The Standout

by Laurel Osterkamp

  I convince myself that this urge to clean is all about frayed undergarments and not about my lying-by-withholding the truth to Nick. But when I imagine telling him about Robert, all I can do is picture an avalanche, where I’m trying to catch one rock but get pummeled by a million more. I shove a mateless green knee sock into a garbage bag that’s already almost filled and try to decide what I should take with me to New York.

  Nick gets home, strolls into our bedroom, and takes it all in: the pulled-out dresser drawers, the pieces of clothing strewn everywhere, the large trash bag of irredeemable items, and an open suitcase with nothing in it.

  “What’s going on? And what was with that text you sent earlier?”

  I spin towards him. “Did you empty the trash downstairs?”

  He steps over a pair of woolen black tights that I haven’t worn in years. “No. Why?”

  “I was going to tape that note back together, but I went to look for it and it’s gone. Do you think maybe Andrea took it?”

  Nick laughs. “Andrea doesn’t even empty the trash in her own room.”

  I rub my forehead, trying to massage away the tension that’s pressing against my skull. “I need to get this cyber stalker thing settled before I leave town. Once I’m there I won’t be allowed to use my phone or the internet and then I’ll really be helpless.”

  “I’ll help,” Nick states simply. “Seriously, let me help you so you can just worry about doing the show.”

  I sigh in response, surveying the clothes strewn haphazardly around our bedroom and I’m more overwhelmed than ever.

  “Have you even bought your ticket yet?” Nick asks. His raised eyebrows are his only comment on my mess.

  “No. I still can’t find a flight to New York that’s not outrageously expensive.” I pull out some lacy black panties that I bought from Victoria’s Secret last month. Looking at them shouldn’t make me feel guilty but I curl them up into a ball, which I shove to back of my drawer.

  “You should fly into Philadelphia.” Nick leans against the bed post. “I bet Philadelphia’s cheaper. Plus, that way you could see Ted.”

  “Ted wasn’t even planning on coming to our wedding. He and I couldn’t be less close.”

  Nick comes over, places his hands on my tense shoulders and begins to knead. “All the more reason for you two to spend some time together.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I grumble, but later I look into ticket prices for Philadelphia, and discover that of course, Nick is right.

  Chapter 13

  The evening before I leave I’m packing my suitcase again, this time more productively, and I can’t find my favorite long-sleeved black T-shirt. I look in the laundry room but there’s only a fuzzy brown sweater that was flattened, left to dry, and forgotten about. On a hunch I go into Andrea’s room, because she’s picked through my closet before. As usual she’s not home and the intrusion feels slightly criminal. Still, I switch on the light, and after searching through her laundry basket, under her bed, and finally in her dresser, I find my shirt.

  I also find something else.

  In between the folds of one of her blouses is an envelope with my name on it and it’s just like the other one: same handwriting, same stationary, but no postmark or return address. It’s already open so I slide out the sheet of paper and read:

  Robin:

  I’ve never known anyone more entitled than you. Women like you don’t deserve nice guys, so leave Nick. If you don’t, I’ll make sure that he leaves you. Get ready.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  I’m startled by Andrea’s voice and I whip my head around, not quite ready to face her but forced to do so, nonetheless.

  “I was looking for my shirt,” I hold it up, “and I also found this.” I wave the letter with my other hand. “Why do you have this? And where is the other one?”

  Andrea shrugs and slides onto her bed, taking out her phone in the process. “I dunno,” she mumbles, and then makes herself comfortable and starts texting.

  “Answer me, Andrea! Have you been writing these letters?”

  She smirks and glances up, but barely for a moment. “Don’t be mental. Why would I write you letters? We live in the same house.”

  “Maybe you don’t want me to know they’re from you.”

  She keeps texting, ignoring my presence. “Look at me!” I’m shaking with anger.

