Follow Me

by Kathleen Barber

  He blushed. “I know you’re so digital that you probably think records are archaic, but I’ve got a real soft spot for them. They force you to listen to the songs in the order the artist intended. No skipping around, no playing just the singles. You get to hear the entire album in context.”

  “No, I totally agree! I love listening to songs on demand and making playlists just as much as the next person—probably more, actually—but I’ve always said you don’t really understand an album until you’ve listened to it in full.” I turned back to his record collection and began running my fingers along the spines, noting the presence of old albums from the likes of the Beatles, the Who, Talking Heads, as well as more contemporary bands like Arctic Monkeys, the White Stripes, and the Strokes. I stopped suddenly as my finger lit upon Ted and the Honey’s first album, No Lessons Learned, which was three albums before they finally hit mainstream success.

  “Get out! You’re a Ted and the Honey fan?”

  “That band is great,” he said defensively. “If you’ve never—”

  “No, no!” I interrupted him. “I love Ted and the Honey. I hate to sound like one of those assholes, but I saw them play in New York way before they were cool.”

  “Well, I hate to tell you, but that does make you sound like one of those assholes,” he teased.

  “What can I say? My true colors had to emerge sometime.”

  “I like your true colors,” Max said quietly as he crossed the room and handed me the brilliant orange drink.

  Our fingers brushed as I took the glass from him, sending a small thrill up my spine, and I smiled. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

  * * *

  FOR THE FIRST TIME IN weeks, I awoke feeling content. Sunlight was streaming through Max’s huge windows and warming my face, and I smiled and stretched like a cat. This, I thought happily. This is what I needed. A good night’s sleep and some sunshine. I glanced over at Max, still asleep beside me, his lanky body curled like a shrimp and his mouth hanging slightly open. I reached over to brush aside one of his dark blond curls, and he didn’t stir as my fingertips grazed his forehead.

  I shivered. Had I been this dead to the world when the intruder was in my apartment? Did the intruder touch me like I’d just touched Max?

  I looked down at Max again, suddenly realizing how vulnerable he was at that moment. How could he sleep so soundly after what I’d told him last night? If Max had been the one sitting across from me blathering about some weird recording and a possible stalker, I sure as hell wouldn’t have let him into my home, no matter how cute he was. The story sounded too outrageous to be true, and I would have wondered about the mental stability of the person telling it.

  Max, it seemed, was more trusting than I was, and for that I was glad. I reached for my phone and snuggled back down into his fresh-smelling, blue-and-white-striped sheets. I kissed him gently on his bare shoulder and then opened Instagram to start my morning routine. I checked the Hirshhorn’s accounts first, interacting with some posts and tweets before moving on to check my own. I responded to comments, deleted a few obvious bot comments, and then checked my tags.

  I blinked when I saw my most recent tag, wondering if I had somehow clicked back to the Hirshhorn account. But no—there was a photo of one of the Rosalind dioramas, Rosalind in a tiny sparkly dress, out dancing with some of her friends while her masked stalker lurked in the background, and there, right on Rosalind’s little blonde head, was the tag for my personal account: @audreyvmiller.

  That doesn’t mean anything, I told myself as my mind began to spin. All it means is that this user @an0nYmiss knows you’re the Social Media Manager and is trying to get your attention.

  But then I read the caption: Your apartment misses you.

  “Jesus,” I said aloud, shuddering so violently that Max blinked and sat up.

  “What is it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

  I glanced down at the offending post in my trembling hand. I knew that Max would put his arms around me, tell me it was all right. But what would he really be thinking? Would he start to wonder what kind of trouble he’d invited into his bed? I sure would. I wouldn’t want to see someone whose stalker plainly knew when they weren’t there. What if he knew I was here?

