“Mia . . . hello? Earth to Mia . . .”
She looked up, startled to find Charlie Jewel staring at her. He waved a white plastic cup like a peace offering. “Charlie,” she said, trying to focus. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Well, you’re definitely not,” he said, grinning. “I’ve asked twice what your plans are. You’re still not trying to avoid me, are you?” She smiled, raising a brow. Now there was a memory she’d rather forget. Charlie Jewel was the boy from Alpharetta. The boy she’d lost her virginity to freshman year, the one whose name she couldn’t recall the next morning. “If I wasn’t looking at that pretty face, I’d swear you weren’t in the same room.”
“Not the same room, not the same girl . . . not even the same universe,” she mumbled, forcing down the lump in her throat.
“Mia, are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s a little warm in here, that’s all.”
He plucked at his damp polo, agreeing. “I hate to say it, but I think they’ve cut the air off—maybe with us graduating the university’s fallen on tough times.”
“Maybe so,” Mia said, sipping the rest of her punch. A good sense of humor and a lightning grin; she could see how that silly girl had fallen for it.
“Take a walk with me. I saw your project. It’s over there,” he said, pointing to an obscure corner of the room.
She was amazed that Charlie Jewel knew her major, never mind where her project was located. Not having seen her final grade, Mia wasn’t sure she wanted company on the reveal. “You know, Charlie, I’m not feeling particularly social.” Since their infamous one-night-stand they’d barely had a conversation—including the morning she’d woken up in his dorm room. Since Flynn, Charlie Jewel hadn’t done more than smile politely passing by on campus.
“Come on, take a quick walk with me. I won’t bite,” he said, flashing that grin. “Promise.”
She followed tentatively, unable to imagine what he was up to. It became clear a few steps later. Charlie Jewel didn’t intend to gush over her outstanding achievement. Having revamped her Interiors Concepts project, which had gone from a flat design board to a 3-D model, Mia had higher hopes for a good grade. Tossing back her head, she grimaced at Professor Grinley’s burning-red B-. Even Flynn agreed that the changes were substantial when he loaded it into her car the day he vanished. She’d revamped the entire project, focusing on the whole design rather than individual parts. Everything centered on energy, orientation of flow, and a thoughtful selection of materials. While the surrounding designs were wow-factor inspired, fringe-covered dog and pony shows, Mia’s model relied on a minimization of impact to the footprint. It was, in fact, the physical opposite of everything else in the gallery. “And your point is . . .” she said, wondering if he was going to make a grading comparison to their drunken tryst.
“My aunt, well, actually she’s my great aunt from Virginia; she wanted to come to the gallery. She’s the one who noticed your design.” He stopped, his gaze trailing over Mia’s simplistic model. From the vague look on his face, it was clear that he didn’t get it either. “Anyway, I told her that I, um, knew you.”
“I’m flattered,” she replied flatly. She supposed it was nice to have someone notice, even if it was only Charlie Jewel’s great aunt from Virginia. “I’m glad she liked it.”
“She said she’d love to meet the girl who was ballsy enough to pull it off.” Mia’s eyes widened along with his grin. “You have to know my aunt. She’s, um, colorful, not exactly your regular relative.”
“Like I said, I’m flattered.” Mia looked back toward the thinning crowd. Chatty conversation with Charlie Jewel had its limits. “Thanks for telling me. It’s encouraging,” she said, though it really wasn’t.
“That’s not all,” he said, grasping her arm as she tried to walk away. She pulled it back. It only required a firm, confident look—the one she’d grown into—informing him that contact of any kind was out of bounds. He got that message, stuffing his hands into his pockets, stepping back. “Listen, Mia, there’s something else I’ve been wanting to say. What happened between us—”
“Nothing happened between us,” she said calmly, because really, nothing had. Nothing that couldn’t be condensed into a sex education pamphlet. “It was a long time ago, and it could have turned out worse.”
