Des nods miserably. She doesn’t want to break the news that Paige stole from Arden too. She feels like she might cry, but it’s not about the money. Not really. She trusted Paige. Confided in her. She thought they were friends…best friends, even. Paige was helping her take herself and her art seriously.
If Paige is gone…where does that leave Desdemona?
“Let me go get my checkbook,” Miss Lydia says. “How much was it?”
“No.” Des puts out a hand to stop her. “Gram warned me that Paige stole from her mom, and I—I didn’t listen. This isn’t your responsibility.”
Miss Lydia sighs. “Don’t beat yourself up, honey. Paige can be real charming when she wants to be. You’re not the first person to give her a chance and regret it.”
Des clasps her hands together behind her back. Her tattoo is healing, and it’s itchy. Without Paige, she never would have gotten the tattoo. She never would have been brave enough to sell her art. She wouldn’t have gone to farm parties or dyed her hair or seen the town from the church cupola. And while she feels bad that she yelled at Gram, she doesn’t necessarily regret what she said.
“I’m still glad I met Paige,” she says.
Miss Lydia nods. “I’m glad to have gotten to know her a little better myself. I’m never sorry for giving someone a second chance. I sure do regret not locking up that old sapphire ring Henry gave me when we got engaged, though.”
“She stole your engagement ring?” Des thought stealing money from Arden was low.
Miss Lydia smooths her purple blouse. “You can give people chances to be better, honey, but they aren’t always ready to take them. I’m sorry you had to learn that the hard way.”
“Me too.” Des’s shoulders slump. “But thank you, Miss Lydia. If you hear from her, will you let me know? I just want to be sure she’s okay. That she landed somewhere safe.”
Miss Lydia nods. “You’re a sweet girl, Des.”
• • •
A sweet, naïve girl, Des thinks. She is passing the Episcopalian church when someone grabs her wrist and yanks her into the tall bushes along the sidewalk. Des yelps and swings and connects, hard, with someone’s shoulder. She kicks at her assailant but only manages to lose one of her Toms.
“Stop! Desdemona, it’s me,” a familiar voice hisses.
“Paige?” Des steps out of the prickly bush and retrieves her shoe.
“I saw you at Grandma Lydia’s. Is she super mad?” Paige’s gray eyes are bloodshot, with dark circles beneath them, and her lips are their natural pale pink. It’s the first time Des has seen her without makeup. It makes her look…young. Vulnerable. Like she’s missing her armor.
Des fights against the surge of sympathy. “You stole her engagement ring and left without saying goodbye. What do you think?”
“Oh. You’re mad too,” Paige realizes. “Look, Desdemona, I can explain.”
“That you stole money from Arden? From me?” Des asks. “Go ahead. I’d like to hear it.”
Des expects her to feign outrage. To deny it. But she doesn’t.
“I was desperate.” Paige stares down at the church’s bright, manicured grass, evading Des’s eyes. “I still owe my mom all that money, and I owe this other guy too, and he was getting pretty pissed. I’ll pay you back, I swear. I didn’t have any other choice.”
“You had choices,” Des argues. “Your mom might be playing the tough love card, but that’s because she’s worried about you. Your grandma’s worried about you too. You could have asked them for help.”
“You don’t understand. They already think I’m such a screw-up. All they do is judge me,” Paige says, flipping her purple hair over her shoulder.
“Well, maybe they should.” Des crosses her arms over her chest. “I trusted you, Paige. I defended you to Gram, insisted that you would never steal from us. I even put a down payment on the Adlers’ garage apartment. For us to be roommates.”
“You did?” Paige finally meets her eyes. “Desdemona, I thought you knew that was just a stupid daydream. It was never going to work.”
A stupid daydream. The words cut through Des like a knife. And it hits her that Paige still hasn’t apologized. All she’s done is justify her mistakes. “You’re right. It never would have worked, because you’re a liar and a thief. You must have thought I was so stupid. So gullible.” She starts to walk away.
