by Ryan Schow
She had been embarrassed by her daughter when she was fat and unattractive, and when she was ornery in public, but Abby was never this mean to others, and it gave her pause. Abby turned her eyes back on Orianna and it was like she was seeing someone else in the girl entirely.
“It’s about time we see some cracks in this family. Everyone’s so goddamn perfect. The house, the cars, Christian’s amazing meals and smiles and all this happy, happy horseshit. I was starting to wonder if you people were for real.”
Orianna felt her eyes flare. Then Abby went back to eating, and while she was chomping down on the rest of her sandwich, a piece of basil on her chin, she pointed at Orianna’s food and said, “Eat it already,” showing Orianna just how mushed up and half broken down her sandwich had already become inside her mouth. Orianna looked away.
Goddamn?
Something in her startled awake. A part of her that was sleepy, but not asleep. Abby did not say “goddamn,” not as Savannah, and not as Abby. It was always “gosh damn,” because she refused to offend God in spite of her already offensive language. It was a touch hypocritical, but at least she was trying. Well, until now.
As she ate her food, Abby said, “Tell me more about how I was when I was young,” and Orianna did. Her skin was clammy, though, her insides sticky with doubt. Perhaps even a little suspicion.
When she dropped Abby off at the house, after lunch and a bit of perusing through gift shops and a few clothing shops, Orianna couldn’t shake the feeling that—as much as she loved her time with Abby—this was not her Abby. Was her Abby gone? Did her murder take her for good?
8
Netty called Brayden Saturday. He was at the hotel, asleep in the ultra luxurious bed and it was the middle of the day. He didn’t even remember picking up the phone.
“Abby won’t return my calls,” Netty said. He could tell she’d been crying.
“Abby’s gone, Netty,” he said, feeling so exhausted he almost hung up the phone.
“Gone?”
“Not away, gone. Just gone, gone,” Brayden said a little impatient. “She’s not our Abby anymore.” On the other end of the phone, he could hear sniffling, like she was trying to hide her tears.
“She’s my best friend,” she finally said, then blew her nose. It sounded like she was blowing her nose right into the phone. Brayden pulled his cell phone away from his ear, looked at it like, WTF?
“I know,” he said when the racket finally stopped.
“Why haven’t you called?”
“I’ve been decompressing from this monumentally insane summer. I mean, if you take a minute to catalogue all the disturbing shit that’s happened, it’s enough to melt a guy’s brain.”
“Still, you could have called,” she said. “You were my first, you know?”
“I know,” he said, somber.
“And you don’t think maybe you should have…I don’t know…not let a week go by?”
“It’s only been a few days,” he reasoned.
“Oh my God, Brayden.”
All the sadness had vanished and the Russian terrorist version of Netty threatened to drag itself back to the surface. He couldn’t deal with that. After what he suffered with her earlier that summer, when they were waiting to see if Abby would survive or die, he wasn’t eager to see that side of her anytime soon. Not in this life or the next.
He rubbed his head, rolled over in bed, checked the clock. It was four thirty-six. “I’m sorry,” he said, thinking he should eat dinner since he skipped breakfast and lunch. “I get it.”
“I hope so.”
“So how are you?” he asked, feeling sheepish and still irritated. His skull itched; he was losing body mass. If he didn’t get back to working out and start eating healthy carbs and protein, he would be the bone rack he was before he decided to change his entire persona.
“How do you think I am?” Netty said, the despair returning to her voice. She could be on downers for all her melancholy. “I lost my best friend and my virginity in the same summer and now I feel more empty and alone than ever. Plus, I have no one to talk to about this but you, and as a girlfriend, you suck. No offense.”
“None taken,” he replied. “I can come see you. If you want.”
“Where are you?”
“Roseville.”
“What are you doing all the way up there?”
“I picked up my new car.”
“It’s okay,” she said, sounding more faraway than ever. “I’ve got school anyway.” He didn’t say anything so she said, “When do you start?”