“I suppose,” he said. “But it might have turned out better if I’d been more, um, considerate.” He had a point, and she allowed him the moment of remorse. It really wasn’t his fault that she’d been immature, drunk, and plain stupid. “Look, it’s an awkward thing to talk about. But I didn’t want you to leave school feeling as if—”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. It was bad judgment, one too many Jell-O shots. It’s an anecdote I’ll use to forewarn my own kids someday.” Mia closed her eyes, snickering. Kids, what kids? There won’t be any children, not without Flynn.
A colorful voice moved hastily toward them, rescuing Mia from both the conversation and her thoughts. “Charlie Jewel, there you are! I thought you’d gotten thoroughly bored and gone off to the pub without me.”
“Would I do that, Aunt Gi?” Mia shot him a sideways glance, recalling that Charlie Jewel would do most anything for a beer, including ditching his great aunt. “Here she is. This is Mia, the girl you wanted to meet.”
Turning toward layers of bright hues, it was difficult to focus on her face at first, the word gypsy jumping to mind. Her hair was the color of flames. It was only trumped by her attire, which was complemented by a layer of jewelry. It took Mia a moment to put it all together. First to grasp that it wasn’t gaudy, but rather an artsy and original ensemble, and second for her to realize that she recognized the woman. “You’re . . . you’re Gisele DeVrie,” she said, the words stumbling from her mouth as if she were reading from a first grade primer.
She smiled at Mia, leaning in, the smell of perfume sharing an equal presence. “In some circles, yes. In this room I’d rather be Aunt Gigi. Thought I’d sneak in and out, have a peek at what’s about to be unleashed onto the design world, but damn if I didn’t get caught. I just spent the last ten minutes ensuring two of your overeager classmates that they’d make something of themselves. Redecorating Barbie’s dream house—maybe,” she whispered with a smile.
Mia nodded, wide-eyed and speechless. Gisele DeVrie. It was like having the Queen of England come to your backyard tea party. She was a legend: eccentric, definitive, inspiring—the Paris runway of interior design, spotting trends a mile before industry insiders. And the only thing Mia could do in the presence of greatness was toss a look of disbelief at Charlie Jewel, mumbling, “You didn’t tell me your great aunt from Virginia was Gisele DeVrie.”
He shrugged. “Well, she’s not. To me she’s just Aunt Gigi.” Not surprising. Along with Charlie’s blinding grin and sense of humor was a layer of denseness. Clearly she was his aunt by marriage.
“So you’re Mia Montgomery. This is your project?” she said, waving her hand over the display like a wand. Looking at the B- and the professor’s mediocre review, Mia guessed the expert designer wanted to make it disappear.
“Well . . .” she began. Mia tried to take advantage of the high heels, forced her posture tall and prepared to stick up for her effort. “It, um, it is . . . mine, all mine,” she squeaked out. Then she just waited. Maybe Gisele DeVrie just needed a good belly laugh. Perhaps she wanted to suggest an alternative occupation, one that didn’t involve any thought. But she appeared to be waiting for more, so Mia began again. “The basis of the design is the environment and the user, to integrate sustainable resources, artistic components, natural light, and reclaimed lumber to—”
“I know what it is, dear,” she said, smiling. “Your material source for that artwork?” she asked, pointing to the intricate mosaic displayed next to the model.
“Soda and beer bottles mostly.” She glanced at Charlie, who was examining the accompanying artwork with renewed interest. Flynn had convinced her to include the mosa
ic. Mia worried that it would be viewed as frivolous art, but he insisted that it brought a whole other dimension to the project. “All recycled goods. There’s a separate bin at the landfill for colored glass. They, um, they let me pick through it,” Mia said, nervously glancing at her fingernails, inspecting for dirt. “The environment and art, I wanted to show how the two things could work in unison, natural resources in step with reclaimed resources, like the glass. I just think . . . I think it should all connect: the user, the resources, the benefit.”
“And you did the design and the artwork yourself ?”
“The mosaic, yes, absolutely, except the adhesive. I wanted to find something nontoxic, but I haven’t come up with anything yet. It’s one of the components I’m still working on—not just zero impact, but a positive gain. I believe you can achieve both. It’s kind of an untouched area in interior design,” she said, wishing she’d prepared cue cards.
