“Is that what this is about—you’re pissed that I didn’t include you in yet another emergency?”
Lennox pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to me.
Dear Ms. Sackler and Ms. Kandell:
This letter is to inform you of your daughter, Lennox’s, dorm and roommate assignment.
Eulberg Hall
Room 2-112B
Violet Tabachnick
“Obviously, I thought it was a mistake,” Lennox said. “I called the housing office, and they put me through to Ms. Strafford. She said you’d withdrawn. Without telling me!”
“I was going to.”
“When? I get that you have a lot on your mind. But really. We’re supposed to be best friends.”
“You see? That’s it,” I said. “You’re pissed because you didn’t know and didn’t get to swoop in and save the day.” I’d never thought of Lennox that way before, but suddenly it was all I thought of her.
“Are you kidding me? Any time I helped you, Lorrie, it wasn’t for me—it was because I care about you.”
“I’m just a project for you in between getting manicures and massages. You don’t have to work.”
“You didn’t used to, either!”
“You only visit your horse when you feel like it,” I went on. “You never have any responsibility.”
Lennox shook her head. “I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”
“You never knew me,” I told her. “Not like you thought you did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“People don’t always stay best friends. I don’t think we have enough in common anymore.”
Lennox’s eyes grew as big and round as saucers. She didn’t even bother to say good-bye. She just turned and walked down the corridor. I listened to her footsteps walking away. Then I finally emerged from the stall and slipped Orion’s nameplate from the holder. ORION. LOVED BY LORRIE H.
Zeus had placed the great hunter among the stars so he’d never be forgotten, or so the story went. As if I could ever forget Orion.
NAOMI INTERCEPTED ME AS I WALKED ACROSS THE parking lot to my car. “I just got a wire for Orion’s board for the rest of the summer. I can sign it over to you.”
“What? My aunt paid for him?” I asked. Did the trust still exist, after all? Why did she wait until the moment after my horse had left to finally access it?
“No,” Naomi said.
“There must be some kind of mistake.”
She held out a piece of paper, and my heart skipped a beat when I read the words at the top: UNDERHILL ENTERPRISES.
20
YOU KNOW THIS GIRL
THE DRIVE TO THE COMPOUND TOOK UNDER TEN minutes. I didn’t even realize that I’d actually have the guts to go there until I was pulling my car up over the sensors at the entrance. I rolled down my window to announce myself. But this time the gates opened without a voice first demanding I state my name and my business.
There was nothing coincidental about this. Underhill was somehow connected to my family, and I needed to know why. I pressed the gas and tried to channel Lennox’s journalistic mind as I went over the questions I had for Victor Underhill: Why had he been so interested in me on the beach with Charlie? Why had he followed me to the pawnshop? What had he been doing at the hospital the night Susannah was burned? Why had Underhill Enterprises made a payment for the board of my horse?
But as I came up the final stretch to the Main, my plan to confront Victor Underhill seemed absurd. There was no guarantee that he’d even be there. And so what if he was? It didn’t mean he’d answer my questions. I’d probably be turned away at the front door or perhaps even escorted off the property by a security guard.
I’d stopped in front of the house, and I moved my hand to the gearshift, unsure if I was going to slide it into park or into reverse. Should I go up to the house or get the hell out of there? I pressed my palm to the gearshift. The burn didn’t actually hurt anymore, but I hadn’t yet dropped the habit of pressing against it as if to test that it was still there, like when you’re a little kid and you lose a tooth and your tongue can’t help but find the hole over and over again.
I had nothing left to lose, and I shifted into park, got out of the car, and ran up the steps to the house before I had a chance to change my mind. I was poised to ring the bell, preparing myself to face Victor Underhill’s glare, when the door opened. And there, in the flesh, was Senator Franklin Copeland.
“It’s you,” he said. The surprise in his voice matched the shock that had been on his face that night in the tree house.
Me?
Tentatively, the senator reached out toward me. I took a step back, like a reflex. “Why are you backing away?” It seemed like a strange question; then again, it was probably the first time in history someone had avoided the touch of Franklin Copeland.
“Sorry,” I said. “You just startled me.”
“You startled me.” At the word me, he brought his hand to his chest. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Why would the senator care if he ever saw me again? We didn’t know each other. We’d never even spoken.
“Please don’t be mad,” he went on. “I didn’t want it to be like this, but Victor said—”
I cut him off. “Victor Underhill?”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “Julia hired him back, even though I told her not to. No one listens to me anymore!”
“I’m . . . I’m s-sorry?” I stammered.
The senator smiled. “But Victor’s not here right now.” His voice was a loud whisper. “Julia wanted him to interview campaign managers.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Friday,” the senator said with a smile. Friday was two days away. “We’re so lucky,” he went on, “because there’s no way Victor would let me talk to you. He said if I stayed with you, I’d never get to be president.”
“Stay with me? Sir, I don’t think . . .”
“The voters don’t like cheaters—that’s what he said. The voters, the voters, the voters.” Senator Copeland nodded his head to the beat of the words. “Did you ever notice that if you say the same thing a bunch of times in a row, it starts to sound strange—like it doesn’t mean anything at all?”