  I quickly turned off my screen and grinned. “Nothing. I was just catching up on some celebrity gossip. Sorry if I woke you.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he said with a sleepy smile as he leaned over to kiss me. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  That’s right, I thought to myself as I returned the kiss. I didn’t do anything wrong. There was no reason I needed to tell him about that post. No reason to worry him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CAT

  Every once in a while, you meet a couple so well matched, so clearly perfect for each other that you can’t help but believe in destiny.” Priya paused and looked around, her eyes misty. “Tonight, we’re gathered to celebrate one of those couples. Jessa and Lamar, we love you and couldn’t be more thrilled that you’re engaged. Everyone, please join me in raising a glass to the happy couple. Congratulations, you guys!”

  I lifted my plastic champagne flute into the air along with the three dozen other people assembled on the roof of Priya’s apartment complex. She’d rented the entire space, complete with a wet bar, fire pits, and an unobstructed view of the Capitol, for the party, and decorated it with gold balloons spelling out Jessa’s and Lamar’s names. Priya was streaming some pop music I didn’t recognize through unseen speakers, and everyone was toasting and refilling their champagne and hugging and laughing.

  I shouldn’t have come, I thought.

  I almost hadn’t. I was happy for Jessa and Lamar, of course, but I had already congratulated them, had heard the story of their engagement at least twice, and would send the appropriate gifts at the appropriate intervals. Was it really necessary for me to also make small talk with friends of friends instead of tackling the mountain of work I had at home? Since joining Bill’s team, I’d been even more buried under work than usual, and I knew that taking tonight off would mean I had to work all weekend. I had been formulating an excuse for Priya when Audrey texted me See you tonight at Priya’s! I’d paused. If Audrey was going, so should I. After all, these weren’t her friends. I didn’t want her to feel alone.

  But the party had been in full swing for more than an hour and Audrey had yet to make an appearance. I pulled out my phone and started composing a message reprimanding her for being so inconsiderate to my friends, but then I stopped and sighed. It wasn’t like it mattered. Audrey could blow off the party completely and my friends would forgive her. People like Audrey were always forgiven.

  * * *

  “GORGEOUS NIGHT, HUH?” Connor said, materializing at my side. “Thank God we’re not trapped in the office.”

  A shiver ran through my body and I nodded, not telling him I’d just been planning my exit so I could get back to work.

  “Priya always has known how to throw a party. Remember that wild come-as-you-are party first year?” He chuckled. “Nice toast, too. That bit about destiny … What did you think?”

  I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Was he asking me whether I liked Priya’s toast or whether I believed in destiny? And, if it was the latter, was it some sort of sign? I thought back to a night earlier in the week when Connor and I had been reviewing a stack of potential exhibits in a conference room at two in the morning. He leaned over me, putting his hand on my shoulder, and … squeezed, sort of. In the moment, I had frozen, and then I’d spent the intervening days wondering whether it was a pass of some sort. And now this question about destiny? My heart fluttered.

  I swallowed and then answered honestly. “Nothing in life is preordained. Destiny and fate are just excuses people use when they’re too lazy to put in real work.”

  He burst out laughing. “God, Harrell, you’re such a pragmatist. I suppose I should have expected you to say somet
hing like that, though. I’ve never met anyone who works harder than you.”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks and I mumbled, “I take pride in my work.”

  “I meant it as a compliment,” he said gently, chucking me lightly on the shoulder. Then he paused, eyes trained somewhere behind me. “I didn’t realize Audrey was coming. Who’s that with her? That friend of yours?”

  I turned and saw Audrey stepping onto the deck. She was wearing a short floral dress and a too-large men’s fleece jacket, and she was hand in hand with Max Metcalf. It suddenly felt as if the champagne were burning a hole in my stomach. Why had she brought Max here? It was bad enough Audrey was spending time with him, but she had to introduce him to all my friends? To Connor? One offhand mention of camp and everything could fall apart. If Connor learned about Emily Snow, what might he do with that information? I could certainly say goodbye to any chance of a romantic relationship with him. And what about work? We were friends, yes, but we were also competitors. Only one of us would get to argue during the Phillips trial, and down the road, we would be vying for partnership at the same time. Connor might seem affable, but no one went to a top-ten law school and worked at a Vault 50 firm without being at least a little cutthroat.