Gisele was nodding now, pulling her bifocal spectacles down to the point of her nose. “Very intriguing,” she murmured, examining the project closely. Her steady gaze panned to Mia. “The originality is brilliant and the art brings it to a new level. It deviates from anything we’re seeing right now, the way you’ve simplified the composition to make energy use paramount, not secondary. This uncommon blend of artistry and environmental impact—surely someone’s pointed that out to you?”
Assuming she didn’t mean Flynn, Mia shook her head. “Not really. Professor Grinley hasn’t thought much of my work—as you can gather from the grade.”
Gisele DeVrie looked squarely at Mia. “Oh, don’t listen to him, dear. Haskell Grinley’s an old-school pompous ass.” Mia’s eyes widened, amazed. Partly because of the huge compliment, and partly because it was what Flynn had said—more or less. “Hmm, perhaps I shouldn’t be so forthright in my opinion. And to be perfectly honest, that design is so Tomorrowland . . . Well, it seems to me that you’re marrying ideas—art, the environment, and impact—that won’t come to fruition for some time, maybe another decade. But eventually . . .” Removing her glasses, she tapped the frame against her teeth, giving Mia a more inquisitive look than she’d given the design. “Can you do standard interior design with this kind of passion, enough to earn your keep?”
Biting her lip, Mia thought there was a definite right and wrong answer to that question. She answered truthfully, suspecting there was no hedging with Gisele DeVrie. “Everyday interior design isn’t my passion—but yes, of course I’m capable.” There was a burst of confidence; she even felt comfortable in those high heels. She was more than capable of producing work that would appeal to the masses. Up until then, she simply hadn’t seen the need.
Snapping the glasses back onto her face, Gisele DeVrie continued to look Mia over. “And sixty-hour work weeks, how do you feel about those? Saturday night out . . . girlfriend, boyfriend, whatever your cup of tea, you won’t have time for it.”
You left out fugitive on the run. “I’m fine with that. In fact, I’d like nothing more than to focus on my career.”
“We’ll get to the career. For now just be a sponge. There are a thousand steps, dear.” Mia’s brow crinkled at the familiar words—Flynn’s words. “You’ll spend half your time at my design studio, half in the field—traveling, trade shows, dirty warehouses, impossible clients—learning every inch of interior design that has nothing to do with passion or creativity. That will be difficult for someone like you. Generally it’s the other way around, people trained in textbook design fighting for their next inspiration. Are you game, Mia?”
“Yes! Absolutely. I’ll be there Monday, tomorrow, yesterday,” Mia said, feeling the spark of her out-of-step designs catch. It was an ember that would not have existed without Flynn, and it was empowering. Mia was suddenly willing to design a Vegas lounge—strobe light included—if it meant a chance to work with Gisele DeVrie.
“No need to rush. I won’t be back in the office for another week. Just give my assistant a call; he tends to the everyday matters.” Mia nodded, her heart pounding. “Take a moment to pack a bag and take a good look around. Life is about to change.” Tucking a business card into Mia’s hand, she motioned to her nephew, instructing him to follow.
Mia was on a roller coaster moving backward. There was a sudden thrill, a steep climb she couldn’t see, not even a guess. She wanted to scream with excitement. The expectation was exhilarating, her stomach rolling on the hairpin turn she’d just taken. It was beyond huge. And, perhaps, the awkward answer to a difficult prayer. Mia left the gallery, gaining momentum with every step, creeping toward a beginning. There was that. And the melancholy prospect of riding a roller coaster alone.
Like snow in June, unexpected events continued to blanket those last days in Athens. Roxanne’s reaction to Flynn’s disappearance had been oddly subdued. She didn’t damn him to hell with her convoluted theories or even offer an “I told you so.” But Mia was wary, knowing her silence was temporary at best.
