True Places

by Sonja Yoerg

  “Near campus. On Wertland.”

  Reid nodded. Everyone knew the party street. He drained his lemonade and scanned the patio for the waiter, thinking he’d order another one, and maybe some more fries. His dad might be a while.

  He turned to Robby, who still had his phone out. “What time is it?” He caught a glimpse of the photo of the girl again. Something about it bugged him.

  “Four twenty-five.”

  “Can I see that again?”

  “The girl? Sure.” Robby handed over the phone.

  Reid scrutinized the photo, concentrating on the bed, not the girl. The corner of what looked like a dark gray blanket was under one of her legs. Under her right arm was a pillow with a design on it. He enlarged the photo with his fingers.

  “Getting a better look, huh?” Robby said. “Can’t say I blame you.”

  He could see the design now: a red horse with only the front half visible. The horse’s body was decorated. He’d seen the pillow before somewhere.

  Oh my God, Grammy! I just love the horses!

  Robby’s father got up. “Come on, son. We’re expected at home.”

  Robby took the phone from Reid. “See you Saturday?”

  Reid’s mind was buzzing. He answered reflexively. “Yeah, maybe.”

  Robby wagged the phone in the air as he rose to join his father. “She’ll be there!”

  What were the odds? How many pillows like that could there be? He pictured Grammy showing them his mother’s room last year after a family dinner—Fourth of July, maybe? Grammy had transformed it from teenager’s room from a magazine to an adult’s room from a magazine. He hadn’t cared about seeing it, but his mother had pulled him along. Brynn, on the other hand, had gone apeshit over it.

  I just love the horses!

  What were the odds?

  Brynn. His little sister.

  A wave of nausea came over him. He pushed back his chair, muttering an excuse as he left the patio. He had to find his father and tell him about Robby. About Brynn. Robert was his father’s partner, so his father could talk to the dad, let him know what his arrogant creep of a son was getting up to with a fifteen-year-old. As Reid followed the concrete path between the fairways to the tennis center, he tried not to think about what might have already gone on. Robby hadn’t bragged about it, so maybe nothing yet. The photo was bad enough.

  He found his father playing singles on Court 4, on the far side of Court 3, which was also occupied. Reid took a seat on a bench, watching impatiently. He thought about calling his mother, but the way she’d flipped out the other night made him reluctant to pile anything else on her plate. Plus, she didn’t have a relationship with Robby’s father. Reid was sure that telling his father was the right move.

  The match ended. Reid hadn’t been keeping track, but judging from his father’s light step off the court, he had won.

  His father noticed him and came over, wiping his face on the towel hanging around his neck. “How’d it go? I was on my way to the Grill.”

  “Fine. It was fine.” Reid realized he should have thought about what to say. “I need to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “I met Robby, you know, Robert Shipstead’s son.”

  “I’ve met him a couple times. Nice kid.”

  Reid pressed his lips together to stop himself from smirking. “Here’s the thing. He showed me a photo of a girl on his phone.” He felt his face get hot. “She was nearly naked.”

  His father tried to look serious but underneath he was smiling.

  “No, Dad. You don’t get it. It’s not that he showed me this girl.”

  “What is it, then?”

  Reid closed his eyes, remembering the photo, the pillow. A wedge of doubt pushed into his confidence. But it had to have been her. He exhaled hard. “I think it was Brynn.”

  “What?”

  “I think it was Brynn.”

  His father took a step back. “You think it was?”

  “Well, I couldn’t see her face.”

  His father shook his head and his eyes narrowed. “If you couldn’t see her face, why did you think it was her? Did Robby say?”

  “No. He didn’t give a name.”

  “Then why, Reid?”

  Reid’s heart made a whooshing sound in his ears. He was trying to do the right thing and his father was attacking him. “I saw the pillow. From Mom’s old room? Grammy redid the room and there were these pillows with a red horse on them on the bed. And I saw part of that pillow in the photo.”

  His father leaned toward him, dissecting Reid’s expression. “You’re kidding me, right? This is a joke?”