  I forced myself to breathe. I was getting ahead of myself. Emily Snow would not come up. Camp Blackwood would not come up. Why would it? There was no reason for anyone to even be talking about me, not with Audrey right there.

  * * *

  QUICKLY I REALIZED my earlier concern about Audrey feeling alone at the party was unfounded. I watched from across the rooftop as she flitted around with a flute of champagne in hand and Max in tow, chatting with complete strangers as though they were intimate friends. I’d always envied her ability to do that.

  If I was honest, a small part of me also envied the way Max was looking at her as though she were the most beautiful creature to ever walk on two legs. No one had ever looked at me like that, whereas almost every man who came into contact with Audrey was immediately smitten. Even Nick, who usually seemed so cool and detached, lost his mind over Audrey. I’d never forget the night sophomore year I awoke to hear someone jiggling our door handle. Audrey had still been out, trawling the bars with Jasmine, when I’d gone to bed, and I assumed she’d forgotten her key. It wouldn’t have been the first time. I was crossing the room to the door when I heard a high-pitched keening noise on the other side.

  I froze. The noise sounded more animal than human.

  “Audrey?” I tried.

  The handle rattled again, and with my heart in my throat, I cautiously opened the door. The shadowy figure of a broad-shouldered man loomed in the darkened hallway, and I screamed and jumped back.

  “Audrey?” the man said hopefully, his voice thin and his breath smelling like beer, as he lurched forward toward me.

  Panicked, I put up my hands to ward him off. “No!”

  “But …” he said, staggering backward, wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands.

  That was when I recognized the shadowy figure as Nick, whom Audrey had been casually seeing for only a couple of weeks, and also when I realized that he was crying. I shuddered as I realized he had been the one making that inhuman noise.

  “You can’t be here,” I said, trying to keep the alarm from my voice. “Men aren’t allowed upstairs after seven p.m.”

  “I know,” he moaned. “But she’s not taking my calls. Where is she?”

  I hesitated, worried about his reaction if I told him Audrey wasn’t there. Before I could come up with a plausible lie, the hallway was suddenly drenched in light and our house mom, Nancy, was pointing a sharp pink fingernail at Nick.

  “You,” she growled. “Out. Now.”

  Nick blinked in the light, his eyes red-rimmed and bright with tears. He opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to notice Nancy’s expression and shuffled away. Audrey had laughed when I’d recounted the story to her, and Nick had never once hinted that he remembered the incident, but I had never been able to forget the image of Nick crying outside our room like some third-rate Romeo.

  I wonder what Nick thinks about Max.

  * * *

  “HEY,” AUDREY SAID BREEZILY, dropping onto a cushion beside me as I sat around a fire pit with Connor, Priya, and some of Priya’s work friends. She sat so close to me that she was practically on my lap, forcing me to brush strands of her hair from my eyes and scoot away, and then she glanced up at Max and patted the sliver of cushion beside her. “Come on, sit down.”

  As Max awkwardly lowered himself onto the precarious seat, Audrey turned to the rest of us and, completely oblivious that she was interrupting our conversation about our predictions for the upcoming Supreme Court term, said, “Have you all met my boyfriend, Max?”

  Boyfriend? I felt my cheeks grow hot. Since when was Audrey calling Max her boyfriend? And why hadn’t she told me first? We were best friends. Or we were supposed to be.

  “Hi,” Max said, waving self-consciously.

  “Nice to meet—” Priya began.

  “So,” Audrey said, cutting Priya off as she leaned forward. “Do you guys want to hear a scary story?”

  “Baby,” Max said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  I almost felt bad for him. He would learn soon enough that there was no stopping Audrey once she got going, and even if there were, a soft “baby” wasn’t going to do it. Baby. As if Audrey Miller stood for anyone calling her “baby.” I gave Max another week, at most.