They were on their way to an engagement party of all things. It seemed the Odyssey had been full of cupid’s arrows the night Mia and Flynn met. Lanie and the frat boy she danced with had decided on a diamond instead of desertion to typify their union. It only caused a moderate gush of pea-green envy. Though she had little desire to attend, Mia thought it selfish to let her loss overshadow a friend’s happiness. Besides, Roxanne, who had no use for romantic ritual, insisted they go. It would be a chance to say good-bye, to wish everyone well. Mia had to agree, although it seemed that her relationship with Roxanne would be safe. It turned out that Georgetown School of Medicine and Gisele DeVrie’s design studio were less than twenty miles apart. “Imagine that,” Mia had murmured as Roxanne smiled with delight.
Mia drove to the engagement party, a back road weaving past the seedy motel where Flynn spent his first night in Athens. She made a tiny reference and a simple conversation flipped fast, like a high-speed collision. The remark led to Roxanne’s tainted recollection of that same night. It spiraled from there, with Mia vehemently defending him and Roxanne countering. It escalated until she struck a final nerve, equating Flynn to something just below flesh-eating bacteria. “Because with that,” Roxanne insisted, “those dead girls might have stood a chance. Had that been their fate, instead of someone like him, there might have been an antidote.”
Like a missile, the car rocketed from a winding curve onto a soft embankment, with Roxanne clinging tight to the dashboard. “Have you lost your mind? What are you doing?”
“Get out!” Mia demanded.
“What?” Even in the fading summer light, Mia could see the confusion on Roxanne’s face. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“I don’t care!” She reached down and unbuckled Roxanne’s seatbelt. “Get out of my car. Get out of my life.”
“Come on, Mia, you don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I?” she challenged, firm and fixated.
“Be serious. I’m not getting out here. Forget the party, it was a bad idea. Let’s go home. I think I have a Valium in the medicine cabinet.” She looked straight ahead, waiting for Mia to comply. Instead, she thrust the car into park, stretched past Roxanne, and popped open her door. Roxanne turned back, appalled. It didn’t matter. She no longer needed a surrogate parent, or led a life that required Roxanne’s judgmental eye. “Lord have mercy,” she squawked, “I’m wearing three-inch heels! It’s a cow pasture out there. Do you know what’s in a cow pasture?” Mia cocked a brow, picturing Roxanne sinking fast into a pile of cow shit. “This is what I mean. See what he’s done to you! The Mia I know would never behave this way,” she said, finally getting off her chest what had been burning in her head. “Consider yourself lucky, Mia. Be grateful that his leaving you turned out to be the worst of it.”
The argument was poised to end a friendship; Mia felt ample fire. And it would have ended had she gone with her gut. But easing back to her side of the car, shoulders pinned to the window, Mia realized how, in Roxanne’s mind, abandonment was a token price
to pay. She stopped, considering the whole story, and everything that made Roxanne who she was. Flynn’s departure, while devastating, couldn’t compete with Rory Burke’s fate. “If only Rob had left Rory, right?” she said, her voice softer.
Roxanne turned in her seat, staring hard at Mia. “If only,” she said in a whisper that lacked drawl or attitude. “I’m sorry, Mia, sorry I can’t ignore the blatant similarities.”
“What similarities?” she asked. “Flynn wasn’t some rich boy-toy, Stanford student by day, drug dealer by night. He didn’t steal me away from my family and friends. He didn’t turn me on to a life that barreled down a dark tunnel.”
“No, thank God he slithered out of town before anything like that happened. And it’s the part you refuse to see—drugs, dead college girls, pimping a prostitution ring—his personal flaw is irrelevant,” she insisted. “It has everything to do with giving yourself to a man who roams through his life disregarding yours. That kind of recklessness, it was Rob . . . it was Flynn.”
“Roxanne, you couldn’t be more wrong. Rory and I—the two situations have nothing to do with one another. Yes, what Flynn did hurts—it will forever,” she said, unable to find fitting words. “That’s no secret. But he wasn’t some random hit of LSD; I wasn’t his acid casualty.” It was hard to say aloud, and brutally hard for Roxanne to hear. And for the past year it had been an unspoken truth they’d teetered around. “Let me ask you something. When you visit Rory, what do you think about?”
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