  Andrea does as ordered and I’m shocked by the contempt in her eyes. “I found the letter on the front porch the other night when I came home,” she says. “I was curious so I opened it, which I shouldn’t have done, so sorry. But I decided it would be better not to show it to you. I figured you’d be too upset.”

  Umm, yeah. “That seems awfully, convenient, Andrea.”

  “Meaning?” she spits out.

  “Meaning, this is the second letter you’ve found. What’s with that?”

  We hear the front door open and Andrea bolts toward our entryway. Nick doesn’t even have a chance to take off his jacket before his sister flies at him. “Robin just accused me of stalking her!”

  I follow close behind, and Nick throws his shoulders back, clearly feeling cornered, clearly wishing he could bolt. I’m practically pressed up against the piano and Andrea’s directly in front of the coat rack. Nick struggles out of his jacket but he can’t move enough to hang it up.

  “I did not accuse her of stalking me!” I declare. “But she had another one of those letters in her room, opened and with my name on it.”

  Andrea spins toward me, her cheeks bright red. “Why would I open it if I had written it? Have you asked yourself that? And have you asked yourself why I would write something so awful in the first place? God! I was trying to protect you!”

  I refuse to cave. “You should have let me see it! It’s not your place to protect me!”

  “Fine! Next time I won’t!” Then Andrea bursts into tears, runs off, and slams the door to her bedroom shut.

  Meanwhile, Nick looks like someone sucker punched him. “What the hell was that?” He finally hangs up his jacket, but with pained, migraine-like movements.

  I hand him the note. “I found it in her dresser when I was looking for my shirt. She walked in, and yes, I asked her if she wrote it, but I wasn’t trying to upset her.”

  “Well, you did upset her.” Nick’s voice is tight like a rubber band. “She obviously feels accused. I mean, how could you think, even for a minute, that Andrea would write something like this?”

  I snatch the letter back. “Fine, take her side, Nick.”

  I head briskly towards our bedroom. Once there I fling open the lid to my suitcase and resume packing, though I’m too angry to do more than squish up pairs of underwear to make room for more shirts.

  When Nick comes in he doesn’t seem ready to apologize. He says nothing, crosses his arms over his chest and stares.

  “I’m not sorry,” I say. “Somebody has to be behind all this. Why not Andrea? It would make sense. If we get married she has the most to lose.”

  Nick’s tone is soft when he answers, but it’s a scary soft, a petting a ferret kind of soft. “Andrea’s not capable of that sort of duplicity.”

  “Okay. If it’s not her, then who is it?”

  “Maybe the same person as who did this.” Nick hands me his phone, and it’s on Facebook. “Dave texted me earlier, to make sure I saw this.” There’s a photo, supposedly posted by me. It shows Robert and me together, it’s time-stamped from the other day, and it captures the moment when Robert was looming over me and whispering insults. But the looks on our faces could be misinterpreted as desire. Underneath the photo is an update: “A lunchtime rendezvous with my married ex-lover. I love to be naughty!”

  I sink to the edge of the bed, letting my shoulders slump in shock. “I didn’t post this. Someone must have hacked into my Facebook account.”

  “That doesn’t explain the photo.”

  My stomach rolls. “I met with him because I got this weird text and it turned out
someone was spoofing my number, texting him with lewd messages. . .” I let my words trail as I take in the stoniness of Nick’s face. He’s not buying it. “Someone must have followed me, snapped the photo, and posted it. But who?”

  “I don’t know,” Nick answers, “but it’s not my sister.”

  I drop the phone so it’s next to me on the bed. “Well good. I guess there’s nothing else to worry about.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Nick ignores my sarcasm, picks up his phone, and puts it in my face, compelling me to look at that photo of Robert and me again. “Why didn’t you tell me you met with him?” I bite my lip, trying to form an answer through my bottled up guilt. But Nick is impatient for a response. “It is him, right? That’s Robert, the married guy?”

