Ruth was always more bothered by their relationship than either of them seemed to be. My parents seemed to have little desire to bridge the gap between them. They were comfortable in their own worlds. As they aged, while my father grew closer to his heritage, my mother developed a passion for gardening, and she spent hours pruning flowers in the backyard. My father loved to watch old westerns and the evening news, while my mother had her books. And, of course, they were always interested in the artwork Ruth and I collected, the art that eventually made us rich.
2
Four Months Earlier
2. Sophia
You've got to come," Marcia pleaded. "I want you to come. There's like thirteen or fourteen of us going. And it's not that far. McLeansville is less than an hour away, and you know we'll have a blast in the car."
Sophia made a skeptical face from her bed, where she was halfheartedly reviewing some Renaissance history notes. "I don't know ... the rodeo?"
"Don't say it like that," Marcia said, adjusting a black cowboy hat in the mirror, tilting it this way and that. Sophia's roommate since sophomore year, Marcia Peak was easily her best friend on campus. "A, it's not the rodeo--it's only bull riding. And B, it's not even about that. It's about getting off campus for a quick road trip, and hanging out with me and the girls. There's a party afterwards, where they set up bars in this big, old-fashioned barn near the arena ... there's going to be a band, and dancing, and I swear to God you'll never find so many cute guys in one place again."
Sophia looked up over the top of her notebook. "Finding a cute guy is the last thing I want right now."
Marcia rolled her eyes. "The point is, you need to get out of the house. It's already October. We're two months into school and you need to stop moping."
"I'm not moping," Sophia said. "I'm just ... tired of it."
"You mean you're tired of seeing Brian, right?" She spun around to face Sophia. "Okay, I get that. But it's a small campus. And Chi Omega and Sigma Chi are paired this year. No matter what, it's going to be inevitable."
"You know what I mean. He's been following me. On Thursday, he was in the atrium of Scales Center after my class. That never happened while we were together."
"Did you talk to him? Or did he try to talk to you?"
"No." Sophia shook her head. "I headed straight for the door and pretended I didn't notice him."
"So no harm, no foul."
"It's still creepy--"
"So what?" Marcia gave an impatient shrug. "Don't let it get to you. It's not like he's psycho or anything. He'll figure it out eventually."
Sophia glanced away, thinking, I hope so, but when she didn't answer, Marcia crossed the room and took a seat on the bed beside her. She patted Sophia's leg. "Let's think about this logically, okay? You said he stopped calling and texting you, right?"
Sophia nodded, albeit with a feeling of reluctance.
"So okay, then," she concluded. "It's time to move on with your life."
"That's what I've been trying to do. But everywhere I go, he's there. I just don't understand why he won't leave me alone."
Marcia pulled her knees up, resting her chin on them. "Simple--Brian thinks that if he can talk to you, if he says the right things and pours on the charm, he'll convince you to change your mind. He honestly believes that." Marcia fixed her with an earnest expression. "Sophia, you have to realize that all guys think like this. Guys think they can talk their way out of anything, and they always want what they can't have. It's in their DNA. You dumped him, so now he wants you back. It's Guy 101." She winked at her friend. "He'll eventually accept that it's over. As long as you don't give in, of course."
"I'm not giving in," Sophia said.
"Good for you," Marcia said. "You were always too good for him."
"I thought you liked Brian."
"I do like him. He's funny and good-looking and rich--what's not to like? We've been friends since freshman year, and I still talk to him. But I also get that he's been a crappy boyfriend who cheated on my roommate. Not just once or twice, either, but three times."
Sophia felt her shoulders sag. "Thanks for reminding me."
"Listen, it's my job as your friend to help you move past this. So what do I do? I come up with this amazing solution to all your problems, a night out with the girls away from campus, and you're thinking of staying here?"
When Sophia still said nothing, Marcia leaned closer. "Please? Come with us. I need my wingman."
Sophia sighed, knowing how persistent Marcia could be. "Okay," she relented, "I'll go." And though she didn't know it then, whenever her thoughts drifted back toward the past, she would always remember that this was how it all began.
*
As midnight gradually approached, Sophia had to concede that her friend had been right. She'd needed a night out ... she realized that for the first time in weeks, she was actually having fun. After all, it wasn't every night that she got to enjoy the aromas of dirt, sweat, and manure, while watching crazy men ride even crazier animals. Marcia, she learned, thought bull riders oozed sex appeal, and more than once, her roommate had nudged her to point out a particularly handsome specimen, including the guy who'd won it all. "Now that is definitely eye candy," she'd said, and Sophia had laughed in agreement despite herself.
The after-party was a pleasant surprise. The decaying barn, featuring dirt floors, wood plank walls, exposed beams, and gaping holes in the roof, was jammed. People stood three deep at the makeshift bars and clustered around a haphazard collection of tables and stools scattered throughout the cavernous interior. Even though she didn't generally listen to country-western music, the band was lively and the improvised wooden dance floor was thronged. Every now and then a line dance would start, which everyone except her seemed to know how to do. It was like some secret code; a song would end and another would begin, dancers streaming off the floor while others replaced them, choosing their places in line, leaving her with the impression that the whole thing had been choreographed in advance. Marcia and the other sorority girls would also join in, executing all the dance moves perfectly and leaving Sophia to wonder where they'd all learned how to do it. In more than two years of living together, neither Marcia nor any of the others had ever once mentioned they knew how to line dance.