  Audrey shrugged him off and launched into a dramatic retelling of the sounds she’d heard on her sleep-tracking app. She’d always been a good storyteller, and this was no exception. My friends were hanging on every word, their faces a combination of amused and horrified.

  “Holy shit,” Priya said when Audrey finished. “Holy shit.”

  “How are you not more freaked out?” one of Priya’s friends demanded. “I don’t think I’d ever sleep again.”

  Connor cleared his throat. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Connor,” Priya scolded. “I’m sure Audrey doesn’t want to have to listen to that again.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” Audrey said, already holding out her phone, the star-spangled interface of the app visible. She looked around the group, arching her groomed brows, before hitting the “play” button. “Prepare to freak out.”

  Everyone leaned in as if pulled by a centrifugal force, even me. I thought back to that night in the sorority house, Nick trying to get into the room where Audrey was sleeping. She’d said she’d turned him away that night. Could he have come back?

  “Totally creepy, right?” Audrey said after the recording ended, her voice artificially bright.

  “Yeah, it’s creepy,” Connor agreed. “But not for the reason you think.”

  She tilted her head, her hair cascading over her shoulders. “What do you mean?”

  “That’s not another voice,” Connor said, pointing to her phone. “That’s you.”

  “That’s not me,” she protested. “Weren’t you listening? The voices are obviously different.”

  “Hear me out. One of my brothers talks in his sleep, too, and he does that thing where he changes voices. It’s creepy if you’re not expecting it, but it’s just him.” He leaned over and patted Audrey on the hand. “I get why it weirded you out, though.”

  His hand lingered over hers, and I glanced at him sharply. My stomach bottomed out when I recognized the look in his eyes. It was the same hungry look he’d had the night he tried to kiss her at the bar, the same look that Max wore and the same one I’d seen on Nick so many times.

  Don’t be surprised, I chastised myself bitterly. It’s not like you didn’t know that Audrey takes everyone.

  I concentrated on remaining calm and keeping a bland smile on my face, but when Audrey pointed a grateful smile at Connor, I heard myself snapping, “Well, I’ve heard Audrey talk in her sleep plenty of times, and that’s not her.”

  “What?” Audrey said, turning to
me with eyes wide. “You have? When?”

  My cheeks burned as I realized I’d never told Audrey I heard her talk in her sleep. I’d always been embarrassed, feeling as though I’d overheard something that was private. But now I had admitted it in front of an audience, and everyone was looking at me like I was some sort of freak.

  Once a freak, always a freak, Emily Snow giggled in my ear.

  “You know,” I said suddenly, rising. “I have a lot of work to do. I should get going.”

  I expected Audrey to stop me, but she just waved. “See you later, Kitty-Cat.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  HIM

  Sweat popped along my hairline when she started the recording, and I was certain that she would recognize my voice. I felt exposed, as if I’d been turned inside out and my organs were on display. I waited for her to turn to me with her mouth a perfect O of horror and point at my misshapen, bloody heart as it beat vulnerably before me. Oh my God, she would say, recoiling. That’s you.

  But it never happened. She never recognized my voice. She had no idea that I was the one in the room with her that night. It was almost a shame because not knowing I was there meant not knowing what I did. And I was sure that if she knew what I did for her, that expression of horror would fade from her delicate face, and it would be replaced by one of gratitude. She would thank me profusely, and for the rest of our lives, she would know exactly how much I loved her.

  That night, after I had deposited the box with the meticulously snipped flowers on her doorstep, I hadn’t been able to stop myself from peering through her windows. I hadn’t been cautious enough at first, and she’d chased me from the alley. I’d stood on the other side of the gate, heart pounding, listening to determine whether she would explore the alley or return to her apartment. I should have gone then, but I was still buzzing with fury and wondered if she’d encountered the flowers. I reasoned that I couldn’t walk away now, not without knowing what she thought about them, and so, with my baseball cap pulled down low, I carefully, quietly snuck back to her window.