“Darlings.” Their mom wafted down the path from her studio annex, draped in a long skirt and blousy orange tunic. She’d taken up yoga now, at a studio Amber swore Oprah used, and left books about Transcendental Meditation and the power of The Secret littered around the guesthouse. Grace hoped this wasn’t simply a stop on the one-way train to Scientology. Valerie kissed Grace and Hallie on the forehead, and offered Dakota a hug. “Look at you, up and over here so early.”
Dakota caught Hallie’s eye across the table, and the two of them shared the tiniest of smiles. Grace froze, bacon halfway to her mouth.
Had Dakota spent the night?
Their mom took a seat, oblivious. “Isn’t this nice? All of us together?”
They began to eat, but despite the lure of bacon, Grace was distracted, sneaking looks at Hallie. Was that a womanly glow, or just a new brand of bronzer? And were the looks between her and Dakota their usual swooning affection, or something more loaded with meaning? A morning-after kind of meaning.
“When did you get in last night?” Grace asked Hallie casually.
She shrugged. “Late.”
“How late? I didn’t hear you come in.”
Hallie gave her a look. “Then you must have drifted off early.”
“Mrs. Weston,” Dakota interrupted, turning to their mom.
She tutted. “Valerie, please!”
“Valerie.” Dakota fixed her with a charming smile. “I was wondering if it would be OK to go away with Hallie for a few days. We’re planning a road trip, maybe over to Vegas and up to San Francisco.”
Grace choked on her juice. “Vegas?”
Hallie ignored her, turning to their mom with a wheedling tone. “Please, Mom? I can visit everyone back home, maybe even video the whole trip like a documentary short!”
“But how will you afford it?” Grace asked. She knew walking the dogs kept Hallie in coffees and acting classes, but a road trip?”
“Don’t worry, Dakota’s got it all figured out.”
He nodded. “We’ll stay in cheap motels, and crash with friends. A guy I know works entertainment for a hotel in Vegas. He can hook us up with cheap rooms.”
There it was again. Vegas. City of casinos, tacky stage shows — and drive-through weddings. Grace felt an ominous shiver. Sure, Hallie was a fan of big romantic gestures, but she wouldn’t go that far, would she?
“I’m not sure.” Their mom frowned absently. “A big trip like that, it could be dangerous. What if you broke down, or got in an accident?”
“I’ll look after her, I promise.” Dakota gave Hallie an adoring smile.
“Still, I don’t know. . . .”
“Will you at least think about it?” Hallie pleaded. “We were hoping maybe in November. There’s tons of time.”
Valerie sighed, then gave a small nod. “I’ll think about it.”
Hallie leaped up, squealing. “Thanks, Mom!” She flew around the table and hugged their mother tightly.
“But no promises!” Valerie added as if anyone at the table didn’t already know she’d agree. Chances were, she’d get so wrapped up in her painting and positive visualizations that she wouldn’t even remember the question, let alone notice when Hallie was gone.
Grace finished her breakfast in silence, but the minute Hallie went inside to fetch her beach things, Grace trailed her up the stairs.
“Vegas?” she asked, loitering in the doorway of Hallie’s bedroom. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”
“Like what?” Hallie smoothed her hair in front of the mirror, and slicked on some lip gloss.
“I don’t know . . .” Grace paused. “Elope?”
Hallie spun around. “What?”
Grace blushed. “I know, it sounds crazy, but crazy is kind of your thing! I’m serious!” she protested as Hallie burst out laughing. “I’ve seen the way you look at Dakota, and now that he’s spending the night . . .”
“Shh!” Hallie hissed, quickly moving to close the door. “What do you know about that?”
“Only that Dakota sleeps until ten, and lives forty minutes away.” Grace fixed Hallie with a meaningful stare. “I can do the math.”
Hallie exhaled. “It’s none of your business.”
“I know! I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” Grace said. “Not after everything this year. . . .”