  I look down at our worn shag carpet that was once sea green. If I was weaker I’d release a torrent of tears and they’d fall onto the now faded, now brownish clumps of yarn in a wet, salty mess. I want to grab Nick by the collar of his Oxford shirt and pull him close enough to feel his body heat seep through the fabric; I want to tell him that I need him to believe in me as much as I need his help.

  But all I say is, “I just wanted to find out what happened to Clara. He said she was in a bus accident overseas and her body was never found. He didn’t mention suicide.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me any of this?”

  “I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

  Nick nods yes even though his face is screaming no. “I thought we were done with secrets.”

  “That’s what you’re worried about? It’s okay if some wacko sends me threatening notes, follows me, takes photos and hacks into my Facebook account, but how dare I go behind your back or implicate your sister?”

  A subtle shade of scarlet spreads across Nick’s cheeks. “No, it’s not okay, but at least I always gave you the benefit of the doubt! I never thought for a second that it was actually you who posted this on Facebook, but here you are, jumping to conclusions and being judgmental!”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “You’re not being fair when you keep things from me!” I think Nick is going to say more but he clamps his mouth shut, and then he runs his hand through his hair so that it’s sticking straight up. “I should go talk to Andrea,” he says. “See if she’s calmed down.”

  “Fine. I should finish packing.”

  Nick opens his mouth again but no words come out. He just leaves our bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

  Chapter 14

  In the empty bed with a laptop that’s hell-bent on betraying me, I feel like a blank space, a vacancy. I don't know much about this sort of thing, but I contact Facebook, reset my password yet again, do a Google search on my name, and look at my settings. Nothing seems amiss, but I know that can't be true.

  I call the police station and explain the situation to an officer. “You can certainly come in and make a statement,” he says, yawning as he speaks. “But unless you know who’s behind it there’s not much we can do. There are too many people in real danger for us to worry about pranks.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him, and then I hang up.

  Our window is open and the curtains billow from a breeze, which brings a delicate scent of springtime. It makes me think about that feeling as a child, when school is about to get out for the summer. It promises swim lessons, sleep-overs, or if you’re me, spending time alone.

  I have always valued my independence, maybe a little too much, because months ago I had to learn to trust Nick or face losing him. But have I gone too far in the other direction? Do I rely on him so much that I've fallen into that needy-girl trap? I think of all my previous relationships, of all my superficial couplings after I lost my first true love. How, whenever a new guy was in danger of loving me, I’d find a way to sour things, self-destructing my way through serial monogamy. Then I met Nick. No more pushing him away. No more heart-wrenching loneliness in the fading light of a cold Sunday afternoon.

  Unless I’m destined to always screw things up.

  After spending over an hour in Andrea’s room, their voices a low murmur, Nick comes back to our bedroom and sits down next to me on our mattress. I’m scouring my laptop, looking for some visible indication that it’s been hacked. “Have you found anything new?” Nick asks.

  “No.” I literally give him the cold shoulder and edge away. “I called the police and they said I can make a statement if I want, but it sounds like a waste of time.”

  “Don’t worry, okay?” He rubs my neck halfheartedly. “It’s just some deranged nut job with an axe to grind.”

  I glare at him. “How can I not worry? That deranged nut job has it out for me, and now, apparently, for you too.”

  Nick raises one eyebrow at me and crooks his mouth, which he knows I find endearing. His hair is sticking out in multiple directions and the collar of his shirt is stretched out, and that just makes him look cute.

  And that just makes me mad.

  “Forget it,” I tell him. “You’re obviously not taking this seriously.”

  “I am too.” He picks up my hand and kisses my palm. “You contacted Facebook and changed your password again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. I’ll take that note to the police, first chance I get. And I’ll keep an eye on your account activity. Leave a list of all your passwords, okay? That way, if there are any more hacking attempts, I can be on top of it.” He squeezes my fingers, almost too hard. “It will be okay. I promise.”

  “So you’re not mad at me?”

  He shrugs. “Life’s too short to stay mad.” He gets up and moves my laptop, so it sits opposite us, on the dresser. “Besides, you’re leaving tomorrow.” Nick rejoins me on the bed and sits, leaning in. “We’re not going to see each other for so long.”

