Copyright (c) 2020 by Chelsea Wilson Thayer
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a recording, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles, critical reviews, and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Contact the author:
www.chelseawilsonthayer.com
Editing by Victoria Gracia’a
Book cover and interior design and typesetting by Lisa Von De Linde of LisaVdesigns
Cover photo credit: Dewberry Photos and Design
Author headshot credit: Sarah Stover
ISBN: ISBN: 978-1-7355117-0-2
ebook ISBN: 978-1-7355117-1-9
Published by Write Now Press, LLC
First Edition, 2020
For Bryan, my first and forever love.
She made broken look beautiful
and strong look invincible.
She walked with the Universe
on her shoulders and made it
look like a pair of wings.
—ARIANA DANCU
Contents
Summer 2008
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fall 2008
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
About The Author
Summer 2008
Prologue
Cathleen Rhodes stared numbly out the window from her first-class seat on Delta flight 1705. Outside, the rain fell in torrents. Around her, passengers grumbled and groaned over the news that their flight would remain grounded at least another half hour; yet none of it could make her feel worse than she already did. She reached automatically into her bag to fish out her iPhone and escape into some music before remembering that it had been unceremoniously usurped by her parents, moments before they had practically thrown her out of their town car when they reached LaGuardia. Her iPhone, her Louis Vuitton, her social status, her life as she knew it had all been ripped away before what was supposed to be the best year of her life. Senior year at Spence in the most elite social circle on the Upper East Side. Perfection. How had it turned to ruin so quickly? Three months ago, she was on top of the world. Three months ago, she was considered the ideal daughter, the honor student, the Ivy League shoe-in. Three months ago, it all changed. Landon was gone. Cat knew that night had been the catalyst for the nightmare she had been living as of late. If only she could escape, somehow. If only she could leap from the plane just as it started to climb. She chuckled, drawing a sideways glance from the polished businessman who sat beside her. She wasn’t brave enough to choose death (or cowardly enough, depending on how you looked at it.) She’d found that out the hard way, several weeks prior. Instead, she decided to let some much-needed sleep take its toll. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the cool window. She couldn’t help but think of Landon. She couldn’t help but wonder if one small decision would have changed where she was today, where she was going … everything.
Chapter One
Most people you ask can tell you the moment they met the person who was to become their best friend. They can recall where they were, what they were doing, and perhaps the more fashion savvy can even remember what they were wearing. Cathleen could tell you everything about the moment she met Landon Alexander Jennings III.
Four years old and trembling with anger from head to toe, Cathleen blinked rapidly to keep the tears from spilling over. Her hands were balled into fists straight by her sides, and her teeth were clenched as she watched her beloved Samantha doll being spun by her ponytail over the big boy’s head like a helicopter. Cathleen had every American Girl doll, but Samantha was her favorite.
“Whoo, whoo, whoo! Prepare for blastoff,” cried the young terrorist with glee. His face was plump and painted with a smirk only The Joker could rival while his eyes narrowed menacingly.
“Give. Her. Back,” her voice threatened, though barely audible over the playground noise.
She came to Hippo playground nearly every day, and nearly every day she had managed to avoid him. Nearly every day, except today, of course.
Poopy Paul they called him behind his back. He was always there, as he only lived a few blocks north. He ran the place amongst the pre-k’s. Never supervised, his older brother always brought him along, and then darted off to play with the 6th graders on the other side.
He began spinning wildly around the sandbox, kicking wet sand onto Cathleen’s red toggle coat, navy wool tights, and brown leather Mary Janes. She was the spitting image of the Ralph Lauren Children’s store on Madison Avenue, minus the fact that she was now covered in sand. She watched as Paul, howling with delight, sent Samantha flying into the air.
“No!” she shrieked, as she watched Samantha tumble towards the ground. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a hand caught her by the leg.
The boy was small, nowhere near the size of Poopy Paul, yet he had a confidence that seemed to radiate right out of him. His navy blazer was unbuttoned, and his tie loosened, as to enjoy some well-earned after-church frivolity; and, his honey blond locks curled haphazardly around his head as if to create a little golden halo. One would think he could have been a pint-sized angel if it weren’t for the mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“I didn’t know Poopy Paul played with dolls,” his voice was unnaturally calm for a little David who was facing Goliath.
“It’s not mine doofus! It’s hers,” Paul’s fat little finger poked Cathleen in the chest.
Scared to look up, she focused all her attention on the Nike symbol on the side of Paul’s worn out sneakers.
“Well then, maybe you should apologize and give it back to her,” the air in his voice sounded as though he may as well be talking to a dog rather than a boy easily twice his size.