Though she wasn't about to embarrass herself on the dance floor, Sophia was glad she'd come. Unlike most of the college bars near campus--or any bar she'd been to, for that matter--here the people were genuinely nice. Ridiculously nice. She'd never heard so many strangers call out, "Excuse me," or, "Sorry 'bout that," accompanied by friendly grins as they moved out of her path. And Marcia had been right about another thing: Cute guys were everywhere, and Marcia--along with most of the other girls from the house--was taking full advantage of the situation. Since they'd arrived, none of them had had to buy a single drink.
It all felt like the kind of Saturday night she imagined occurring in Colorado or Wyoming or Montana, not that she'd ever been to any of those places. Who knew that there were so many cowboys in North Carolina? Surveying the crowd, she realized they probably weren't real cowboys--most were there because they liked to watch the bull riding and drink beer on Saturday nights--but she'd never seen so many cowboy hats, boots, and belt buckles in one place before. And the women? They wore boots and hats, too, but between her sorority sisters and the rest of the women here, she noticed more short-shorts and bare midriffs than she'd ever seen in the campus quad on the first warm day of spring. It might as well have been a Daisy Duke convention. Marcia and the girls had gone shopping earlier that day, leaving Sophia feeling almost dowdy in her jeans and sleeveless blouse.
She sipped her drink, content to watch and listen and take it all in. Marcia had wandered off with Ashley a few minutes earlier, no doubt to talk to some guys she'd met. Most of the other girls were forming similar clusters, but Sophia didn't feel the need to join them. She'd always been a bit of a loner, and unlike a lot of people in the house, she didn't live and die by the rules o
f the sorority. Though she'd made some good friends, she was ready to move on. As scary as the prospect of real life seemed, she was excited at the thought of having her own place. She vaguely imagined a loft in some city, with bistros and coffeehouses and bars nearby, but who knew how realistic that was. The truth was that even living in a dumpy apartment off the highway in Omaha, Nebraska, would be preferable to her current situation. She was tired of living in the sorority house, and not just because Chi Omega and Sigma Chi were paired again. It was her third year in the house, and by now the drama of sorority life was wearing thin. No, scratch that. In a house with thirty-four girls, the drama was endless, and though she'd done her best to avoid it, she knew this year's version was already under way. The new crop of sophomore girls fretted endlessly about what everyone else thought of them and how best to fit in as they vied for a higher place in the pecking order.
Even when she'd joined, Sophia hadn't really cared about any of that stuff. She'd become a member of the sorority partly because she hadn't gotten along with her freshman roommate and partly because all the other freshmen were rushing. She was curious to find out what it was all about, especially since the social life at Wake was defined largely by the Greek system. The next thing she knew, she was a Chi Omega and putting a deposit down on the room in the house.
She'd tried to get into the whole thing. Really. During her junior year, she'd briefly considered becoming an officer. Marcia had burst out laughing as soon as Sophia had mentioned it, and then Sophia had begun to laugh as well, and that had been the end of it. A good thing, too, because Sophia knew she would have made a lousy officer. Even though she'd attended every party, formal, and mandatory meeting, she couldn't buy into the whole "sisterhood will change your life" ethos, nor did she believe that "being a Chi Omega will bestow lifelong benefits."
Whenever she heard those slogans at the chapter meetings, she'd wanted to raise her hand and ask her fellow sisters if they honestly believed that the amount of spirit she showed during Greek Week really mattered in the long run. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't imagine sitting in an interview and hearing her future boss say, I notice here that you helped choreograph the dance number that helped to put Chi Omega at the top of the sorority rankings your junior year. Frankly, Miss Danko, that happens to be exactly the skill set we've been searching for in a museum curator.
Please.
Sorority life was part of her college experience and she didn't regret it, but she never wanted it to be the only part. Or even the major part. First and foremost, she'd come to Wake Forest because she'd wanted a good education, and her scholarship required that she put her studies first. And she had.
She rotated her drink, reflecting on the past year. Well ... almost, anyway.
Last semester, after she'd learned that Brian had cheated on her for the second time, she'd been a wreck. She'd found it impossible to study, and when finals rolled around, she'd had to cram like crazy to maintain her GPA. She'd made it ... barely. But it was just about the most stressful thing she'd ever gone through, and she was determined not to let it happen again. If it hadn't been for Marcia, she wasn't sure how she could have gotten through last semester at all, and that was reason enough to be grateful she'd joined Chi Omega in the first place. To her, the sorority had always been about individual friendship, not some rah-rah group identity; and to her, friendship had nothing to do with anyone's place in the pecking order. And so, as she had since the beginning, she would do what she had to in the house during her senior year, but no more than that. She'd pay her fees and dues and ignore the cliques that were no doubt already forming, especially the ones that believed that being a Chi Omega was the be-all and end-all of existence.