“Desdemona, wait!” Paige calls. Des pauses, and Paige gives her a sad little smile. “I do think you’re rad. That wasn’t a lie. I liked hanging out with you. And your art really is good.”
A few weeks ago—hell, even yesterday—Paige’s approval, her validation, would have meant the world to Des. Now she isn’t sure whether she can believe a single word out of her mouth.
“Whatever. Goodbye, Paige.” She walks away, and she doesn’t look back.
• • •
As Des stalks down to Bishop Park, she feels angry and betrayed and—maybe worst of all—incredibly, incredibly stupid. Gram warned her, but she didn’t want to hear it. She’s lost what she thought was a good friend. And she’s lost the six hundred dollars Paige stole from the cash box—she’ll have to repay Gram three hundred of it—plus the four hundred for Paige’s tattoo, plus five hundred for the down payment on the apartment. Does she even want to move out on her own? She’d never thought about it much before Paige suggested it.
Des blushes as she remembers interrupting the Adlers’ dinner, insisting that she give them a down payment right then and there. Mr. Adler had to persuade her to look at the apartment first and make sure she actually liked it. She had been so angry, so absolutely determined to prove Gram wrong.
The raft race won’t start for another hour, but Bishop Park is already filling up with people. Several of the rafts are lined up by the river’s edge. Des spots Erik and Chloe and some of Bea’s other friends near a log raft, wearing Star Wars costumes and hovering around little BB-8 and R2-D2 props. She doesn’t see Bea yet, and she’s glad for it. When she crept in last night, Bea was asleep, and then she was still sleeping—or at least pretending to sleep—when Des left the house. Des wonders if her sisters have all heard what she did. How she shouted at Gram and stormed out in the middle of her shift. If she weren’t Gram’s granddaughter, she would be fired, and she would deserve it.
“Des!” Em jogs toward her. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” Des asks. She and Em haven’t texted since their argument at Arden. It’s the longest they’ve gone without speaking since the fifth grade.
“That you rented the Adlers’ garage.” Em is grinning. “I didn’t think you’d ever move out.”
“Well, I am,” Des says.
“That’s really cool. Your own place.” Em brushes her long, asymmetrical bob out of her face and, for the first time, Des can admit that the new style looks good on her. “You remember how we used to talk about being roommates someday? How I’d get a job at the county coroner and you’d run the bookstore and we’d solve mysteries together?”
Des smiles, but she feels close to tears. She honestly thought she and Em would be friends forever. And then she tried to replace her with Paige, and look how that turned out. Em is worth ten Paiges.
“Hey.” Em touches her arm. “Are you okay?”
Des shakes her head. “I’m so stupid,” she whispers, brushing away tears with both hands. She doesn’t want to cry in front of Em. Em doesn’t get to see her like this anymore.
“What? You are not stupid!” Em squashes Des in a big hug. Surprised, Des lets her. Em still smells like strawberry shampoo and peppermint gum.
“I am too,” Des cries from the safety of Em’s arms. “Paige stole money from Arden yesterday. Gram knew it was her, but I didn’t want to believe it. I got so mad, I yelled at Gram and told her I was moving out because I didn’t want to be goddamn Cinderella anymore. I left work right in the middle of my
shift, and…God, I was such a brat.”
“You walked out in the middle of your shift? And you cussed at Gram?” Em draws back and looks at Des, from her tousled blue curls and her red, teary eyes down to her Toms. “Wait, is that—” She leans closer to look at Des’s left forearm. “Oh my God, is that a real tattoo?”
Des nods, holding out her arm so Em can get a better look. “Do you like it?”
Em laughs. “I do! I can’t believe you got a tattoo.” She touches a strand of Des’s hair. “And you dyed your hair blue. And you’re getting your own apartment. And I didn’t know about any of it. I miss you, Des. There’s so much I wanted to tell you the last couple of weeks.”
“I miss you too,” Des confesses. “I’ve wanted to text you so many times. I wanted to tell you about everything: my hair, and the tattoo, and”—she lowers her voice—“I got stoned. A lot. And I sold some of my illustrations. I think, if Gram ever forgives me, I might start selling them at the store. And maybe set up my own Etsy.”