Paul’s jaw clenched, “Why should I do that?”
“You do it, or I’ll make you,” her savior retorted.
Then, the young hero struck an odd karate-like position. He began to swing his arms and kick his legs, all the while emitting a roar that sounded like an odd combination of Tarzan and a bear. Cathleen bit her lip to hold in her laughter, though she supposed he would look kind of scary if it was directed at her. Paul began to back up. The boy didn’t relent, he advanced on Paul making his noises even louder and his motions even more pronounced. He continued until Paul, tripping backwards over the edge of the sandbox, scampered to his feet and took off.
When Paul was assumedly a safe distance away from his assa
ilant, he did an about-face and called, “You’ll be sorry! I’m going to get my big brother and then you’ll be very sorry!”
Having watched the whole ordeal as still as a statue, Cathleen let out her breath. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it in for so long. She watched her attacker retreat and turned to thank her mysterious new friend. The sandbox was empty. He seemed to have vanished as quickly as he had appeared. A cry caught in her throat when she realized with terror that dear Samantha had vanished along with him.
“Hey! Over here!” She heard a cry, and turning, spotted them under the jungle gym.
Daintily, she skipped over to him, climbed through the bars, and seated herself cross-legged in front of him before holding out her arms for Samantha.
“Can I have her back now?” she blurted out. She hadn’t meant for it to come out in such an ungrateful tone.
Frowning slightly, he handed her over. Taking the doll, Cathleen turned her over in her hands inspecting her for injury. She squeezed the doll tightly in her arms as though to make up for the rough treatment she’d endured.
“Thank you,” she said at last. “Thank you soooooo much for saving Samantha.”
“Samantha?” He inquired.
“Yes, that’s her name,” Cathleen’s voice had gotten a bit haughty again.
“Okay,” her rescuer replied. “But, what’s your name?”
“Cathleen Rhodes,” she said with a warm smile and extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m Landon. Landon Alexander Jennings III,” he shook her hand with such vigor her little head wobbled.
“Oh! That sounds like an important name,” Cathleen nodded, impressed.
“My dad says it will be someday,” Landon replied, knowingly.
“What does that mean?” Cathleen tilted her head to the side with childish curiosity.
“I have no idea,” Landon shrugged. Then, they began to giggle like old friends over an inside joke they’d shared for ages.
Any adult watching them would have been highly amused at the formality with which they addressed each other. Children who are reared with high society expectations grow accustomed to interacting with adults at such a young age that they often forget how to behave as children. Perhaps that is why Cathleen always found it somewhat difficult to play with the other children on the playground, until now. Landon was her match, her equal, and her new best friend.
“Do you think he’ll come back with his brother?” Cathleen leaned forward with a whisper, casting a quick glance around the playground.
“Not if he knows what’s good for him,” Landon teased as he began to karate chop once more.
Cathleen erupted in a fit of giggles.
“But we should get to the lookout tower just in case he does,” Landon added seriously.
“The lookout tower?” Cathleen questioned.
“Yeah. The top of the monkey bars, Cat.” He took off running, with Cathleen scurrying to catch up.
“What did you call me?” Cathleen laughed as she hurried to catch him.
She reached the monkey bars as Landon seated himself on the top rung.
“I’m going to call you Cat. It’s going to be what I call you starting — now,” he announced decidedly.
“Cat. Cat,” she let the word resonate in her mouth. It felt new. It fit her perfectly. “I think I like that.” She nodded definitively. “Yes, you can call me Cat,” smiling from ear to ear, she reached out her small hand as he extended his to pull her up.
She hesitated.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m not allowed to climb on top of the monkey bars. My mother says they’re too high,” Cat added sadly.
“How old are you?” Landon questioned.
“Four and a half,” Cat replied.
“Well, I just turned five last month, so I’ll protect you,” Landon urged with certainty in his voice.
“Alright,” Cat took his hand and after a moment’s hesitation, she allowed him to help her climb through the top rung until they were both seated on top of the monkey bars.
Cat took a second to reposition her tortoise shell headband that held her windswept, caramel waves neatly in place as she looked around. She could see the entire playground from up here; and she noted, with some relief, that Poopy Paul was nowhere to be seen. She cupped her hands over her eyes and gazed around until she found her nanny, Corey, pushing her two-year old sister, Lilienne, on the swings. She was talking on her cell phone as she usually was. She had taken no notice of what had recently transpired and was showing no interest now, even though Cat was breaking one of the most important playground rules (according to her mother): no climbing on top of the monkey bars.
