Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
I borrow Lydia’s car for the second time in a week, exchanging it for a quart of peanut butter cup ice cream and a dozen promises to fill it with gas, until she reminds me it’s electric.
While there was no way to strap Rufus to my Vespa for the thirty-minute drive to Castle Rock, I’m trying to ignore how the dog has increased my need to own a vehicle.
Wind tosses the naked tree branches when I pull into the driveway of my childhood home.
The sky is darkening, and the faint odor of petrichor hangs in the afternoon air.
But it’s March in Colorado, which means the forecast could go any number of ways.
It might rain, but we might also have three feet of snow by tomorrow.
Or it might be sunny and clear in an hour.
The weather forecasters were so vague on the drive down, I gave up and listened to music instead.
“Hi, thanks again for doing this,” I say, avoiding Mom’s eyes when she opens her front door.
She’s dressed as casual as she ever gets, with wide-leg pants and a loose sweater draped over her slim frame.
Her dark hair is swept back in a way that makes her gray streak even more dramatic against her pale, rose-dusted cheeks.
“I don’t have much time, but here’s his Kong toy and some extra treats. ”
She ushers us inside and takes the leash, immediately offering one of the cheese squares to Rufus. “Oh, he’s a sweetheart. But he looks just like one of those police dogs, doesn’t he?”
“Uh, sure.” I hesitate, glancing to where he’s straining at the end of the leash, scanning her modest living room with his sharp, golden eyes. “Here, he likes to do this thing . . .”
I unclip the leash, and Rufus immediately darts around the house, sniffing the furniture and sticking his nose in every corner the way I’ve gotten used to him doing each time we enter my apartment.
He’s already panting heavily, and for a second, I bite my lip, wondering if it’s a mistake to leave him here.
What if he loses his mind and destroys her couch after I go?
I have to cover this scholarship ceremony—want to, if I’m honest with myself.
But Rufus is technically not a service dog, and I don’t want to risk bringing him anywhere near the Forbes family.
“I’m just going to get a few quotes and come right back,” I say.
“I’ll be fine, Caprice. Remember, I had a springer spaniel before you and your brother were born.” She hesitates, then adds, “I wish I could go with you.”
I glance up, and her hazel eyes are so full of feeling, I have to look away.
We’ve hardly talked about Kyle since he died, but I know Mom loved him.
He spent more time at our house growing up, either with me or Theo, than he probably ever did at his own.
He would offer to help her with chores and always called her “ma’am.
” She took pictures of us here when he picked me up for prom.
“Sweetheart?” Mom says as I reach for the door. “You look really nice.”
I look down at my black button-up pencil dress and basic pumps. I wore my hair down, styled in loose waves for a change, but I appear more like I’m going to a funeral than a celebration. And I wonder if she would be so chill if she knew what the dog did to my Louboutins.
“Thanks,” I say, trying to ignore the way Rufus whines, following me with his eyes as I let myself out. “Call me if he becomes a problem. And remember, he can’t be left alone if you value anything in your house.”
I drive Lydia’s car along the same route I took every day as a teenager.
Out of our cramped little neighborhood with the sagging RVs in the driveways and the Christmas lights still up in March, across the highway to Castle High School, where the ceremony is being held.
The building had been state-of-the-art fifteen years ago and surprises me now by looking almost exactly the same.
I haven’t walked through the blue front doors since the day we graduated, and I’m unprepared, because the second I do, I’m surrounded by ghosts.
Of Kyle. Of myself. Of the past.
I can almost feel his strong arm slipping around my waist as I enter the main hallway.
His voice a deep and raspy greeting in my ear, his lips grazing my hair.
We both played every sport we could fit into our schedules, and on the way to the auditorium, I pass the gym doors where we used to meet up after practice.
The little hallway outside the locker rooms where we would steal an extra kiss.
Gooseflesh rises over my body with each step.
There’s a bigger crowd in the auditorium than I expected.
And so many familiar faces. I almost turn around and run back out to the car when they start to register.
