by Cassie James
“You’re fine, go ahead. I can call a car for myself, I actually wanted to walk around a little more, anyway.” It’s total bullshit, I have no idea how to call a car, but I hate feeling so dependent on other people and I don’t want her to miss her therapy. There’s still a lot I don’t know about Salma, but based on her sobriety chip alone, I’m guessing the therapy’s important.
If I get really desperate, I could always call Smith. Maybe we could even see a movie on the first floor. He wasn’t thrilled when he called me to hangout and I told him I had plans already. A sort-of date night might be a good way to make it up to him.
“Thank you so much.” She gives me another quick hug before she goes, and I have to fight myself not to hug her tighter than what’s appropriate for a casual, budding friendship. It’s just been so long since I’ve had a friend that hugs. People here don’t really do that. “I’ll call you later!” She calls out to me as she speed walks out of the jewelry store.
I linger for a moment, still slightly worried that someone will pop out and say it’s all a joke and that I have to pay for the watch myself now. But the saleswoman only waves at me with a big smile as I slowly edge towards the exit.
With a sigh of relief, I make my way out back into the regular part of the mall so I can breathe again. Being around all that expensive stuff just gives me sweaty palms, like I’m scared someone’s going to accuse me of stealing just because I don’t quite look like I belong. Except, as I look around, I do look like I belong. Even though I dressed down in jeans and a peach, fitted crop top, I look like I could be any of these other girls I see walking the mall.
I know I’m different, but they don’t. Or, at least, the ones from other towns besides Patience don’t know any different. I do see a couple girls I recognize from school that avert their eyes and walk the other direction in a near-sprint when they catch sight of me. So that’s super fun.
I’m just about to reach for my phone to call Smith when it starts vibrating in my pocket. I smile as I pull it out of my pocket, already anticipating that it’s him—no one else usually calls me. But a number I don’t recognize flashes on the screen.
Frowning, I answer it, “Hello?”
A smoky voice reaches across the line, strangling me until I can’t breathe. “Jessica, baby. It’s so good to hear your voice.”
I close my eyes, feeling the panic seeping so far into me that it chills me down to the bone. I shiver even though it’s warm in here and I still have my heavy coat on. A heavy coat that Pearl bought me. Because she’s my family. Not the woman on the other line of this phone. The woman that never gave me anything but a lie of a life that should never have been mine.
“Jess?” She coughs, a hacking sound hard-earned from years of smoking anything she could get her hands on. “Jess? Are you there?”
I pull the phone away from my ear, staring at it like it’s some alien device I’m holding as I stand motionless in the center of a busy mall. Around me, people continue on with their lives like nothing’s changed. For them, it hasn’t. But for me, when I hear the voice of the woman who was called herself my mother, I feel things inside of me start to shatter. All the things. Until I feel broken down to my core.
The screen goes blank, and I’m guessing she decided to hang up. After a few seconds, the ringing starts up again. This time, I’m paying enough attention to notice the Nikon Park area code. There was no automated message saying she was calling from the jail. I’m not sure what that means. Is she out? Did she somehow make bail against all odds? The last I’d heard was that there was no way in hell she had the money to make bail. Jake told me that when we were still talking. I know we’re not talking now, but wouldn’t he have told me? And how the hell did she even get this number?
“You gonna answer that?” I look up to find honey eyes trained on me. Instead of answering, I look back down at the phone as it stops and then starts ringing a third time.
Patrick, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere, plucks the phone away from me before I can protest. “Hello?” he answers. He waits for a second then says, “Jessica?” I shake my head, my eyes pleading with him not to do anything stupid. I don’t want to talk to this woman. She has some nerve calling me in the first place. Slowly, his eyes never leaving mine as he speaks, he tells her, “Sorry, you have the wrong number. There’s no Jessica here.” He touches the screen to end the call and hands it back to me without another word.