“This is different!” Hallie said fiercely. “Dakota’s not like Dad. He would never do anything to hurt me.” She took a deep breath. “I know you can’t understand,” Hallie told Grace, moving to the closet. “You’ve never been in love before, you can’t know what it’s like. But trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
Grace wasn’t convinced. Love wasn’t any reason to lose your mind. “I like Dakota, you know I do.” She tried being reasonable. “But, you’ve only known him a few months. Don’t you think you should slow down?”
“For what?” Hallie threw her arms out expressively. “You keep saying that: ‘be careful,’ ‘slow down,’ ” she mimicked. “But why? I love him! What’s the point in pretending, and holding back, when I know we’re meant to be together? Always!”
Grace gulped. “But you just said —”
“I know what I said.” Hallie shrugged carelessly. “And you can relax, OK? We haven’t planned anything. But . . . it’s going to happen, sooner or later.” She sighed, starry-eyed. “This is for real. Forever.”
Hallie scooped up her bag. “We’re heading to the beach, and then meeting everyone at Ana Lucia’s. Don’t wait up!” She winked, then flew out of the room and down the stairs.
Grace watched from the window as Hallie raced over to where Dakota was waiting on the front lawn. She threw her arms around his neck, and he spun them in a circle before depositing her gently back on the ground. They kissed, long and passionate, before piling in his car and driving away, music blasting.
Was Hallie right? Grace turned the question over in her mind for the rest of the day, as she breezed through the rest of her homework; curled on a calico couch on the back patio. Was love like that: mindless, and headlong, like hurling yourself off a tall building? Grace had always thought she was sensible to be so careful when it came to her heart, but there Hallie was: careless to the core, but spinning in some boy’s arms all the same.
Perhaps Grace was the fool, for always holding back.
With Hallie swept up in Dakota and their grand plans for a road trip, Grace tried to focus on her own life for once: spending the next weeks hanging out with Palmer, and surrendering to Harry’s frequent requests for study sessions; even though, it seemed, studying was the last thing he wanted to do.
“So how are you finding it here?” Harry abandoned his textbooks for the fifth time that hour, sitting with his feet dangling in the pool in Uncle Auggie’s backyard. Grace was beginning to wonder if he had ADD or some such other affliction, for all the distractions he seemed to find. “It must be cool, being so ahead on everything.”
Grace shrugged. “It’s actually kind of boring,” she admitted, moving to sit beside him. She shucked off her sandals and plunged her feet in the water, sighing with pleasure as the cool water hit her skin. Indian summer had turned out to be standard for fall in L.A.: the weather so hot that week it made Grace long for the chilled mists back home. “I spend most of the time in class just waiting around.”
“You don’t know how lucky you are.” Harry splashed happily, knee-length skater shorts red against the terra-cotta tiles. “I think it would be great, just kicking back, not stressing about everything.”
“Sure, but it gets old.” Grace sighed. “And the teachers really don’t like having to give me extra work.”
“Just be glad you have the time,” Harry told her, splashing some more. “My parents are already bugging me about colleges. Yay Asian stereotypes!”
Grace laughed.
“It’s not funny. They’re making me join the baseball team, and do all kinds of extracurriculars. You should think about that too,” he added. “Clubs
and activities and stuff. I mean, it sucks, but they’re kind of right.”
“I guess.” Grace was reluctant. “I’m not really a joiner.”
“Tell that to the admissions people,” Harry said darkly. “Yeah, sorry I only have a 4.0 GPA and no bullshit student activities, I was actually studying, instead of pretending to be a well-rounded citizen.”
Grace laughed again.
“No, I’m serious,” Harry continued. “It’s this big game that everyone keeps playing. You think anyone believes we’re volunteering because we care, and not just for the credit?”
“But does that make a difference to the people you’re helping?” Grace pointed out.
“A philosopher,” Harry teased. “Great.”
Theo was studying philosophy, Grace couldn’t help but think. Studying it at Stanford, only six hours and six minutes away on the freeway — traffic depending. She’d checked.
“Listen,” Harry said, his tone suddenly hesitant. “You, umm, want to get together later?”
“It’s OK, we should have the chapters finished soon.” Grace eased her feet out of the pool and went back to the table for her drink. She took a gulp, surveying the spread of textbooks and notes. “Don’t worry, McLaren won’t test us on the next section yet. We have tons of time.”