  “No!”

  “A pillow?”

  “Yes!”

  His father turned away, walked in a circle, wiping his face on the towel again, and came to stand in front of Reid. “Let me get this straight. Robby showed you a photo of a girl who wasn’t even naked, whose face you couldn’t see, and because you think you saw part of a pillow that looked something like one your grandmother put in your mother’s room, you want me to go to Robert and tell him his son should stay away from Brynn?”

  Reid opened his mouth but nothing came out. He was too confused. And furious.

  His father wasn’t finished. “I know exactly how you feel about my work, Reid. How you find real estate ventures and capitalism in general to be corrupt or dishonorable or whatever. It disappoints me and, frankly, it hurts.” He licked his lips, gathering himself. “But the game you’re playing here is going too far. You’re too smart not to realize what’s at stake if I go around accusing my business partner’s son of running around with my fifteen-year-old based on your shaky deductions.”

  “Dad . . .” Reid’s voice was quavering. He cleared his throat. “Dad, I wasn’t trying—”

  “I’ll ask Brynn about it.”

  “She’ll just deny it. She sent the photo.”

  His father’s face hardened. “She did not send the photo, Reid. It’s ludicrous. But I will ask her if she knows Robert’s son, see what she says.”

  Reid started to make the argument again, from the beginning, but his father held up his hand.

  “Enough. And don’t even think of sharing this crazy story with your mother. She’s got enough on her mind.” He waited for Reid to promise.

  Reid wasn’t intending to tell his mother, not after his father’s reaction, but he wasn’t about to give him that.

  His father went on anyway. “I’m grabbing my bag and having a drink at the Grill, like we planned.” He jogged over to collect his tennis bag and began walking toward the clubhouse.

  As Reid followed his father, his clenched fists gradually loosened, disappointment taking over from anger. He thought about what he had said about Brynn sending the photo, and it occurred to him for the first time that it wasn’t a selfie. Someone had taken it. One of Brynn’s friends? A boy? Maybe he didn’t know his sister at all.

  Wait. The shot was taken at his grandparents’. Why would Brynn’s friends be there?

  Who, then? Iris? The thought made him nauseous. Iris was pure. Or at least she had been until Brynn had taken her over. Reid wondered if he shouldn’t protect Iris, do a better job of being a big brother to her. It had never been a role Brynn had allowed him to play. She’d always been in charge of herself, and if she needed anyone, she went to their father. But Iris was different, and she had been comfortable with Reid in the beginning.

  Reid watched his father drinking a beer with his friends. Looking out for Brynn hadn’t worked out so well. Why would looking out for Iris go any better? Let his parents deal with it. This wasn’t his fucking rodeo.

  He dug in his pocket for his phone and texted Alex.

  REID: Up for a party at UVA Saturday?

  ALEX: You pledging?

  REID: Cutting loose. Way loose.

  CHAPTER 28

  Suzanne hung up with her mother and stormed upstairs to find Brynn. Her daughter’s door was closed, and Suzanne took a moment to cal
m down before knocking.

  “Who is it?”

  The person who gave birth to you, who held you when you were sick, who could not imagine a more hopeful sight than your innocent face, and who now wonders how estrogen and oxytocin could make such a fool out of an intelligent woman. “It’s Mom.”

  “Oh. Come in.”

  Suzanne opened the door and stepped inside. Brynn was sprawled on her bed on her stomach with a textbook and a highlighter. She pulled out her earbuds.

  “What’s up?”

  “Your grandmother just informed me that you asked her to arrange for a limo to drive you and your friends around on Saturday night.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You didn’t think to run that by us?”

  She swished her hair to one side and twisted it between her fingers. “I did mention it to you a while ago.”

  “We talked about transportation for the prom, yes. And I said we’d be happy to drive.”

  “Which is why I asked Grammy Tinsley. She thought the limo was a great idea.”

  “It wasn’t her place to arrange it.”

  Brynn tipped her head sweetly. “That’s between you and Grammy, isn’t it?”

