by Debbie Civil
Chapter 3
Grace stands in the doorway of my dorm room and peers over at me. Her eyes are filled with sadness. She’s really going to miss me.
“All set?” she asks gesturing to my duffle bag. Since Gipson Academy offers uniforms, I didn’t have to pack much.
“Pretty much,” I say, thinking that nothing is going to be normal for a while. I’m going to have to go through a line of questioning. But this time, I’m going to be treated like a criminal. Proving my innocence isn’t going to be easy.
“Chelsea, be careful,” Grace pleads. Her green eyes are filled with fear. What does she think will happen?
“I will,” I respond as I tie the strings of the duffle bag. Grandmother is waiting for me in the main office. My flight back to Massachusetts leaves in a half an hour. Apparently, we are traveling by private jet. It’s handy when you are a trust fund baby. As I’m slinging the strap of the bag over my shoulders, something occurs to me. I have no idea how my family is so wealthy. Maybe on the plane Grandma will answer some questions.
“Come on. I’ll walk with you,” Grace offers. The journey to the elevator is silent. Everyone, except Clair, had enough points to go on the outing. And everyone except Grace, Sam, and I opted to go to the mall. So the halls are ghostly quite. The silence makes a cloud of sadness wrap around me. Despite the fact that Grace is here, I feel so alone. The elevator ride is filled with awkward shifting and unnecessary sighing. The main office a tear falls down my face. When the drink machine comes into view, inspiration hits. I put my bag on the ground, dig into my pockets and hand Grace three dollars.
“How about some juice,” I suggest with a smile. She runs over to the machine and buys two pink lemonades. I envelop her in a hug and we both begin bawling uncontrollably. When we pull apart, I smile at her.
“Grace, if you ever need me, call Peter,” I tell her, knowing that my cell number is probably going to need to be changed. Grace picks up the lemonades that she dropped on the ground and hands me a bottle.
“I’m going to miss you, Chelsea,” she says softly.
“I’m going to miss you too,” I respond. We clink bottles and Grace waves and gets back on the elevator. Grandmother is waiting by the double doors. It feels odd leaving without permission. We stroll out of the building without a backwards glance.
The mid afternoon sun slaps my face as we walk down the wooden bridge. The security gate manned by a guard looms ahead. Grandma doesn’t make a comment, not even when we slip into the tinted limo. This may sound vain, but I’ve missed this. I relax in the leather seat as the driver secures my duffle in the back. I take small sips of my lemonade. Everything has been happening so quickly. My mind needs time to process it all. As soon as the driver pulls away from the academy, grandma sighs.
“Your diploma will be mailed to you. Since you got straight A’s, you don’t have to take your finals.” Graduating hadn’t been important compared to the huge obstacles ahead. So when she brings it up, the idea catches me by surprise.
“Oh. That’s good.”
“Chelsea, you aren’t going to jail. Adam is lying. Even if you didn’t tell me that, the evidence proves otherwise. Because he’s using you as his main defense, you will have to testify. Don’t worry, it isn’t that bad.” Reliving Otis’ bloody body lying on the basement floor will be horrible. But I don’t bother telling her that.
“Why is he doing this?”
“Chelsea, Adam is a loser. He doesn’t want to go to jail so he’s trying to pass the buck. Everything will be fine.”
“Why did he lie about James and me? I never slept with him or anybody else. Grandma I…” She cuts me off with a look.
“Whether he did or didn’t is no concern of mine. I just want to make sure Adam goes to prison for what he put my family through.” Her words somehow make me feel hollow. I want her to believe that Adam told half-truths and blatant lies. His portrayal of me was false. She had to understand that I was not how he described.
“Grandmother, I just don’t want…”
“Chelsea, just drop it. Believe me, I’ve heard enough about this topic,” she snaps and the rest of the ride to the airport is filled with silence.
It’s nice not having to wait in a congested line. Instead we go straight to the walkway. Bob is burdened with my luggage. I try not to pay any attention to people staring at me enviously. Let’s just say, they wouldn’t be feeling that way if their ex made all of America believe that they were loose and crazy. It turns out that Bob is going on the flight with us. The pilot Bruce shakes my hand before inviting us on board. The plane is luxurious but small, probably seating fifteen people at the most. I sit in one of the seats in the back and my body sings a happy song. The leather seat is comfortable. No one bothers to join me, which is fine. I don’t want to make small talk anyways. All I’m thinking about is that the closer I get to Gately, the sooner I’m going to see my family. Is Peter going to be waiting for me? Will he know that I’m coming? Hopefully Carmen has been in touch with him. They have become close since the accident. Evidently, they often spent hours by my side, trading stories and going out to lunch afterward. Immediately guilt pricks at my conscience. These people spent so much time at my bedside because of what I had done.
