“We’re here, everyone! The party can begin! Whoo-hoo!”
Pru, Arianna and Erika had arrived. The three women elbowed their way onto the center of the dance floor and took over. There was a chorus of, “Omigod, it’s Pru! It’s Arianna. It’s Erika! You look so beautiful. You haven’t changed a bit!”
Pru and Arianna certainly hadn’t. Pru grabbed Erika by the arm and pulled her over to whisper something in her ear. Erika grimaced and yanked away. Pru angrily pulled her over again, and Erika shoved her—right into the woman behind her.
Suddenly there was a fight breaking out.
Jake shook his head. Just figured. But before he could blink, the three women were hugging and laughing and dancing again.
“Good thing I wasn’t on the dance floor just then. I would have been history in these shoes.”
Jake turned to find Holly checking out her high-heeled strappy sandals. God, even her feet were beautiful.
“You look very nice,” he said in the understatement of the century. “I’m glad you came.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I suppose I’m supposed to say ‘me, too’ to being glad I came, but I’ll have to reserve judgment on that.”
“How does it feel to be here?” he asked.
“Odd. It’s strange to see the same faces, well, ten years older, but to feel so removed from it all. Do you remember the holiday dance we all went to junior year?”
Jake would never forget it. He, Holly, Corey, Lizzie, Gayle and her date, and Felicia had all gone together in a group. That night had been over a decade ago, and he still remembered it so clearly. Remembered the white dress with the little pink roses that Holly had worn, the way her hair had smelled. And he remembered the name-calling and the fights, which had started moments after they’d walked in.
“Look, it’s Lay Me Lizzie, Holly the Whore, the Fleabag, and Good Time Gayle!” Arianna had shouted. “Guys, start lining up!”
There had been laughter and a race as a bunch of boys ran to form a line. There were even mock fights about who was first in line.
“No, you drew the shortest straw so you get stuck with the Fleabag!” someone had called out.
“Hey, just stick a bag over her head—hell, her whole body except for the good parts—and she’s like any other girl!” another boy yelled.
More laughter.
The four girls and their friends, stunned and frozen in place, stood in their unwanted spotlight like the clichéd deer in the headlights, until Felicia had run out. Lizzie had screamed, “I hate you all!” Gayle had yelled, “Go to hell!” at the boys forming their line.
And Jake had been powerless to do anything. So he did what he always did back then. He ran into the crowd of boys, fists swinging, joined by Corey and Gayle’s date, a guy who’d joined the army and then moved away, and one or two other Down Hill boys. And as usual, they took a beating.
Dylan Dunhill had never been part of the jeering, leering, fighting crowd. He had been at the dance; Jake remembered noticing him dancing with Arianna, his girlfriend at the time, just before Lizzie and company had walked in. After Arianna’s outburst, Dylan had whispered something in her ear and then left, and then the fight had started and Jake had lost track of Dylan.
He imagined Dylan berating Arianna for her cruelty and leaving in protest. That was the Dylan he knew now. Back then, though, he figured Dylan had told Arianna to meet him outside for a backseat ride.
That night had been one of the worst. It was the last time he and Holly had ever attended a Troutville High dance; it had taken a lot of convincing on his part to get her to go to the senior prom. And then she herself killed that night.
He looked at her now and didn’t know how to process all that had happened. On one hand, the past was complicated, so complicated in how children and adolescents internalized the external when forming identity, and he wanted to wrap Holly in his arms and tell her they should forget it all and start over as adults. They were the best of friends once; they should be the best of lovers now.
But he himself had internalized too much.
Someone tapping a microphone shook Jake from the past. “Welcome to our reunion!” said Michael Donner, who had been class president. “It’s so wonderful to see so many familiar faces ...” As Michael went on, reading off a list of names of those attending, there were claps and snickers. At the mention that two of their class had recently gotten engaged, two of the least likely, Michael gleefully announced, the crowd buzzed with anticipation. Finally, he said, “Okay, folks, I won’t keep you in suspense a moment longer. It’s Dylan Dunhill, football star, prom king and most popular, and Lizzie Morrow!”