“Sure, I guess,” I said.
“I don’t care about the voters anymore. I only care about you.”
He reached a hand out again. I stood frozen in place. It was riveting and terrifying all at once. His fingers, as dry as paper, just like his son’s, grazed my arm. He let them linger a second, two seconds, five. My heart was pounding.
“Did you get the flowers?” he asked. I shook my head and stepped away, breaking the touch between us. “Please don’t be this way,” he said.
“Senator,” I said. “Senator Copeland. You have the wrong person. I’m sorry.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said. “It was an accident! An accident! You’ve got to believe me, Danielle!”
“Danielle?” I repeated. My mother’s name. “Do you mean Danielle Hollander? I’m Lorrie. I’m her daughter.”
The senator blinked and shook his head. “Of course you are. Of course you are,” he said, more to himself than to me.
“But you know her . . . my mom? Danielle?”
I tried to wrap my brain around everything I knew about my mom—she’d been married, she’d had an affair. She raised her kids alone after Dad left. She’d been the kind of mom who would sing us James Taylor songs in the car and put her watch on my wrist so I could keep track of the time till lights-out. And then she’d left without saying good-bye. She never called or visited. She just sent shitty letters, and then those stopped, too.
Now it turned out she’d known Senator Copeland. Could they also have had an affair? The walls seemed to be spinning around me. Yim, yim, I said in my head. It wasn’t working. You’re not supposed to say your mantra out loud, but I did: “Yim, yim, yim.”
“I don’t know what that means,” the senator sa
id.
“She’s been gone for years,” I said. “My mother. Danielle. She left my sister and me.”
“Your sister?”
I nodded. “Susannah,” I said. “She doesn’t even remember our mother. She was too young when she left.” The senator pressed his hands to the sides of his head.
“Please,” I went on. “You said you sent her flowers. I don’t care if anything happened between you guys, but I need to know where she is. I have a right to know.”
“I . . . I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I was mistaken. It’s time for you to go.”
“Dad?” The senator and I both turned to see Charlie walking across the foyer toward us. “Lorrie? What are you doing here?”
“You know this girl?” the senator asked.
“She’s a friend of mine,” Charlie said. He turned to me. “I thought you were busy tonight.”
“I was just . . .” I shook my head. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“She was just leaving,” the senator said.
“Easy, Dad,” Charlie told him.
“I don’t know her. And I don’t know anything about Danielle.”
“Who’s Danielle?” Charlie asked.
“My mother,” I croaked out. “I think your dad knows her. He knew her name.”
“He gets confused sometimes,” Charlie told me. “He’s been . . . he’s been working really hard.”
“I’m not confused!” the senator said loudly. “I didn’t know her. Now your friend needs to leave!”
Charlie moved toward the door. “Listen, Lorrie,” he said, “I think tonight’s not going to be a good night. Can I get a rain check?”
I shook my head. “But he said things, Charlie. He knows where she is, and I don’t.”
“I don’t know anything,” the senator insisted. “Make her leave, Charlie!” The senator’s face registered the distress of a child’s. I had to look away from him.
“Charlie, I—”
But he cut me off. “It’s just a misunderstanding,” Charlie told me, practically pushing me toward the door. “Do me a favor, okay? Don’t say anything to anyone. About this.”
Before I could say another word, the door shut behind me. I left the Compound with more questions than I’d had when I’d arrived.
21
WIDE AWAKE
IT WAS JUST AFTER MIDNIGHT WHEN MY CELL PHONE started to vibrate against my bedside table. I startled awake and saw the illuminated screen, Lennox’s name flashing. If she was calling to explain things, to yell at me, to forgive me, it certainly wouldn’t be at this hour. I grabbed the phone and clicked to answer. “What’s wrong?”
“Something’s happened,” she said. “I’m on Break Run, and I’m coming over.”
I could’ve sworn there were sirens going off behind her words, and my body tightened in fear. “Is everything all right?”
“No,” she said. “It’s not.”
I WAITED FOR LENNOX OUTSIDE. THE PORCH LIGHT had long since burned out, and the night’s darkness muted the decay of the house—thank God for small favors. She pulled up in front. I watched as she reached over to grab her bag from the passenger seat and got out of the car.
Never before in our entire friendship had I not known how to act around Lennox. But right then, I needed a cue from her, so I didn’t make a move closer to her. I waited until she’d climbed the porch steps and reached me. And when she did, I was holding my body still and rigid, as if I were afraid she was about to hit me. Instead, she threw her arms around me, and I sank into her. Her body was shaking. Something awful had happened. Someone had died. I just knew it. I rubbed her back in circles, the way Naomi had rubbed mine, imagining all the possible scenarios, each one unthinkable, each one worse than the one before: One of the moms? Both of them? Harper?
God forbid.
“I’m so sorry, Len. I really am. And I swear, whatever is going on right now, I’m going to be there for you. Because you’ve always been there for me.”
Lennox pulled away. She’d been the one to initiate the hug, but now, looking at her face, I couldn’t tell whether or not she was angry. She gathered her breath to speak, and I braced myself. “There’s been an accident. I think Charlie might be dead.”