  “I’m still your mother.” Suzanne sighed inwardly. She didn’t want to fight with Brynn about prom. Suzanne had intended to finalize the arrangements with Brynn and had forgotten. Brynn was wrong to have gone behind her back, but Suzanne probably would’ve agreed to the limo if they had discussed it again. She crossed the room and perched on her daughter’s bed. Brynn sat up and tucked her legs under her.

  “Look,” Suzanne said, “Your father and I just want you to be safe.”

  Brynn stared at her, lids drooping, jaw slack in an archetypal pose of boredom.

  Suzanne tried a different tack. “Okay, say the limo takes you and Sam and your other friends from here, after pictures, straight to prom. What then?”

  “After prom, it takes us back here, so I can change.”

  “Really?”

  “Mom? The dress?”

  Suzanne thought there were simpler ways to protect an expensive dress—such as putting it in a bag—but wasn’t going to argue Brynn out of stopping by the house. Suzanne and Whit would be able to see if everyone had managed to stay intact and sober for the first few hours. “Okay, so you change—all your friends change, I guess—then the limo takes you to Lisa’s for the party.”

  “Maybe Lisa’s. We’re still checking.”

  “Brynn, the prom is Saturday. What’s to check?”

  “Maybe Kendall’s instead.”

  “Let’s nail it down.” Brynn blinked slowly, as close to assent as Suzanne would get. “And you’re staying there all night.” It wasn’t a question.

  Her daughter exhaled, exasperated. “You can call her parents, okay? You can even come over and do a full inspection. I’m sure they’d appreciate that.”

  “Brynn . . .”

  She held a mechanical pencil between her index finger and thumb and wiggled it, tapping a rapid rhythm on her book. “Sure. I get it. It’s like your job to suck the fun out of my life.”

  Suzanne let this go. It was such a standard teenage complaint, she couldn’t take it personally.

  Brynn went on. “Do you know some parents rented rooms at the Omni for their kids? For the whole night?”

  Suzanne shook her head in disbelief.

  “It’s true. So instead of getting on my case about a stupid limo, maybe you should be thanking me for not asking Grammy Tinsley for that.” Brynn raised her eyebrows. “Because she totally would’ve.”

  “Maybe that’s true, Brynn. And if I’m getting on your case about anything, it’s because I’m looking out for you.” She leaned over and kissed Brynn’s forehead. “Because I love you.”

  Brynn didn’t say anything, but at least she didn’t smirk.

  The following day was Monday, and Suzanne had never been more relieved for the weekend to be over. The conversation with Brynn had left her nerves frayed, and she still didn’t feel comfortable with the plans around prom. It was possible, she supposed, that no parent ever did. She ought to have been delighted that Reid had decided not to attend, but her son had returned from the club fund-raiser in a sullen mood, brushing off her inquiries about the cause. Not surprisingly, Whit didn’t have any insight into Reid’s state of mind, only confirming that their son had done everything the organizers of the event had asked of him. Whit’s take on Tinsley’s limo order was predictable; he could see nothing to object to.

  If she was honest, Suzanne would have to admit she had been happy to see all three of them disappear down the walk that morning.

  While Suzanne cleaned up the dishes from breakfast and last night’s dinner, Iris worked on her math problems in the dining room. Suzanne had enrolled her in the Kumon program, and the self-paced approach was a perfect fit. By the end of the summer, Iris would probably be ready to take high school algebra, a remarkable achievement considering the girl had been homeschooled only in basic arithmetic. No doubt she was bright and blessed with an orderly mind, but it did make Suzanne wonder what purpose all that classroom time truly served, especially in a trade-off with the freedom and self-reliance Iris had enjoyed for most of her life.