“Monday,” Brayden said.
“Maybe I’ll come down tomorrow.”
“You should. I’ll plan a day date.” He said it like he almost cared. And he did. He liked Netty, it’s just…he worked himself into a hell of a funk these last few days. It was saying good-bye to Abby that really did it. She would never be his. Not now. Not with everything they lived through, and not with her dying and coming back so…different. Then he went and slept with her best friend, and that felt like the biggest betrayal of them all. Not that she’d care. The new Abby wouldn’t know what that would do to the old Abby. How she’d probably hate them both.
“My mom might say no,” Netty said.
“Then I’ll come up there, if I have to.”
“She knows.”
“Who knows what?”
“My mom,” Netty said, cryptic. “She knows.”
His heart dropped gears and started thump-thump-thumping away in the bottom of his chest like a busted transmission. “She knows what exactly?”
“She knows we…you know…did it.”
He sighed deeply, flopped back down on the bed and said, “Well then she must just be thrilled to see me.”
“Yeah, well she’s not in any place to judge now that she’s got a little side thing in her life—this hedge fund manager who’s ten years younger than her and dripping with success.”
Now he sat up straight. “What?”
“Yep. His name’s Dante, and he’s pretty cool. With her cheating on my dad, it’s not like she’s in any place to make me feel like crap for having sex with you.”
“I guess that’s a good thing. Or not. I don’t know. Wow.”
“Yeah. So I think maybe if she tells me I can’t come see you, then maybe I can tell her I am going to see my father instead and maybe Dante will come up in conversation, and maybe he won’t.” She started laughing, but it was a joyless laugh, and he knew she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t break her father’s heart to get her way.
Netty wasn’t like that.
“We’ll find a way to see each other, just please don’t do that to your father. And don’t ruin things with your mom on our account.”
With that Netty snorted a huff of…something (annoyance?—disagreement?), like he just said something stupid, insensitive, or just plain wrong. He kicked aside the comforter, frustrated. Good God! he was thinking. He was getting proficient at getting girls to find him interesting and to sleep with him, but when it came to understanding them beyond their initial attraction and sex, he was seriously out of his depth!
Maybe Romeo was right when in Vegas he said, “Style not substance, get in, get laid, and get the hell out. This isn’t about monogamy, it’s about sheer numbers. It’s about you improving yourself above your current station in life until you’re at the top station of every girl’s life, and then you can fall in love and be transparent. But not now. Not anytime soon.”
He thought Abby was his soul mate, his perfect ten. What he was doing, really, on a sub-conscious level, maybe even on a conscious level—if he was being honest—was striving to win her over. Which seemed stupid. She was gorgeous, no longer the bridge troll she started out as, and now she was moving on because he was the same old Brayden. He could get himself a new nose and chin, and he could cut his hair and workout hard, but he would always be a cleaned up version of the scrub he was, and she would always be remade into something genetically superior to almost ev
eryone. And now she’d forgotten everything she liked about him, their connection and most of all, their friendship.
Yes, she was gone, and yes, it bothered him at a soul level. He almost didn’t want to go back to Astor. Just get in his new car and drive home, or back to Vegas.
Anywhere but Astor.
“Um…hello?!” Netty said, her accent getting a little thicker.
“I’m sorry, Netty. I’m just sad, too. And lonely. I guess I’ve lost more than I imagined and it hurts.”
There was a huff on the other end of the line, then Netty said, “We sound like a couple of bitches right now.”
They both laughed.
Before he hung up, he decided he’d see her one more time, then gently peel away, telling her he’d stay in contact. He would try, but it wouldn’t work because long distance relationships never work. You need proximity, touch…you need to look into a person’s eyes to fall in love with them every day. To exist. Otherwise, no matter the effort, it all sours then dies eventually.