It’s funny, Denver sits barely thirty miles to the north, but it’s an easy place to disappear just a stone’s throw from my past. I notice friends of Kyle’s.
Friends of ours. Some of them already hardly recognizable eleven years after graduation; some still exactly the way they appeared last I saw them.
I lower my head. I don’t want to look into these faces and see their sympathy—or judgment, I guess, depending on what stories they heard after we departed these halls.
Hell, maybe that already happened. They were all probably at the memorial service a year ago. But that whole experience was like moving through a black cloud. I’m not sure I would remember if someone had come up and slapped me in the middle of it.
“Caprice? Oh, my gosh.” I should probably be grateful Tania Riley is the first person to talk to me.
She falls into the camp of people who look mostly unchanged.
Her natural hair is pulled back in braids, highlighting the gorgeous tone of her dark brown skin.
Her eye makeup is more sophisticated than I remember, her frame a little curvier, but I don’t see any other notable difference.
We weren’t super close growing up, but we offered each other comfort by mere existence, as two of only a few non-white faces in our very suburban school.
Tania wasn’t a member of any particular clique—she’s one of those people who gets along with everyone, and wants everyone to get along.
It was always a relief to be paired with her for a group project. She’s good people.
“Hey, Tania,” I say, accepting an awkward hug.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry we’re here for this,” she offers, and while her sentiment is clearly sincere, it’s also obligatory. She might have heard what happened with the wedding, but she also knows Kyle and I were inseparable during eleventh and twelfth grades.
“Me too.”
We file down the aisle of the auditorium together and she clears her throat, gesturing toward the stage. “My, um, cousin is receiving the scholarship.”
I follow the direction she points to the small group clustered at the front of the room.
The instant knot that tightens in my stomach makes me glad I skipped breakfast. Because there are the Doctors Forbes.
Her, a slim white woman in a dark skirt suit, her short, practical hair a little grayer than I remember.
A white lily dominates her lapel. Her husband stands next to her, tall and distinguished, but less broad than their sons.
His light eyes and silver mustache project authority, though he’s somehow slightly warmer than his wife.
They stand with a well-dressed young Black man whose face definitely contains some echo of Tania’s. They share the same broad cheekbones and handsome arched brow. His stance is a little stiff, but his easy smile tells me this is not his first award and certainly won’t be his last.
“Congratulations,” I say, then decide to feign ignorance. “And it’s a scholarship for . . . ?”
“Kenyon’s going to Northwestern, pre-med,” she says, her whole face lighting up. “Smartest kid in our family. None of us were sure how he’d ever pay for school, so this award is pretty game-changing.” She hesitates, casting her eyes down. “Obviously, though, we all wish Kyle hadn’t . . .”
My throat burns, but I lay a gentle hand on her arm. “Kyle had a lot of demons.”
The back of my neck prickles just then, and as Tania says goodbye to join the rest of her family, I turn and scan the room.
It only takes two seconds to find Drew Forbes leaning against a wall, staring right at me.
He stands out in this crowd, even with his shoulders hunched.
The few times I’ve seen him, he’s been casual, in jeans and T-shirts with a few days’ stubble.
This afternoon, he’s clean-shaven and dressed up in a slim-cut gray suit.
Perhaps the only nod to his more casual lifestyle is the dark, slightly too-long hair curling against any attempts to be styled.
I raise my chin and meet the stormy eyes boring through his glasses. His gaze drifts down to my side, mouth pressing into a hard line, and I wonder if he’s looking for the dog. Like I could have brought him here.
Someone taps the mic, and I glance back at the stage, to his mother and father now gazing out at the room next to Principal Beck, waiting for everyone to finish taking their seats. For a second, I wish I had brought Rufus. My mouth quirks. Kyle would have enjoyed that.
When I look back, Drew has slunk out of view. So I find a seat on the aisle and shift into journalist mode, taking out a notebook and pen as our former principal welcomes the attendees.