“Wait, seriously?” Em grins. “That is so cool!”
“I haven’t changed my mind about getting my BFA,” Des warns. For a while during their senior year, Em had tried to persuade her to go to the University of Maryland too and study fine arts and business, so she could run the bookstore and be an artist. And for a little while, Des had been tempted. But she hadn’t felt like she could leave Gram and her sisters. She hadn’t been ready. She still isn’t.
Baby steps.
Like her own apartment.
“Hey, you do you.” Em shrugs. “Look, I’m not happy that you lied to me about having the flu. But I talked to my mom, and she pointed out that I was kind of insensitive about the frat party. I know you don’t drink because of what happened to your parents. I’m sorry I didn’t think about that.”
“I should have said I was uncomfortable instead of lying to you,” Des admits. “I’m sorry too. I don’t want us to lie to each other. I just…you were off having all these new adventures and making new friends and changing your hair…”
“Well, now we both changed our hair.” Em tugs on one of Des’s blue curls. “So…can we be friends again?”
“Yes, please,” Des says. This time, she’s the one who moves to hug Em.
Em stiffens in her arms, staring over her shoulder. “Uh-oh. That is not good.”
“What? Is it Paige?” Des spins around to see Bea heading toward her raft and Erik intercepting her, waving his phone and yelling. “Why does he look so mad?”
Em pulls her phone out of her pocket, brings the browser up—it’s on Savannah Lockwood’s blog—and hands it to Des. “You should read this.”
Chapter Thirty
BEA
The race starts in half an hour, and Bea is late. She texted Chloe that she would meet everyone at Bishop Park instead of at Sierra’s.
She didn’t tell Chloe that she broke up with Erik. She hasn’t told anyone except Gram and Gabe.
She almost told Kat while she got into costume. “Bea? Are you okay?” Kat had asked as she wrapped each of Bea’s arms in white gauze.
“What? Yes,” Bea had lied automatically. She’d straightened the long, sand-colored vest she wore over her sleeveless white shirt. Then she’d opened her mouth to correct herself. To be honest. But Kat had already turned away, and Bea had looked in the mirror and seen the photos hanging over the desk behind her. So many of them were pictures of her and Erik: at the eighth-grade Homecoming dance, in their Halloween costumes freshman year (Bea had been Nancy Drew; Erik had been Sherlock), at the Valentine’s Day dance sophomore year, at junior prom, and holding the Tea Cup last summer. It had hit her: she’d have to take them all down. Switch her profile pictures on social media to photos of her by herself, instead of her with Erik. Change her Facebook status from “in a relationship” to “single.” The idea of it—of everyone knowing, of all the questions coming her way—was daunting.
Last night, after the fireworks, she’d come home and watched Tiny House Hunters with Gram. While she was out, Gram had made a fruit crisp with the strawberries and blueberries Bea had been planning to use for her flag cake. It had felt nice to have someone else bake for her. Like comfort in a bowl.
Now her feet drag along the sidewalk in Kat’s clunky black boots. She dreads seeing Erik. What will he say? What will she say? Has he told their friends yet?
As Bea cuts across the grass, she spots their raft. It’s already lined up near the dock with the droids on board. It looks fantastic, and all her friends’ costumes are amazing, and Bea allows herself a moment of satisfaction. Then Chloe spots her and starts shaking her head frantically. What’s going on? What’s wrong?
Then Erik looks up and sees her and—
Bea has never seen him look so mad. Not at her or at anybody else. His lips are pressed together so hard, they’ve gone white. He stalks across the grass toward her, waving his phone.
“I don’t want you on the raft,” he says the minute he reaches her. His broad shoulders are set in a tense line, his square jaw clenched. “In fact, I think you should leave. I don’t want you here at all.”
“What?” Bea shrinks from the anger in his voice. He’s never spoken to her like this. “Erik, it’s our last Tea Party. I don’t think it’s fair to—”
“Fair?” He barks out an unfamiliar laugh. “Oh, that’s funny, you talking about what’s fair. Was it fair when you cheated on me?”
