claire Grey is a writer of domestic suspense and psychological thrillers. She's fascinated by sociopaths, secrets, and southerners. She loves when all 3 of those things exist in a book.

  She lives in her dream city, Charleston, South Carolina with her sons and her amazing husband who is her first reader and true love. Bless him.

  You can find her spending too much time on social media or tucked away in a library downtown writing stuff she makes up in her head.

  For news on releases, sales, and giveaways, sign up the Alison Claire Grey Mailing List. Or join her in her reader group, Better Off Read. It’s not just about books, but about all things pop culture.

  You can also find her on Instagram at @AlisonClaireGrey or email her at alisongreybooks@gmail.com.

  She would love to hear from you!