It’s only then that I notice he has company. An unfamiliar blonde with her arms clutched around his waist from slightly behind him. I stare at her for a second. I guess I knew Patrick is a flirt and that he gets a lot of attention from the opposite sex, but it’s weird seeing it in person. For all the times I’ve seen him flirt, I’ve never seen him actually with a girl.
He gets an uneasy look in his eyes as he continues to watch me. “It’s not like that.” It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about the girl. I just assumed he’d have some comment about the phone call from my train-wreck of a sort-of-but-not-actually mother.
I’m having trouble finding the words to say anything. I don’t care what it’s like. I’ve got way bigger issues right now than some girl having her hands all over him. And the weird feeling suddenly deep in the pit of my stomach because of it. Don’t focus on that right now, I warn myself. There’s no room for that in my mind, which currently feels like it’s spinning full-speed on a Tilt-A-Whirl ride at a very sketchy state fair.
Patrick tries to take a step towards me as I wobble unsteadily on my feet, but his companions octopus arms hold him in place. He looks over his shoulder at her and says, “Get off,” in a harsh voice. She hesitates for just a second before letting go, staring daggers in my direction in the process. “Are you okay?” he asks in a much softer voice as he steps towards me. He puts a hand out as if to reach for me but I sidestep him just before his hand makes contact. If he touches me right now, if he follows through with that gesture of sympathy, I’m going to lose it. I barely feel like I’m holding it together as it is, and I’m not sure how long I can keep it together. I need to get the hell out of here.
“I have to go.” The words come out of my mouth, even though I don’t even realize I’m saying them. I turn my head wildly from side to side, trying to remember where the stairs are. I’m suddenly drawing a blank.
“Not alone.” Patrick frowns, looking around himself but seeming to have about as much luck as I’m having. “Who’s here with you?” Ah, of course he’s looking for who else is here. God forbid I be allowed out in public alone.
“No one,” I answer, sounding every bit as defensive as I feel. I wrap my arms protectively around myself as I frown at him.
He shakes his head at me, completely unimpressed by my sudden attitude. If I didn’t know any better, I would think the small curve at the corner of one side of his lips was him fighting a smile. But he sure as hell can’t be almost-smiling because of me.
Patrick looks at the other girl again. “I’ll call you later,” he tells her dismissively. She and I both start protesting at the same time. I don’t want him following me around, especially not after he already just butted in to my personal business, and clearly Blondie doesn’t want him to go. “You come with me.” He tries to reach out for me again but I put my hands up protectively between us.
“What? No.” I want him to leave me alone. Before I break down into the tears that are threatening to come and embarrass myself in front of him. I’m sure that would give him ammo to tease me relentlessly for the rest of my time here.
He steps closer, putting more distance between him and the other girl. “Let me get you out of here before you start crying in front of all these people.” He says the words softly so that I’m the only one that can hear him. I peek around us, noticing for the first time all the curious stares we’re getting, many of them coming from people that seem familiar. If my brain was working right now, I’m sure I’d be able to tell that I recognize them from school—and from the parties Pearl
keeps throwing for me.
“I don’t want to go with you,” I choke out.
He works his jaw, his eyes flashing with anger for a second before he manages to collect himself again. “Right now it looks like I’m all you’ve got.” God, that’s a terrifying thought. But he’s right. Even if I called Smith right now, it would take him at least thirty minutes to get here. Probably longer than that if I called for a driver.
If I stay here much longer, everyone’s going to have a hell of a lot to talk about come Monday because I’m going to do something drastic. Like scream. Or throw myself down on the floor and weep. The odds are about fifty-fifty right now that I do one or the other. “Fine,” I mutter finally, but I’m not happy about it.
Neither is Blondie. “You’re leaving for her?” She wrinkles her nose up like I’m something he just plucked from a garbage can. If I thought he looked angry at me a second ago, it’s nothing compared to the stormy expression he suddenly gets for her. He walks back to her for a minute, speaking low in her ear. I’m not sure what he says, but when he’s done, she looks properly chastised. She also looks like she never intends to speak to him ever again.