Dylan took that moment to dip Lizzie with a major kiss.
There were gasps and shrieks and “Oh, my Gods.” But most people, Jake noted, couldn’t care less. They went back to talking and eyeing name tags. Of course, there were a few who couldn’t leave the topic alone.
“My brother, the philanthropist,” he heard Pru Dunhill say with a snicker. “He feels bad for the underdog. Trust me, when he sees what a scheming opportunist Lizzie Morrow really is, he’ll dump her. My brother won’t marry that slut.”
Gayle, who was standing right next to Pru, gasped. Loud enough that Pru stopped talking and looked at her.
“Oops, did you hear that?” Pru asked, feigning concern before she giggled.
Holly glanced over at where Lizzie and Dylan were talking with a group of people. Jake could tell that Holly was relieved that Lizzie hadn’t heard what Pru said.
“I think you need to get a life,” Gayle responded. “Normally, I wouldn’t waste my breath trading childish insults with you, but you really need to get a life.”
Pru’s expression darkened—for just a second—and then she laughed. “Pigs will fly before Good Time Gayle could possibly insult me.”
Gayle shook her head. “You’re sad. Sad and pathetic. And not worth my time or energy.”
“Gayle, you’re absolutely right,” Holly said, stepping up beside her.
“Why don’t I get both of you a glass of wine,” Jake said to Gayle and Holly. He shot Pru a look and saw her stiffen; it was a tiny movement, that was how in control of herself Pru was. But he could see that Gayle had stung her. Pru wasn’t used to being told off, and he knew she’d respond as though she hadn’t even heard Gayle. But what Gayle said would bother her very much—more so because she’d said it in front of him. Tomorrow, if you asked Pru Dunhill if she and Gayle Green had exchanged words at the reunion, Pru could very well say no and believe it. She tended to do that—completely block out “unpleasantness,” even when she started it. Jake had seen her do it once before, when a friend of hers had made a flip comment about her father’s affairs. “My father never had an affair,” Pru had said very seriously. The next day, when Jake had run into Pru in the coffee lounge and said that she shouldn’t let gossip get to her, because it was just that, gossip, Pru said she had no idea what he was talking about.
There was a possibility that Pru Dunhill was behind the attacks on Lizzie and her friends. A possibility that she quite conveniently blocked out her behavior, too. Still, Jake didn’t think so. Pru had always been a very straight shooter. She was a little crazy, but he wouldn’t bet money that she was their girl.
A friend of Pru’s pulled her away and onto the dance floor. A moment later, she was laughing and dancing as though nothing had happened.
“She’s vile!” Gayle muttered. “Thanks for the wine, Jake. I could use a little before I go flirt my butt off with my handsome boss, who has just arrived. Whoo-hoo!”
Jake and Holly smiled after Gayle, who danced her way over to her boss.
“I admire Gayle and Lizzie so much for their ability to let things roll off their backs,” Holly said, accepting a glass of white wine from Jake.
“It took me a long time to learn how to do that,” Jake said. “I used to fly off the handle about everything. Take everything personally. I never realized that if I don’t care about the person’
s opinion, it can’t affect me.”
It’s why your opinion of me almost killed me, he wanted to add.
Jake Boone represents everything I’m running away from ... leaving ... everything I hate here....
“I know what you mean,” she said. “It’s taken me a long time to get to that point in the first place. You know, I almost feel sorry for Pru. If she had an ounce of decency, I might feel sorry for her.”
“Attention, everyone!” Arianna called out. “The Troutville Senior High reunion class poll sheets are now available on the alumni table.”
Gayle hurried over. “Class poll?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Why do I doubt this was sanctioned by the reunion committee.”
“Hey, I’ve got one that’s not on here,” bellowed a deep male voice. “Where’s Most Likely To Buy Your Way Through Life? I vote for Dylan Duncehill!”
There were gasps and murmurs from the crowd—and then a thud.
A red-faced Bobby Jones, waving a beer bottle in one hand and the class poll in the other, staggered a few feet, then tripped and fell over his own feet.