Which is why he shouldn’t be so aloof, or so sexually irresponsible. He needed to make better decisions. Consciously think things through. And not be such a butthole. Which was an entirely different conversation he would have with himself later. The gist of it would be that he wasn’t going to sleep with anyone new during the school year. No matter what. With everyone he’d hurt—Aniela, Becky, and Netty—he wouldn’t do this again. He couldn’t live with himself.
He got out of bed, opened up the drapes and looked down on the pool. There was a sexy blonde in a white bikini with a gorgeous body and he didn’t want to look at her. He did anyway. She had amazing abs.
“You can make better decisions,” he said aloud to no one but himself, the only person who mattered in this conversation of one.
Then he closed the drapes and crawled back in bed.
Out of the Flames…
1
Julie met Cameron in the Sacramento International Airport an hour after she deplaned. It was one thing sitting in the airport waiting to board your plane out of town; it was another thing waiting in an airport after you’ve arrived—talk about inhumane! Still, she and Cameron were supposed to be besties, so whatevs.
It gave her time to ponder the question of her pregnancy.
There was a Pregnancy First piss kit in her luggage just in case. She wanted to know if a little Emery was curled inside of her, but she didn’t want to know either. It felt the same though, the same as last time, so…she was probably pregnant. I will not cry, she said over and over and over again.
I will not cry.
Cameron’s flight arrived on time and they met in a big, boisterous hug that lasted too long. Then they were just two super hot chicks rolling their carry-ons down to luggage claim. Down the escalator, waiting for them was a man with a sign that read: Sanderson/O’Dell.
“That’s us,” Cameron said. The man (their driver) took their luggage, the heavier pieces, then escorted them to a black limousine. In the limo they talked about their summer, Julie telling her nothing of her real summer, and especially nothing about her super dysfunctional family. Or that she was suddenly feeling extra vomity. Cameron’s tan was ultra dark, and all she could talk about was summering in the Hamptons. Which she missed already.
Fortunately Julie’s sickness passed, but only after Cameron gave her a funny look when she broke out in a light sweat and started looking around the limo for things to puke in.
“My flight was all bumps and altitude drops,” she lied.
“I had this annoying kid sitting next to me,” Cameron said, “and he wouldn’t stop staring at my girls.”
In the kid’s defense, Julie thought, her friend’s low cut blouse with her loose bra was a screaming invitation to look, but Julie didn’t say anything. Cameron was a bit of an attention whore at times. Then again, so was she. So were lots of hot girls.
When they arrived at Astor an hour later, they pulled into student parking, because it was closest to their dorms, and that’s when she saw the most beautiful Mustang she’d ever seen. She got out of the limo to watch it drive in.
The sports car was this amazing electric blue, lowered on concave silver rims, windows tinted so dark she couldn’t tell who was driving. The sport coupe cruised slowly into the parking lot like something coughed straight from the bowels of hell, the low rumble and dirty roar tough enough to make her the slightest bit wet. She wasn’t into American muscle, but she knew when she saw something she liked, and she liked this.
“Who’s that?” Cameron said getting out of the limo behind her. Now they both stared at the car as it parked, waiting almost anxiously to see who’d get out.
“God damn that’s a sexy Mustang,” Julie heard herself say.
The Mustang’s engine shut off. Behind them, the limo driver was quietly collecting their belongings from the trunk. Overhead, the sky was a spotless blue, and a light breeze teased them with the scent of fresh air and cut grass.
Who the hell was driving that thing?
Then Brayden James stepped out of the car and Cameron was like, “Oh for shit’s sake,” before going back to oversee the limo driver’s progress. “Make sure you don’t scuff the fabric,” she said, “it’s brand new.”
Brayden was not someone Julie would ever pay attention to because he had a common look and he was a relentless smart ass. She didn’t like him before, but she did love his car. He looked different though, more like a man than a boy. Kind of cute. Ish. With his buzzed head, his mirrored aviator sunglasses, a vintage green Mountain Dew shirt on (nice build) and frayed jeans (nice ass), he wasn’t the Brayden of last semester.
Wow, he’d grown up.