“What did you say to her?” I ask as he grabs my arm without me fighting this time. He drags me in the opposite direction, towards the sign for the elevators, even though I know there are stairs around here somewhere.
He makes a sort of growly sound before he says, “Don’t worry about it.” I glance back, thinking the girl’s going to still be standing there watching him go, but there’s no sign of her. Damn, the girl moves fast.
Someone’s stepping off one of the elevators just as we reach them. Patrick puts a hand out to keep the door from closing on us and gestures me to go ahead. I hesitate until I see annoyance cross over his face. I step into the furthest corner from him, though it doesn’t do me any good since when he steps on after me he immediately corners me.
The elevator doesn’t move. “Did you press a floor?” I try to look around him to check but he only steps closer, blocking my view and crowding me into the corner.
He ignores my question completely. “That was your mom. The one that kidnapped you. Wasn’t it?” He watches me closely, his eyes flickering down to my hands when I twist them nervously in front of me.
I nod, words failing me again.
“Why is she calling you?” he demands. He grabs my arms, shaking me slightly as if he can just shake an answer out of me. He sounds strangely suspicious of me all of a sudden, like the phone call is all part of some master scheme where I’m trying to pull one over on him personally.
I wince, and he lets go immediately. “I don’t know. That’s the first time she’s called. I didn’t talk to her.” I hate that he’s the one here for this. If only Salma could have stuck around just a little longer, I could have avoided this weird confrontation with Patrick, who suddenly thinks he deserves to know all my business.
“Oh.” His face goes more sympathetic again as he just stands there. Staring at me. Is he waiting for me to say something? I have nothing to say. That woman is not my mother and I wish she hadn’t called. I’m starting to feel numb. “Have you talked to her at all since you came here?”
“You’re giving me whiplash,” I mutter, putting a hand to my head to try to stop the throbbing. I shake my head in answer to him. “I haven’t talked to her since before I found out. She was on a bender, so I hadn’t even seen her for a few days before she got picked up and everything came out about what she—they—did.”
His face softens more, finally looking like at me with the kind of pity I would expect in this situation. I wish the earth could just open up and swallow me whole at this moment.
“Did you drive here?” I shake my head. “Let me take you home, then.” I pull a face, imagining how it’ll feel to be left alone with only my thoughts. What if I start second-guessing not wanting to talk to her? I’m not exactly great about containing my curiosity. Impulse control is not my strong suit. I start to open my mouth to ask if he can drop me off next door at Smith’s instead, but he speaks again before I get a chance.
“Come home with me.”
“Excuse me?” He can’t seriously be coming onto me while my whole life feels like it’s been thrust into a tailspin. Even he couldn’t be so callous, right? Right?!
One of his eyebrows dips for a second as if I’ve knocked some of the self-assuredness out of him, if only for a second. “You look miserable.” He flattens his lips and tries again. “You look like you could use a friend. Besides, my mom wants to meet you. You can have dinner at our place.” He seems to have this surprisingly thought out for what he’s trying to sell as a sudden, casual idea.
I’m so shocked that I can’t find the words to refuse his offer right away.
“Great, that’s settled then.” He grins at me with such a disarming smile that I forget for a moment why I was even trying to say no in the first place. The cocky wink he follows up with reminds me again.
As he turns to finally push the button for the first floor, I start to stumble over my words in an attempt to protest. He ignores me, and then starts whistling over me in a way that blatantly tells me he’s not going to listen.
Did I mishear something, or did he seriously just say his mom wants to meet me?
Chapter Seven
Patrick was not joking about his mom wanting to meet me. The first thing the woman does is wrap me up in a big hug and ask, “What took you so long?” as if me showing up was inevitable. Neema Dupont isn’t the only one thrilled to see me, either. Headmaster Dupont is surprisingly warm and welcoming, a completely different person practically from the unapproachable man I’ve grown used to avoiding at school.