“Here you go,” Bob says handing me a paper bag. I frown at him because I haven’t mentioned to him that I am hungry. It’s about five now, and that means that dinner at the academy is under way. At the sight of the full bag, my stomach growls.
“Thanks,” I tell the man before pushing the tray that attaches to the side of the seat in front of me and reaching for the bag. The man ignores my outstretched hand and plops the bag on the tray. Does he think I have some sort of disease? His hostile dull brown eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second before he strolls away. He sits near the front of the plane with my abrasive grandmother, which is fine by me. That man doesn’t seem thrilled to be doing his job. The pilot announces that it’s time to buckle up over the intercom. I comply and hold my breath as the plane shoots down the runway and glides into the sky. Taking off and landing are my one least favorite parts of flying. My ears seem to pop uncontrollably and sometimes they get stuffy. When the plane straightens out in the sky, I open the paper bag. The smell of fried food wafts in the air. Grandmother’s helper got me a large order of fries, a bottle of water, and a book to read. Perhaps dinner will really be happening at the mansion, which will suck because we probably won’t get there until 2 in the morning eastern standard time. He has me read a biography on Laura Ingalls Wilder. Growing up I loved reading “Little House in the Big Woods.” I even fantasized about going to Wisconsin to visit the woods that she once lived in. I suppose the fantasy went away when I discovered cheer leading and hot guys. It is nice to munch on food and read about the author that I loved as a child. Thinking about “Little House on the Prairie” reminds me of Rain. I haven’t seen the girl in over a year. She is an education major at Hudson University. Since class is most likely still in session, she wouldn’t be among my greeters. In fact, the entire gang is away at school. So most likely, I would be having dinner with Mom. The thought of seeing her makes a warm smile spread across my face.
“Enjoying your book?” Bob inquires as he plops down in the plush seat beside me. I frown at Grandmother’s servant thinking that the woman had probably asked him to talk to me.
“Yes. I loved Laura Ingalls Wilder when I was a child,” I say, as I pointedly look at a paragraph.
“She thinks that you’re innocent,” he states bluntly. I peer up at him, my eyes filled with shock. He seriously has no boundaries.
“And?” I ask, stretching out the question.
“But I don’t. You had something to do with my friend dying. I’m going to figure this out. When I do, you’ll be put away for life,” he threatens. Fear immediately zooms through me, but my anger quickly tamps it down.
“First of all, I had nothing to do with your friend dying. Second, you won’t find anything because Adam
was lying and I’m innocent.” My sharp voice sounds confident and my chin is raised in defiance.
“I will be watching you,” he hisses.
“Have fun, because you won’t find anything,” I warn. He sighs, plasters on a fake smile, and walks back to my grandmother. Who in the hell was this guy friends with? I have to guess Uncle Vincent because Otis was just too unapproachable to have any friends that would be willing to sniff around me, a suspected murderer. Seriously, Bob had no common sense. If I am a murderer, what would stop me from taking him out? Giggling, I return to the book and the rest of the flight passes by without incident.
The landing is miserable. My ears pop and the fries that I had munched on during the flight threaten to come back up. As soon as the plane touches the ground, everyone except for me stands. It seems that Grandmother is in a hurry. Well, that’s too bad for her. My body is sluggish and exhaustion fills every pore.
“Do you need an invitation?” a voice snarls. I look up to see that Bob is tapping his foot impatiently. I glare up at him.
“Give me a minute. I think I’m going to be sick.” He continues to tap his foot and it takes me everything not to punch him in the face. Eventually, I suck in a deep breath and the scent of cigarette smoke fills my nostrils. It doesn’t do much.
“What now?” he asks impatiently.
“You smell horrible,” I groan. He looks offended by the comment but I can care less how he feels.
“Chelsea,” grandmother calls. Her voice is laced with a reprimand.
“I’m coming,” I shout. I’m about to snatch up the biography about Laura Ingalls Wilder when Bob does. “Hey! I’m still reading that.” He ignores me and honestly I’m too tired to fight. I push the tray back against the arm rest and stand on wobbly legs. The oh so helpful driver doesn’t even offer his arm to me. He walks away, my book clutched in his grip. I follow slowly and when I get to the steps, , the pilot reaches out a hand to help me down. At least someone has manners.