For some stupid reason, she walked over to him and he was like, “What’s up, Jules?” They never spoke, so how he could so casually address her after all the horrible things she’s said about him was unnerving.
“Nice ride,” she said. “Those wheels are sick.”
“Thanks.”
After a moment of looking at him, she said, “You look different.” He turned around and appraised her, glasses still on, his body not all the way facing hers, but sideways, like he wanted space, but maybe not. She fought the urge to take a step back. He smelled good, like expensive cologne, the kind you can put on without making everyone else think you bathed in it.
OMG, who is this guy?! she was thinking.
“Different how?” he said, leaning back on the trunk of his car, the very smallest of grins playing out on his face. He had that rugged sort of bad boy thing going on. Nope, he had swag.
He got his confidence, she thought. He got it big time.
“Take off your glasses,” she said, changing her tact.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You look like you’ve been up to trouble this summer,” he said, ignoring her demand that he disrobe his eyes.
She smiled a little, even though the comment stung a bit, too, because he was right. “You hit the nail right on the head on that one.”
“And?”
“And now I’m ready to get back to my education.”
He snorted and said, “Jesus, you sound like a back-to-school ad.” Then he turned around, popped his trunk. The lid jumped and he gathered up not a suitcase, but a big cluster of shopping bags.
“You don’t have to be rude,” she said. He had his back to her now, so he couldn’t see the look on her face. Did he do this on purpose? she wondered. This was not the same Brayden she knew!
“I’m not. I wrongfully assumed you were going to tell me about clubs and parties and all the college guys you just couldn’t get enough of. You know girls after summer break. They are always bragging about their endless summers.”
“I’m not like that,” she said. This stopped him and it was then he took off his glasses and looked right at her. His eyes were intense. And so clear. And the way he was looking at her, it wasn’t the same way Emery looked at her. This was different, calming. Like he was amused by her rather than
infatuated. Most guys were infatuated, so this was…new.
“Now that’s not the Julie Sanderson I know and don’t love.”
Behind her, she heard Cameron huff out a sigh and then cough, and finally her friend said, “When you’re done masturbating all over his car, can we go please? My fucking feet hurt.”
“Maybe I’m different,” she said, ignoring Cameron. He cocked an eyebrow in challenge to her. Looking at his car, she said, “This one is so much better than that depressing heap of shit you were driving last semester.”
“Well, then,” he said, and she realized how white his teeth were. He put his glasses back on and looked past her at Cameron long enough to let Julie know her friend no longer fazed him.
She smiled, tilted her head sideways in a you-no-longer-faze-me-either sort of way. Even though he totally did. Which was weird. “I’ll catch ya later,” she said before rejoining Cameron at the limo.
While they were heading up to the dorms, Cameron said, “Why on earth were you talking to him?”
“Why not?”
“He’s freaking Brayden James. I mean, ew, you know?”
“He seems different,” she said, her voice sounding light and faraway. Like she was still stuck thinking about Brayden, which she was.
“We all look different,” Cameron said, fighting with her bags. “It’s called growing up. It is what we’re doing every day now, Julie. Like as we speak.” When Julie didn’t reply, Cameron said, “He did look bigger, though. Like…muscular, or something.”
“Yeah, he looked good.”
Cameron stopped walking, a snotty look on her face, like she’d just eaten a hot cow turd she thought was an oatmeal cookie. “Ew. Seriously, freaking ew.”
2
After Brayden left his bags in his room, he strolled through campus heading over to Holland’s office/lab to see about Georgia. Yesterday Brooklyn text him saying they moved her.
Kids were arriving by the hour, the campus quickly filling, but he didn’t see anyone he liked enough to talk to on the way there. Which was sad. It was sad because mostly he hated these people with all their effortless perfection. He turned his thoughts elsewhere. To the lovely Brooklyn, a gorgeous woman named after a hard city. He appreciated her keeping him current on Georgia’s progress ever since Brayden dropped her off at the San Francisco lab.