“I…what?” Her stomach drops.
How does he know? What does he know?
“This!” He waves the phone right in her face, almost smacking her with it, and Bea takes a step back. “You and Miss Amelia’s grandson. I knew it! I knew he liked you.”
Oh no. “Erik—” she starts, but what can she say? It’s true.
Around them, everyone is staring.
His face twists. “I don’t want to hear it. Five years, Bea. We were together for five years! We had our whole future planned out! I thought I was going to marry you someday, and you couldn’t show me enough respect to break up with me first?” He shakes his head, blond hair falling across his rumpled forehead. Bea thinks of all the times she’s pushed that wayward strand of hair back. Of how she’ll never have the right to do that again. “How long have you been sleeping with him, huh? Is that why you haven’t wanted to—”
“That’s enough.” She says it firmly. “I don’t know where you got your information, but I am not sleeping with anybody, okay?”
“Why should I believe that? I asked you if it was because of him. I asked you, and you lied right to my face,” Erik reminds her. “I had to go and read about it in the damn paper!”
“The paper?” Bea snatches the phone from his hand. The browser is open to Savannah’s About Town blog. Oh no. Oh shit.
She scans the blog. Move over, Ann Shirley, because we’ve got gossip on all four of Remington Hollow’s favorite redheaded orphans. We hear one of them is going through a rebellious stage. First that blue hair, then a tatoo, and now moving out! One just broke up with her longtime boyfriend and was already spotted locking lips with the handsome not-quite stranger in town. What a busy little bee! Almost makes you wonder how long it’s been going on, doesn’t it, Dear Reader? Meanwhile, looks like the poor kitty cat got dumped again. We spotted her new boyfriend kissing his not-so-ex at the fireworks. Claws are sure to come out when our favorite diva hears about that. Meow! As for the littlest orphan, Pride Month may be over, but we hear she and the girl from the restaurant next door are just heating things up.
Bea tosses Erik’s phone back at him, spitting mad. It is one thing to talk shit about her—she knew Savannah was interested in Gabe, knew Savannah would be angry and jealous when she found out. But it is another thing to drag Bea’s sisters into this. Especially her underage sisters.
“Tell me that’s not true,” Erik says. “Tell me you weren’t with him last night.”
“Like what? Like you’re a lying bitch?” Erik’s voice cracks, and Bea wonders, in a sort of detached way, if he’s ever said that word before. He doesn’t usually swear.
Kat stomps up out of nowhere. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you’d better not call my sister a bitch again.”
“It’s okay, Kat,” Bea says quietly.
“Calling you names is not okay!” Kat argues.
“But cheating is okay?” Erik asks, and Bea shrinks into herself.
“What?” Kat looks at him like he’s being ridiculous. “Bea would never cheat on you!”
Bea’s heart sinks at her sister’s absolute faith. At having to disappoint her. “I didn’t sleep with him. I swear to God, Erik, I didn’t sleep with him—and I didn’t break up with you because of him. I’ve been unhappy for a long time. All spring. And there are lots of reasons for that. But…” She takes a deep breath. “I did cheat. I did kiss him before we broke up. I wasn’t honest about that yesterday. I’m really sorry.”
“If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t have gone over there last night. How can I believe a word out of your mouth? God, Bea, do you ever think about anybody besides yourself? You’re so selfish,” Erik says.
Bea closes her eyes. She hates this. Hates the way he is looking at her, but it’s her own damn fault. “I am far from perfect.”
“That’s an understatement. Stay away from the raft, okay? And stay away from me,” Erik says. Then he stalks back to their friends.
Bea’s arms and legs are shaking, adrenaline racing through her veins. She can’t believe that just happened. Her neighbors and classmates, gathered on picnic blankets and folding chairs to watch the raft race, are still staring. How many of them overheard? How many have read the blog? She might as well be wearing a scarlet letter A pinned to her vest.
The Last Summer of the Garrett Girls Page 21