The best part about flying in a private jet as that you don’t have to go to baggage claim. We go straight to the elevators to the main level and out of the front doors of Logan airport. A black stretch limo is waiting for us on the curb. Bystanders stare at the luxury. As soon as I stroll outside, the cool night air slaps against my bare skin. New England nights can be chilly. Then, I remind myself that I’m no longer on the west coast. Bob opens the limo door and Grandmother slides in, then I follow. The pilot waves goodbye and hops into a cab. As soon as our wonderful driver closes the door, the tired woman glances at me. I’m sitting in the seat across from hers.
“Chelsea, you have to prepare yourself,” Grandma begins. Her gray eyes are tired.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Frankly, you’re lucky that the reporters haven’t noticed that we landed yet. They are surrounding the street of the mansion. Everyone is watching to see if you make an appearance,” she explains. I swallow. What had Adam done? Hadn’t he been aware of the fact that he was most likely putting the media into a frenzy? Nope. My ex-boyfriend has a one track mind. He doesn’t have the capacity to think about anything else other than his own well- being. Why hadn’t I seen that while we were dating? Oh, that’s right, I suffered from low self-esteem and believed that he was the only one who could love me. Maybe Doctor Rose was right about that. At this point, I don’t think any of that matters. All I care about is the future. I’m uninterested in dissecting all of my past mistakes and trying to determine why I made them. I get it. I was a horrible person who made mistakes. Now, I need to be better for Peter. He’s all I care about. The letter he wrote is tucked away in my luggage. The urge to pull it out and read it is strong. Did he wait for me? Did Peter go through his normal life and forget I existed? He said that he would wait for me. But Doctor Rose is very skeptical of that. After all, Peter is a young adult and away at college. He most likely met another girl and they are probably having a healthy relationship. That can’t be true. I told Peter I believed he was the one for me. And I still believe that, even now.
“Chelsea, wake up,” a voice says. It’s apparent that I’ve drifted off. When my eyes fly open, I see Bob peering down at me. I rub my eyes and yawn. He sighs and exits the limo. I take a breath and clamor out of the limo. As soon as I’m up right, I stare into the night which is quickly illuminated by camera flashes. When my eyes adjust, I see a camera man standing on the lawn. He’s snapping pictures of me and Bob isn’t showing him to the door. My eyes immediately fill with contempt. And then anxiety fills me. It’s like I can’t move. This man has snuck onto the property and now he’s snapping photos of me. I’m standing there because I’m locking up.
“Chelsea,” a new voice calls. “Bob, escort this man out.” My uncle Kenny’s here. He’s really close. He drapes an arm around me, but I shake it off. Whatever has come over me is fading. Now, I’m myself. I promptly flip the camera man the bird and walk quickly inside the mansion as gracefully as possible.
In the foyer, I’m swept off the ground and wrapped up in familiar arms. He looks down at me, his dark tired eyes filled with relief. My prince has waited for me. I know this by the look of love that crosses his face.
“Chelsea, sweetheart, you look horrible.” His words are said in a concerned tone so I don’t take offense.
“It’s been a long day,” I respond, giving him a soft smile.
“Are you hungry? Your mother is waiting for you in your room,” he says.
“What about you?” I ask. “Are you eating with us?”
“No. Your mother wanted it to be the two of you.”
“Why?” I yawn.
“She misses you, Chelsea. We can have dinner in a few days.”
“Why not tomorrow.” He sighs.
“Your parents feel like I should keep my distance for a while until you get settled in,” he explains.
“I’ve spent over a year away from you, Peter. I can’t bare the separation anymore.” He chuckles.
“You’ll live. I promise, as soon as it’s possible, I’ll take you back to the diner. We’ll have bacon cheese burgers and fries. And we’ll catch up. How does that sound?” As Peter asks the question, he begins to walk.
“Walk slowly. The sooner you bring me up to my room, the sooner you’ll have to leave,” I mumble against his strong chest. He laughs and the sound is like beautiful music for my soul. I begin to drift into a kind of sleep that the drugs can never give me.
“What’s wrong with her?” I hear my father ask. His voice isn’t filled with concern. He sounds annoyed.
“She’s exhausted,” Peter says curtly before placing me on the bed. Adrenalin shoots through me as I bolt up and my eyes fly open. Peter’s dark eyes bore into mine. It’s as if he’s telling me not to freak out and try to chase after him. It is hard, but I’m not dumb. If I make a scene over Peter leaving, my parents will insist that I’m emotionally dependent on him. He kisses my forehead, and leaves with a wave. Glancing around the peach- colored room that had been mine two years ago, I notice one significant change. Instead of the table that held two spots, an oak round table that sits four stands. Four chairs with leather patting are placed around the peace of furniture. The message is clear. I will have more visitors.