A crowd gathered around him. “I think he passed out!” a woman said.
Jake kneeled down beside Bobby and checked his pulse. The smell of liquor emanated from his pores. “He’s out cold. How about some help getting him to a couch in the lobby?”
Three men came to Jake’s aid; together they carried the very tall, very muscular man to a couch along the darkened hallway to the left, where Bobby could sleep in privacy until he either woke up or fell off.
“Now I really feel like I’m back in high school,” Holly said. “All this stupid animosity!”
Jake nodded. “I know. It is stupid. Carrying around grudges and old hurts doesn’t do anyone any good.”
Holly glanced up at him, her blue eyes serious. “We were all just kids. That’s what’s so hard to swallow now. Kids, innocent kids. Hurting each other. Them to us. Us to each other.” She shook her head.
“Why don’t we go breathe some fresh air,” Jake suggested. Holly nodded and he led her outside, into the hotel’s flower garden. “Seat?”
She sat on the white wooden bench and he sat next to her, aware of her nearness, the brush of her thigh, her shoulder against his own. For a moment, he was transported back to a time when he’d still had hope for them.
“What’s Bobby’s problem with Dylan?” Holly asked.
“Bobby had—still has, I guess—a huge crush on Arianna. And Arianna was only ever interested in Dylan. Once or twice she used Bobby to try to make Dylan jealous. Didn’t work, of course. Only made Bobby jealous of Dylan.”
She froze for a moment and clutched his arm. “Could Bobby be behind what’s been going on? The notes, the stone?”
“Possible,” Jake said, “but you’d think he’d be grateful to Lizzie for taking Dylan off the marriage market—leaving Arianna still available.”
“Why, Jake Boone, I do declare I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
Pru Dunhill.
“You found me,” he said. “You remember Holly Morrow, of course.”
“No, I don’t believe I do,” Pru responded, twisting on her high heels. She stood on his side of the bench, so close that he had to sit back in order to keep her breasts from brushing against him. “Dear,” she said to Holly. “I’m sorry, but I seem to have forgotten your name already. I’m Pru Dunhill. Would you be a sweetie and get Jake and me two glasses of champagne? We have something to celebrate.”
Holly’s mouth dropped open. “I think you’re confusing me with one of your servants.”
Pru stared at her. She clearly hadn’t expected Holly’s retort. She recovered quickly, but Jake could see that being put in her place twice in the same hour had caught her off guard. Pru was used to being deferred to, used to intimidating everyone. Used to intimidating Holly and making her run away in tears.
Not anymore.
“Ooh, there’s Laureen! I haven’t seen her in years. Jake, I’ll catch up with you later. Save me a dance, darlin’.”
And with that, she flitted away.
“She is unbelievable!” Holly said, shaking her head. She looked at him. “So are you and Pru—”
“Don’t even suggest it,” Jake interrupted.
She nodded. And, unless Jake was mistaken, he caught the hint of a smile.
“Hey, you two,” Lizzie called, stepping out into the garden. “Take a look at this crap.”
“Lizzie, I told you to throw that away,” Dylan said, shaking his head. “It’s just the usual bull. Liz, when you pay any attention to this nonsense, you give them what they want. This is our reunion and we’re here to have a good time.”
“You’re right, honey,” Lizzie said. She crumpled up the sheet of paper and tossed it in the wicker trash can next to the bench. “I knew there was a reason I was marrying you,” she teased.
Dylan kissed her nose. “Hey, they’re playing our song. Let’s dance.”
Lizzie smiled, winked at Holly, and Dylan twirled her all the way back inside the ballroom.
“They’re so in love,” Holly said.
“It’s nice to see,” Jake responded. “I was beginning to think the whole love thing was some kind of myth.”
“You’ve never been in love?” Holly asked carefully.
He coughed, covering his surprise. “Once, actually.”
“What happened,” she asked.
“The usual,” was all he would say. “We’d better get back inside, see whether Bobby is still out cold and what the witches trio is up to.”