  Having restored some semblance of order to the kitchen, Suzanne considered the remaining disarray on the breakfast table, on the dining table, and in the laundry room, wondering which area to attack first. Her phone buzzed on the counter beside her. She thought about ignoring it, certain it had to be someone from Boosters complaining about her lack of direction, or Tinsley demanding help with yet another fund-raiser, or a class mom asking her to chip in for a bake sale, a carpool, or an appreciation lunch for the vastly underappreciated, but knew whoever it was would be as persistent as she had once been and call back. To her surprise, the phone screen read DETECTIVE DE CELLE . She accepted the call and headed through the pantry into the living room, closing the door behind her. She and the detective exchanged greetings.

  “I tried to reach your husband but couldn’t get through.”

  “He’s in meetings all morning.”

  “I figured. Ms. Blakemore, I’m calling because we’ve got a lead on Iris’s family.”

  Suzanne lowered herself onto the couch. “Go on.”

  “We sent the father’s sketch and the approximate date he went missing to all the jurisdictions in central and southern Virginia. Got a lot of leads that didn’t pan out for one reason or another. But yesterday an officer in Salem—that’s near Roanoke—thought the sketch looked familiar, someone he helped put away.”

  “Prison?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He did three years for assault with a deadly weapon, plus resisting arrest. Served his parole. The date of the felony was close to when the girl said her father disappeared.”

  “Jim Smith?”

  “I can’t give you a name until we know more.”

  “Is he a veteran?”

  “No confirmation on that yet.”

  Suzanne’s mind was spinning. If Iris’s father was alive, what would happen to her? Would she go off to live with him, just like that? What about his criminal record?

  The detective continued. “Here’s the thing. We had the police down there follow up on his last known address. The guy who lives there said he never saw him after his parole was over.”

  “So where is he?”

  “Who knows? The uniforms mentioned to the friend that this guy might have family looking for him, in case he knew where to find him and just wasn’t saying. It might bring him out.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “Do you think he’s Iris’s father?”

  “It fits. Plus the friend? Name’s Henry, but he goes by Buck. Then again, so do a lot of fellows down there.”

  Detective DeCelle said he’d let her know when they had more information and suggested she hold off on telling Iris anything.

  “A guy like that, with a record, a loner. Hard to tell which way he’s going to fall.”

  S
uzanne agreed.

  She closed the call. Her limbs were numb. The news was so unexpected. Iris had insisted her father was dead, and Suzanne had believed her. Or had she simply wished it were true? Suzanne wanted a chance with Iris, to help her fit into this world for which she was so ill prepared. It wasn’t turning out the way she had hoped. She had expected Iris to soak up all the comforts and pleasures of the civilized world Suzanne introduced her to. Instead Iris was holding back, picking and choosing what she allowed to affect her, what she permitted to alter her. Suzanne didn’t have the power she’d thought she would. And, more, she was learning that Iris was probably wise to not accept this new world with open arms. Iris’s parents had been more right than wrong. The water Suzanne and everyone around her were immersed in, that they all kept swimming in, was a toxic soup. Suzanne had known this for a very long time. When she left for college, she had rejected her parents’ false existence, their loveless marriage, but she had faltered. She had not been strong enough and had allowed herself to be swept up, carried along, despite what she knew. She had been leading a false life, one that Iris saw through easily. The girl wanted to return to the woods, to a hard, simple existence, and Suzanne could not blame her.

  Whether or not Iris’s father appeared, whether or not he wanted his daughter, Suzanne vowed to do the right thing by Iris, to protect what was pristine and free in her. It wasn’t the same as parenting her, at least not by any standard Suzanne was aware of, but she would do her best. For far too long she had been floating along in a sea of compromise, dammed up by walls of fear. If Iris could maintain her integrity in the face of overwhelming odds, so could she.

  Suzanne rose from the couch and went to see Iris, who was still at work. The girl needed a break; they both did. She gently placed a hand on Iris’s shoulder.

  “Iris?”

  The girl looked up from her notebook. “Yes?”

  “Are you up for an hour’s drive?”

  “I think so.”

  “Let’s go to a botanical garden.”

  Iris considered. “Aren’t all gardens botanical?”

  Suzanne laughed. “Bring a jacket; looks like rain.”