“No.” Harry coughed. “I meant, like, for a movie or something.”
“Oh.” Grace froze. She turned back to Harry, suddenly gripped with awkwardness. “I . . . I mean . . .”
“Or, we could just grab a coffee,” Harry added quickly, looking about as agonized as Grace felt. “Or even go to this party Josh is having. His parents are out and he’s having some people over to watch movies and hang out. . . . Whatever you want.”
What she wanted. . . . Grace gulped. What she wanted was six hours away. “I don’t think . . .” She trailed off. She’d never once been asked out by a boy before, not on an actual date, so how was she supposed to know how to turn him down? “I, umm . . .”
“Hey, guys.”
Grace whirled around. Brandon was sauntering up the path: casual in threadbare jeans and his usual two-day stubble, but to Grace, there could be no sweeter sight. Salvation!
“Brandon!” she exclaimed happily. Harry’s face fell. “Hey! How are you? What’s going on?”
“The usual.” He stood by the pool, hands in his front pockets. “What’s new with you?”
“Nothing!” Grace cried, quickly grabbing her notebook and chem file. “We were actually just finished here, right, Harry?”
He stared at her, clearly crestfallen. “Right. Yeah. OK.”
“Great study session!” Grace could tell her voice was unnaturally high, but she couldn’t help it. Those had been the most awkward thirty seconds in the history of the universe. “See you in school!”
Harry looked from her to Brandon, and packed up his things. “See you.” He sighed, and loped off.
Grace collapsed in a chair with relief.
“Did I interrupt something?” Brandon asked, looking amused.
“Yes,” Grace told him. “And for that, you have my undying gratitude.”
Brandon laughed. “Aww, poor kid. Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to try to make a move on someone?”
“Do you have any idea how awkward it is to try and duck that move?” Grace countered. She exhaled. “Anyway, thanks. I owe you.”
“No problem.” Brandon looked around, the hope in his expression unmistakable. Grace felt a twist of pity.
“She’s out,” she told him gently.
“Oh.” Brandon paused. “With him?”
“Yup.” Grace finished packing up the study things. “She should be back later, if you want to come over then.”
Brandon gave a shrug, as if he were trying to seem unconcerned. “No, it’s cool. I’m helping clear out Miss Whitman’s garage,” he explained. “I thought Hallie might want to come see.”
“Is she that old movie star, from all those fifties musicals?” Grace looked over in interest. The Whitman house was at the far end of the block: shadowed with elm trees, the front yard deep with weeds and flowers growing wild. “We drive past it all the time on the tour. One guy was totally obsessed, he took, like, a hundred photos of her mailbox and front gate.”
Brandon nodded. “Yup. The house is like a museum. She has all these vintage clothes, and memorabilia from her movies. I figured, it was Hallie’s kind of thing. . . .”
“It would be,” Grace agreed. Brandon was looking about as downcast as Harry had, only moments before. She took pity on him. “Can I see it?”
“No, I mean, it’s OK. You don’t have to. . . .”
“I want to. It’ll be fun to see inside.”
Brandon finally smiled, and for a moment, his usually somber face was transformed into something youthful, even handsome. “OK,” he agreed. “But I’m warning you, it’s like hoarder heaven in there!”
Brandon wasn’t exaggerating. Behind the overgrown, fairy-tale facade, the legendary Gray Whitman’s mansion was knee-deep in old boxes, books, and mementos of her former life as an on-screen ingenue. The lady herself was taking a nap, Brandon said — apparently her code for a glass of sherry and the afternoon soap operas — so they started in the garage. He yanked up the door, flooding the space with light, Grace feared, it hadn’t seen in years.
“These newspapers are from nineteen sixty-two!” Grace exclaimed, holding up a stack of crumbling yellowed pages. “Who keeps this kind of stuff?”
Brandon laughed. “The kind of person who also has every issue of Variety in their original wrappers.” He hauled another box out of the way, sending up clouds of dust.
“How did you get roped into this?” Grace asked, filling the first of what she was sure would be many trash bags.
Brandon shrugged. “I volunteered to help. I don’t have much else to do, and she’s nice, really. Just kind of . . . prickly.”