Well, ha, thought Cat sneakily. No one could stop her now. Landon stood up and walked carefully across the monkey bars, balancing each foot on the bar before stepping to the next one. Cat stood up to follow suit. She must have stood too quickly though, because in the same instant that she stood, she also found herself falling to the ground. Reaching both hands above her to break the fall, she heard a sickening “crack” and felt a severe pain shoot through her left arm as it cushioned her fall. Cat closed her eyes for a minute, maybe two, maybe five, she wasn’t sure; but when she opened her eyes, she was staring into Landon’s and she knew everything would be alright.
“It’s a good thing you’re a cat. It means you have nine lives,” he smiled and brushed her hair out of her eyes as other faces crowded into her view, “I think you have eight left now.”
Landon’s nanny, a big lady with a warm Jamaican accent, went to get some ice for her arm. Corey was talking with her parents on the phone, who were sending a car to pick them up and take her to the ER for x-rays. Lili held Samantha for her and Landon held her right hand and patted it reassuringly. It was the first time in her life Cat would have the excuse, “Well, Landon did it first,” but it wouldn’t be the last.
Over the next 13 years, their friendship would grow from being playground pals with occasional playdates, to inseparable friends--best friends. Landon would use the line about her nine lives on several other occasions. Once, when they were eight, Landon decided it would be a good idea to send his mother’s Pomeranian, Moose, down the laundry chute with a Barbie parachute on. Luckily, Moose was fine, thanks to the housekeeper who had called in sick, leaving piles of laundry yet to be washed at the bottom of the shoot. Unfortunately, Cat had slipped on the entry hall rug while chasing Landon out the door in their escape and had received a concussion. Then, there was the time they decided to ride their scooters from Hippo Park down to Chelsea Piers to the skating rink one winter. Cat’s parents grounded her for a month for that little stunt. Though she had insisted, as always, it was at Landon’s bidding. They had entered kindergarten at Cathedral together the fall after their initial meeting, and even though they had parted ways their freshman year of high school, they still met for breakfast each morning at Eli’s and did homework together in the evenings. When Cat entered Ninth grade at Spence and Landon at Allen-Stevenson, their parents thought they might fall out of touch, making their lives a little less fraught with worry about what shenanigans the two might get into. If only that had been the case.
Chapter Two
Cat blinked as the lights of the city twinkled below, the sky was a dull gray on the eastern horizon. She hadn’t even realized her eyes had been open. She blinked hard in an effort to break the trance. Her eyelids were so dry they moved as though they were painfully glued open. I shouldn’t even be awake yet, she thought with chagrin. They had finally taken off, though she had been completely unaware. She had hoped that she would be able to sleep and forget the many problems that vexed her, but her thoughts seemed to turn to Landon. Memories. Happy memories, but sad in light of what had happened. With a sigh, she reached into her bag for the book her mother had handed her at the airport.
“Your summer reading for Watauga High,” she had said sourly. “You had better get started on the plane since you begin classes next month.”
Certainly, reading would turn her mind elsewhere. Cat stared at the cover of the book. Public school. She had never attended one, nor did she want to. Jack London’s “Call of the Wild” looked blankly up at her. The snowy scene painted across the cover only served as another portal to take her mind elsewhere: back to Landon. It reminded her of the last “life” she lost with Landon. It had been this past January. Only six months ago. She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears wouldn’t come, but the memories persisted.
Cat grabbed her Burberry jacket from the coat rack in the foyer.
“Maria,” she called up the winding staircase.
The young housekeeper’s head appeared above the railing.
“Yes, Miss Cathleen?” her heavy Puerto Rican accent marred with disdain over having to address this privileged teenager as Miss.
“I’m stepping out to meet Landon. Please let my parents know. They should be getting back from Nice Matin in half an hour or so. Thank you! I won’t be long,” she called behind her, letting the door slam before she added, “I think.”
Buttoning her coat as she skipped down the steps of their townhouse on 84th between Columbus and Central Park West, she glanced at the text she had received from Landon not even five minutes before, “Water fountain — 10 min.” She was accustomed to receiving texts from him, requests to meet to discuss the latest bits of gossip (Cathleen mainly), or to divulge the specifics of the latest prank that was pulled (always Landon). But rarely did these requests happen later at night, especially on a night when she had been with him until two hours ago.
He had proofread her report on Anna Karenina, and as he always did, he left her paper bleeding red when he finished. Cat was great when it came to writing content, but terrible when it came to being grammatically correct. Time and time again, Landon had badgered her over learning how to write properly, minus the comma splices and extra semicolons that always came with her work. And, time and time again, she reminded him that she had no need of being grammatically correct when she had him.
What Cat Lost (The Last Life of Cat Book 1) Page 1