They fawn over me the whole time I’m there, barely letting Patrick get a word in edge-wise as they question me on everything I’ve done since I got to Patience. At one point, after I’ve been stuffed full of so much food I’m worried someone’s going to have to roll me home, Neema asks if I’ve seen the view from Churchill Point.
“I don’t think so, what is that?”
Neema clasps her hands together as she gets a dreamy expression. “It’s the best view in all of Patience. It’s attached to Churchill Park, which has some great running trails. It’s the highest point in the whole city, so you can look down and see everything from there.” She focuses her attention on her son. “Your father and I used to go up there a lot when we were dating. You should really take Juliet sometime.” She raises her dark, perfectly manicured eyebrows to an almost comical height as she looks to him for a response.
Oh. Subtle. I’m pretty sure my cheeks go more red than they’ve ever been in my life. If it weren’t for his dark skin, I’m pretty sure Patrick would be bright red, too.
“Mom.” Patrick groans, glaring at her. It’s obvious he wants her to put a stop to this. I’m admittedly a little bothered to see him so horrified by the thought of spending time with me.
Neema doesn’t seem bothered by her son’s discomfort at all. No, she seems to thrive off of it. There’s a devilish grin on her face as she holds her left hand out towards me, turning her hand like she’s showing off her wedding ring set. “Patty’s future wife will wear the family ring. Isn’t it beautiful?”
It is a beautiful ring, a family heirloom no doubt. It’s one of those big square diamonds surrounded by a gazillion dollars worth of smaller diamonds. It’s got to be worth a small fortune. Or a medium one. Neema continues, “I’ll bet it would look fantastic on you; you’ve got beautiful hands. Would you like to try it on?” She pries the giant ring off her finger and holds it out to me. I stare, bewildered and totally freaked as I refuse to take it.
Patrick jumps up from the table abruptly. “Okay, I think that’s enough for one night.” Patrick shoots his mother one last glare, offering one to his father, too, when the man struggles to cover up his laugh with a fake cough. “I’m sure Juliet’s ready to go.” He shoots me a pointed look, imploring me to back him up. I stand, too, more than happy to get the he
ll out of here before Neema starts trying to talk wedding dates.
“Oh, fine. Maybe next time, then.” Neema winks at me as Patrick starts not so gracefully shoving me in the direction of the door.
When we’re out of earshot, I look over at Patrick. “That was… a lot to take in.”
“I had no idea that would go sideways so fast.” He cuts his eyes over to me, looking pretty damn guilty about it. “Sorry. I’m sure that was unbearably uncomfortable for you. Let me take you home, okay?” I nod, more than ready to get home to the peace and quiet of my room so I can think over all the craziness of this day. I don’t speak as Patrick leads me out to his car, a white Mercedes with the cleanest interior I’ve ever seen. This is what I imagine showroom cars look like, even though I’ve never actually stepped foot in a car dealership, and especially not one selling anything close to what this Mercedes must be worth.
There’s something else on my mind, though, as Patrick opens the passenger side door for me. As truly baffling as tonight’s dinner was—I’m still not exactly sure why Patrick invited me over in the first place—the Duponts are the first real life family I feel like I’ve met here. It makes me remember how great it always felt to be around Jake’s family, who were pretty normal, too, aside from when his brother was getting himself into trouble.
Being around families like these, ones where the members all obviously care about each other despite everything, it makes my chest ache for what could have been. If my fake parents had never killed my real parents, who knows? I might have had a family like this, too. They stole that possibility from me, and I’m realizing that’s more than enough reason for me to refuse to speak to them ever again.
“Are you thinking about your mom?” Patrick asks, breaking the silence.
“She’s not my mom,” I correct him. “And honestly? I’d like to think about literally anything but that right now.” Dinner with his family actually helped me forget for a little while that I was upset over that in the first place. Even though I don’t know what angle Patrick is playing, I’m actually glad he invited me. This night turned out much better than I imagine it would have if I’d just gone running to Smith to mope, or worse still, if I’d gone home and spent the night moping alone.