He felt her eyes on him, and he met her gaze and held it. And then a couple came out, laughing and pointing at the stars, and the moment was broken.
“Jake, wait a minute,” Holly whispered, staring past him through the ornate cast-iron gate that led to a path to the woods. “Is that Pru?”
Jake squinted to see in the dim lighting. About three hundred feet away, partially blocked by a huge tree, stood a couple, a man and a woman, who appeared to be arguing, if their hand motions were any indication.
Ah, yes. There was the flash of blond hair as the woman dramatically shook her head, and an expanse of long, smooth, pale leg, the foot encased in a high-heeled sandal. It was Pru Dunhill.
But with whom was she arguing?
“Can you make out who she’s with?” Holly asked.
Jake shook his head. The man wore what looked like a baseball cap; it was impossible to see the color or style of his hair, and Jake couldn’t get a good eye on his face. He was tall, just over six feet, and powerfully built, but Jake couldn’t determine his age.
“Let’s move slowly, naturally, to the gate. Whatever you do, don’t look in their direction. Let’s just get closer for a better view or at least a different angle.”
The strains of a Frank Sinatra song came softly through the open windows from the reunion room, and couples in the courtyard began dancing, dipping and twirling.
“Thanks to Frank, we’ve been given a perfect cover for moving over to the gate,” Jake said, holding out his hand. “Shall we dance?”
Holly took his hand, and he slipped his other arm around her narrow waist. They stood close; he could breathe in her trademark perfume, the clean scent of her silky hair. Their mouths were inches away ... so close. And yet so incredibly far. For a split second, he allowed himself to look at those lips, those luscious, berry-colored lips that he’d dreamed of for so many years—
“Oh, my God, Jake,” Holly cried softly. “She just grabbed a stone from the ground!”
Jake danced Holly over to the gate. Pru did have a large stone in her hand. Good Lord, was she going to hit the guy, whoever he was, with the rock?
Pru threw the stone, hard, at a neighboring tree; a squirrel darted along a high branch and jumped to yet another tree.
The man was staring down at the ground, shaking his head. Pru seemed to be asking him for something that he didn’t want to give.
What? And who was he?
Mo
ve over just a bit, he willed the man. Shift over just a foot so that the leafy trees aren’t blocking the moonlight!
But the man stood still. He glanced up at the dark sky, at the ceiling of branches in the dense woods. And then he shook his head again and started walking away, deeper into the woods.
Pru ran after him, her hands gesturing wildly. But the man kept walking. Pru stood there, in her black dress, the warm summer wind blowing tendrils of long blond hair away from her face.
The man gone, Pru picked up another stone and threw it, then another.
Jake and Holly stared at each other, then back at Pru Dunhill.
“Perhaps she was showing him how hard she wants the stone next time—when it’s Lizzie’s turn to get hurt. Or mine,” Holly said, her face pale. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath.
“It doesn’t look very good for her,” Jake agreed, watching as Pru peered over toward the gate, then began walking very quickly toward the side of the hotel. He had a feeling Pru would reenter the hotel through the front door, then magically appear in the doorway to the courtyard as though she’d been in the reunion room the entire time.
Five minutes later, there she was, the loose tendrils of hair suddenly back in place, her red lipstick fresh and shiny. But as she fell in with a group of her girlfriends who were now shimmying to a Madonna song, one of the women, Laureen, pointed at Pru’s high-heeled sandal and laughed.
For just a moment, the smile died from Pru’s face as she scraped a leaf from her heel. And then it was business as usual. She danced and laughed and even accepted a pat on the rear end from a jerk in their class, as though she hadn’t minutes ago been passionately arguing with a man in the woods.
Over what, Jake was determined to find out.
“Is she on your list of suspects now?” Holly asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jake looked at Holly and nodded. “It’s more than suspicious that Pru is sneaking off into the woods during a crowded party when she’s least likely to be missed, and arguing with a strange man.”
“So you do agree it’s likely that Pru hired him as her ‘hit man,’” Holly said. “He’s the one doing her dirty work.”
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