Cliques that worshipped people like Mary-Kate, for instance.
Mary-Kate was the chapter president, and not only did she ooze sorority life, but she looked the part as well--with full lips and a slightly turned-up nose, set off by flawless skin and well-defined bone structure. With the added allure of her trust fund--her family, old tobacco money, was still one of the wealthiest in the state--to many people, she was the sorority. And Mary-Kate knew it. Right now, at one of the larger circular tables she was holding court, surrounded by younger sisters who clearly wanted to grow up to be just like her. As always, she was talking about herself.
"I just want to make a difference, you know?" Mary-Kate was saying. "I know I'm not going to be able to change the world, but I think it's important to try to make a difference."
Jenny, Drew, and Brittany hung on her every word. "I think that's amazing," Jenny agreed. She was a sophomore from Atlanta, and Sophia knew her well enough to exchange greetings in the mornings, but not much more than that. No doubt she was thrilled to be spending time with Mary-Kate.
"I mean, I don't want to go to Africa or Haiti or anything like that," Mary-Kate went on. "Why go all the way over there? My daddy says that there are plenty of opportunities to help people right around here. That's why he started his charitable foundation in the first place, and that's why I'm going to work there after graduation. To help eliminate local problems. To make a difference right here in North Carolina. Do you know that there are some people in this state who still have to use outhouses? Can you imagine that? Not having any indoor plumbing? We need to address these kinds of problems."
"Wait," Drew said, "I'm confused." She was from Pittsburgh, and her outfit was nearly identical to Mary-Kate's, even down to the hat and boots. "You're saying that your dad's foundation builds bathrooms?"
Mary-Kate's shapely brows formed a V. "What are you talking about?"
"Your dad's foundation. You said it builds bathrooms."
Mary-Kate tilted her head, inspecting Drew as if she were a mental midget. "It provides scholarships to needy children. Why on earth would you think it builds bathrooms?"
Oh, I don't know, Sophia thought, smiling to herself. Maybe because you were talking about outhouses? And you made it sound that way? But she said nothing, knowing Mary-Kate wouldn't appreciate the humor. When it came to her plans for the future, Mary-Kate had no sense of humor. The future was serious business, after all.
"But I thought you were going to be a newscaster," Brittany said. "Last week, you were telling us about your job offer."
Mary-Kate tossed her head. "It's not going to work out."
"Why not?"
"It was for the morning news. In Owensboro, Kentucky."
"So?" asked one of the younger sorority sisters, clearly puzzled.
"Hello? Owensboro? Have you ever heard of Owensboro?"
"No." The girls exchanged timid glances.
"That's my point," Mary-Kate announced. "I'm not moving to Owensboro, Kentucky. It's barely a blip on the map. And I'm not getting up at four in the morning. Besides, like I said, I want to make a difference. There are a lot of people out there that need help. I've been thinking about this for a long time. My daddy says ..."
By then, Sophia was no longer listening. Wanting to find Marcia, she rose from her seat and scanned the crowd. It really was packed in here, and it was getting more crowded as the evening wore on. Squeezing past a few of the girls and the guys they were talking to, she began to slip through the crowd, searching for Marcia's black cowboy hat. Which was hopeless. There were black hats everywhere. She tried to remember the color of Ashley's hat. Cream colored, yes? With that, she was able to narrow down the choices until she spotted her friends. She had started in their direction, squeezing past clusters of people, when she caught something from the corner of her eye.
Or, more accurately, someone.
She stopped, straining for a better sight line. Usually, his height made him easy to find in crowds, but there were so many tall hats in the way that she couldn't be sure it was him. Even so, she suddenly felt uneasy. She tried to tell herself that she'd been mistaken, that she was just imagining things.
Despite herself, she couldn't stop staring. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach as she searched the faces
in the moving crowd. He's not here, she told herself again, but in that instant she saw him again, swaggering through the crowd, flanked by two friends.
Brian.
She froze, watching as the three of them moved toward an open table, Brian muscling his way through the crowd the way he did on the lacrosse field. For a second, she couldn't believe it. All she could think was, Really? You followed me here, too?
She felt a flush rising in her cheeks. She was with her friends, off campus ... what was he thinking? She'd made it plain that she didn't want to see him; she'd told him point-blank that she didn't want to talk to him. She was tempted to march right up and tell him--again, right to his face--that it was over.
But she didn't, because she knew that it wouldn't make any difference. Marcia was right. Brian believed that if he could just talk to her, he could change her mind. Because he thought that at his most charming and apologetic, he was irresistible. She'd forgiven him before, after all. Why not again?
Turning away, she worked her way through the crowd toward Marcia, thanking God she'd left the tables when she had. The last thing she needed was for him to saunter up, feigning surprise at finding her. Because no matter what the facts were, she'd end up being painted as the heartless one. Why? Because Brian was the Mary-Kate of his fraternity. An all-American lacrosse player blessed with startlingly good looks and a wealthy investment banker father, Brian ruled their social circle effortlessly. Everyone in the sorority revered Brian, and she knew for a fact that half the girls in the house would hook up with him given the slightest encouragement.
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