Grace raised an eyebrow. “Kind of? She set off the alarms over that tourist I was telling you about — chased him out with the sirens blaring.”
“Can you blame her — people driving by every night?” Brandon argued. “She just wants to be left alone. I understand that.”
Grace paused. She’d seen Brandon around all the time, but they’d never actually been alone together, to talk. “How are you doing?” she ventured, before wondering if that was too intrusive. “Amber said you were taking some classes,” she added quickly. “Photography?”
Brandon nodded, slowly slicing his X-Acto knife down the side of another box. His shirtsleeve rode up, revealing the dark ink of a tattoo on the curve of his bicep. “My parents were on me to do . . . something,” he explained. “Anything, really, to get me out the house.”
“Do you like it?” Grace asked. “I tried it for an art elective once, it was pretty fun.”
He thought for a moment. “I like the darkroom part: mixing the chemicals, and going through the different processes, but the actual taking pictures . . .” He gave her a rueful look. “This fancy psychologist they make me see suggested it. It’s supposed to help me reengage with the world, pay attention to things. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for.”
“Maybe that’s the point,” Grace answered, after a moment. “Maybe it’s enough that you’re looking.”
Brandon shrugged. “I guess.” He methodically bagged another stack of old newspapers. “The thing is, they still believe everything’s going to go back to normal. Like I’m going to wake up one day, and be the guy I used to be. All parties and beach volleyball, and trips down to Tijuana, like I used to. Before . . .” A shadow drifted across his face, and he turned away. “We need more trash bags,” he said, voice changing. “You want anything from the house?”
“No, I’m good,” Grace said quickly. “Thanks.”
Brandon exited, and Grace unpacked in silence for a while. She could never imagine the horrors he’d experienced, but Grace felt a strange affinity with him all the same. Sometimes there was n
o going back to the life you’d once known. She could barely picture herself a couple of years ago: thinking that home would always be there; that her family was the constant in life, not a variable. It had been hard enough for Grace to try and rebuild some sense of normalcy after everything that had happened; she could see how Brandon would struggle to even pretend everything was OK now.
He came back in, bearing two bottles of fancy sparkling water, a package of Swiss chocolate cookies, and — to Grace’s relief — no sign of that dark, shadowed look. “She insisted,” he said, setting down the bounty on a dusty old dresser.
Grace laughed. “I guess one doesn’t feed the help regular old Oreos.” She grabbed a cookie and opened another box. “Ooh, costumes!” Grace lifted out a glittering bodice and a matching cape; holding them up to the light to examine the stiff seams and hand-stitched sequins. “You’re right,” she said, folding them carefully back into place and marking the box. “Hallie would love this stuff.”
Brandon let out a wistful sigh that said just about everything on the topic of Hallie, and her nonpresence. He caught Grace looking at him, and changed the subject abruptly. “So what was wrong with your study buddy? He seemed nice enough. Why did you need rescuing?”
Grace cringed, reminded of the agonizing awkwardness she so narrowly escaped. “I don’t know. I mean, he’s a decent guy, and I guess we have fun. It’s just . . .” Now it was her turn for the wistful sigh. “I don’t feel it.”
“It?” Brandon raised an eyebrow.
Grace blushed. “Like I want to do more than study with him.”
Brandon laughed. “You sure made that clear, the way you kicked him out.”
“Good!” Grace exclaimed. “I don’t want to give the wrong idea. We’re friends. End of sentence.”
“Don’t be too hard on the guy,” Brandon said, his voice quiet. “It can be pretty tough, knowing someone you care about doesn’t feel the same.”
He didn’t have to explain. It had been clear he had feelings for Hallie since the moment they’d met, but Grace knew that Hallie barely gave him a second thought — except to giggle about his scruffy wardrobe, or hark back to the day of the serial killer / knife breakdown. Maybe if they spent more time together, she would get to know him . . . but no; her sister was too wrapped up in Dakota to ever look Brandon’s way, and Grace had to admit, she could understand why. The dashing musician, or the introverted army vet? It was no choice, and Grace suspected Brandon knew that all too well.
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