  “Too long,” I reply.

  He cups my cheek in his hand and kisses me with such rawness that my heart could break. I kiss him back, even though I can’t let go of my anger as easily as he can. I close my eyes, and as he lowers me down, pressing his weight against me, I feel him playfully tug on my earlobe. “Look at me,” Nick says.

  I do as requested, sure that in this moment we’re both telepathic and he knows all my deepest wishes and darkest desires. Nick releases a labored breath, full of anxiety that’s almost tangible enough to touch. His arms tighten around me and our bodies move to the same rhythm as we hold each other’s gaze.

  He tenderly removes my blouse, jeans, bra and everything else, so I’m exposed and vulnerable in his arms. “Now you,” I murmur, tugging on his shirt, which, with my help, he quickly pulls up and over his head. Soon we’re skin against skin, just a tangle of limbs, tongues and pounding hearts. We’re coupled, moving in a passionate tempo and not looking away from each other, not until that moment of release, when his eyelids pull down, his head tilts back, and his entire body shudders with pleasure. I put my hand against his pounding chest, waiting for his heart rate to slow before I ask the question that’s creating pressure inside my skull.

  “Do you agree with that note?” I ask, now unable to meet his eyes.

  “What?”

  “Does a woman like me not deserve a guy like you?”

  There’s an interminable pause, where Nick stares at the ceiling and I feel like I’ve lost him. “Why would you ask that?” he breathes out.

  “That’s not an answer.” I sit up. “I hate it when people answer a question with another question.” I start gathering my clothing, desperate to cover myself. “It’s like the worst avoidance technique, ever.”

  “I asked you to marry me! I tell you how I feel every day! I’m not avoiding anything; I just really don’t get how you could be so insecure.”

  “Insecure?” I pull on my shirt and underwear and slide into my jeans. “Wow. I guess I didn’t realize.” My words are like spitballs as I stand over him and Nick nearly flinches at their impact. “Next are you going to call me clingy, or how about needy? Needy is a good one.”

  “Stop it, Roc
ky.”

  “You stop it.”

  He stands and faces me, naked as the day he was born. “No.”

  I turn away, but he steps in front of me, refusing to permit my escape. “Now who’s avoiding?”

  There are a million things I could say if I only had the words. However, Nick still has the power of speech and he’s not letting this go. “Tell me what’s going through your head. Be totally honest.”

  “No.”

  He winces, but I’d rather offer him nothing than tell him a lie. I can’t admit to my biggest fear, that lies are all I know how to give him and that though I love him and make love to him with all my heart, I fear we are nothing more than strangers, because how can we, or anyone, be anything but?

  “Come on Robin,” Nick whispers. “Don’t do this. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  I meet his eyes and in those brown flecks I see the Nick I know, the person I trust, the guy I’d do anything for. “That note just freaked me out,” I admit. “She keeps saying that I’m a whore who doesn’t deserve you, and I know it’s crazy but if you hear something enough times, you start to think that it’s true. . .”

  “Robin, of course it’s not true. Please don’t ever doubt how much I love you. I need you to promise me that.”

  “I promise,” I say, but already I’m wondering if it’s a promise I can keep.

  He hugs me and we hold each other, him stroking my back and me swallowing down tears.

  Later, to calm the waters I apologize to Andrea and we all carry on like things aren’t totally, bat shit crazy right now. Still, I don’t sleep well and the next day I feel like one big flesh wound. Nick drives me to the airport and when he drops me off at curbside check-in, I grab him in a hug and refuse to let go. How can I possibly live without the spicy scent of his hair for two months? “Maybe I shouldn’t go,” I mumble into the side of his head.

  Nick places his hands on my hips and gently pushes me away. “Rocky, you’ll be fine.” He attempts a smile, though I can tell it’s hard for him. “I’m the one who will be a mess without you.”