“What?” I took a step back in shock and hit the wrong plank on the porch. It splintered under my weight. I fell back and cried out.
“Are you all right?”
I bent to rub my ankle, where a piece of broken wood had sprung up and scraped it. “He can’t be dead,” I said. “It’s just not possible.”
“I saw it online.”
“You know you can’t believe anything you read online,” I told her. “Especially about the Copelands.” But even as I said it, I could feel my heart in my throat. “What exactly did you see?”
“I got a Copeland Google Alert a little while ago. There was an unconfirmed report that a car matching the description of the senator’s Porsche was in an accident on Break Run.” She paused to take a breath, and when she started again, there was an apologetic tone to her voice. “I know this is going to sound bad, but I had to go see for myself. I didn’t even tell the moms I was leaving. I just got into my car and drove. When I got there, there were all these flashing lights, and the guardrail by the Point was gone. He must’ve smashed right into it.”
“Lots of people have Porsches around here,” I said softly. “It could’ve been anyone.”
“I saw the car,” she said. “It was dredged up from the ocean by a crane, and it barely looked like a car anymore. But still, I could tell—it was that old Porsche Charlie’s been driving all summer. A collector’s item. Not the kind of car that lots of people have.”
“I just saw him,” I said. My heart was in full gallop. I could feel my whole body pulsing with the beats. “Maybe someone else was driving. The Copelands have so many people working for them, plus Julia’s campaign staff.”
I was saying these words, but the voice in my head was saying: You never know when you’re saying good-bye for the last time. You never know when someone is going to leave your life.
“I doubt they would have let someone working for them take that car.”
“Someone could have stolen it,” I said. “When I was at the Compound today, the gates just opened when I drove up—that’s gotta be a security risk. If someone else got onto the property that way, he could’ve taken the car for a joy ride.”
Lennox nodded, trying to believe me. “You’re right. A car thief probably would’ve taken the curve around the Point too fast—trying to get away.”
“That’s just the way Charlie drives,” I said. I felt myself slipping down, and I clutched Lennox. “Oh God, Len. What if it was Charlie?”
She shook her head.
“I really wanted to be with him. It was the first time I felt like that, you know?”
“I know,” she said.
“I don’t have his number,” I said, shaking my head. Why had I said what I’d said that afternoon in the barn? Why hadn’t I taken his number? “Can you call him?”
“I did,” she said. “Before I even drove out. I called his phone, and he didn’t answer.”
We were both crying. “Call him again,” I said. Lennox pulled her phone from her bag. I watched her hit the button for recent contacts and press to dial Charlie. She held it to her ear, and I pressed my head against hers. We heard his voice mail pick up together.
“I don’t want to be alone right now,” I told Lennox.
“Me, either.”
“Come in?” I said.
WHEN WE WERE KIDS, LENNOX AND I USED TO TRADE off playdates at each other’s houses. But things at my house were always a bit strange, and we ended up at her house most of the time, until we ended up at her house all the time. I wondered what it felt like for her now, to be back in this place for the first time in years. I’d worked so hard to clean it, but looking at it fresh, the way Lennox was, it seemed I’d barely made a dent. It seemed worse than ever before. We sat at the kit
chen table, which was piled high with the usual dirty plates and glasses and unopened mail. I pushed aside a dried-up bowl of water mixed with flour, plus strips of newspaper, deflating balloons, and pipe cleaners. “What’s all that for?” Lennox asked.
“Gigi’s latest project,” I said. “She wants to make decoupage favors for her forty-second birthday party.”
“She’s having a party?”
“In her imagination she is.”
“Where is she now?”
“Upstairs. Asleep.”
“Susannah, too?”
“Yup. With Brian.”
Lennox nodded and pulled out her phone. “I’m gonna try Charlie again.” A few seconds later she shook her head. “Straight to voice mail.”
“Text him, too,” I said.
“I did. I’ll do it again.” Her thumbs clicked over the keys. “I guess I should call the moms. If they wake up and I’m not there, they’ll freak. Even worse than they’d freak to know I snuck out past curfew.”
“What’s it like?” I asked her.
“What?”
“To have parents who care about you that much?”
“Gigi cares about you in her own way.”
“She’d never even think to set a curfew for me, or to worry if I broke it.”
“Maybe because she knows you wouldn’t listen to her,” Lennox said.
“Because the things she says don’t make any sense.”
“If you want a system to change, you should change it,” Lennox suggested.
I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter right now.”
Lennox made the call to her moms. Listening to her end, I could tell they weren’t thrilled with her, but she didn’t seem to be in major trouble, either. “Yes, fine. Fine, I promise,” she said. I pulled open the freezer, which was no longer a cryobank for dead birds. After the power outage, Susannah had buried them in the pet cemetery beside Wren. In their place were new tubs of ice cream. I wasn’t hungry, but I took them out anyway and put them on the kitchen table in front of Lennox. “Here,” I said, handing her a spoon. “Fresh ice cream from a working freezer. Courtesy of the Beth-Ann Bracelee Scholarship Fund.”
“She’s the one who bought Orion?”
Edgewater Page 20