Track 25 After Midnight
Track 25
After Midnight
Beatrix
It was around midnight when Bea and Paul finished straightening up and crawled into bed. Bea was happy. It had been a great party and she was overjoyed to have hosted it for Renee and Jake. Bea took her responsibilities as matron of honor extremely seriously.
She slid into her favorite spot, in the crook of Paul’s arm, and waited for her eyes to get heavy. She was about halfway there when the house phone rang. Flipping over, she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. She knew the call would involve Veronica, who hadn’t come back to the house since their unfortunate exchange.
Paul, of course, was already lightly snoring.
Reluctantly, she picked up the receiver, not wanting to wake him or her dad, who fortunately always removed his hearing aids before going to sleep.
“Hello,” she grimaced, her annoyance evident in her tone.
“Bea?” the strangely recognizable voice replied. “It’s Chase Logan, you know—the lifeguard.”
“Yes, I know who you are, Chase.”
“Your sister is here, and I think someone should come get her.”
“Where is here?”
“The Salty Pelican.”
Bea hung up and rolled back over. She had put her days of saving Veronica way behind her. Forcing her eyes closed, she attempted to override the call with happy thoughts: how delicious the paella had turned out, how good it was to see Renee so happy, how sweet Matt’s new girlfriend was for helping her—and just sweet in general.
Five minutes later, she was on her bike pedaling to Ocean Beach.
Bea hadn’t been to the Salty Pelican in a few summers and did not know that Chase now tended bar there. She entered the familiar establishment, filled with memories from her youth, in search of her sister. She looked under the bathroom stalls and thankfully didn’t find Veronica. If she was already leaning over the toilet bowl, getting her home would be a two-person job, and she wasn’t about to ask Chase for help. It was then that she remembered that Veronica was sober.
Fuck , she thought, seven years .
She tried not to feel guilty if she had played a part in pushing her off the wagon.
With no other choice, she approached Chase behind the bar. It was nearly impossible to align the paunchy middle-aged man with the gorgeous young lifeguard she had known. Eager to avoid speaking to him, she held her hands up like the “I don’t know” emoji that she often sent Paul when he inquired about dinner.
“You just missed her. She made a scene and left with Dave Acres.”
“Handsome Dave?” she asked.
“Yeah, but he’s not so handsome anymore.”
“Is he still on Wilmot?”
“Three from the beach.”
This place was like a freaking time capsule, she thought, locked in 1989.
“Thanks,” she managed.
“No, thank you,” he retorted in a curiously biting tone.
“Do you have something to say, Chase?”
“Only that it would have been nice to know from you that we had a baby, instead of from a book years later.”
She paused for a second, feeling confused as to why he was bringing this up out of the blue. She knew she had run into him a few times over the years. Was it possible she hadn’t seen him since On Fire Island was published? It was so long ago now. He must be a slow reader, she thought amusingly.
A million responses to his question flooded her brain. She went with the most succinct.
“We didn’t have a baby. I had a baby, Chase.”
With that, she left and headed for Wilmot Road, having not the slightest clue what she would do when she got there. She was surprised at the thought that Veronica would risk her marriage and family for a romp with not-so-handsome-anymore Dave. She’d never thought he was handsome to begin with. Nevertheless, Veronica had apparently been drinking, and Veronica and alcohol didn’t make for logic.
The house was dark. Bea parked her bike, went right up to the front door, and rapped her knuckles on it loudly. A light switched on in a window upstairs. Soon, handsome Dave’s wife stood in front of her, barefoot and angry.
Bea did not know there was a wife. She’d step lightly.
“Do you know what time it is?” the woman asked, and not because she didn’t own a clock.
“Um, yes, sorry. I’m looking for my sister.”
“Is she a pathetic middle-aged drunk with bleached-out red hair?”
“That’s a little harsh,” Bea responded, genuinely defensive.
“Yeah, well, it’s one a.m. and my husband had to walk her home to Bay Harbor.”
“Oh. That’s great. Thank him for me. And sorry for waking you.”
The door was already shut by the time she got in that last part.
Bea pedaled back to Bay Harbor, exhaling her resentment toward Veronica, and inhaling the anticipation of climbing back under the light summer quilt next to Paul. She threw her bike in the shed, kicked off her Birkenstocks, and wearily stomped down the hall to check on her sister. She cracked the door open gingerly. The last thing she wanted to do was to wake her, certain that any conversation between them right now would be even uglier than before. She peered into V’s bedroom, only to find her bed untouched. What the hell? Concern for her sister, which lay deep down under layers of indignation, suddenly grabbed her by the throat.
Holding her breath, she searched the house, expecting to find Veronica passed out somewhere else. Yet she was nowhere to be found. It was then that real panic set in.
Bea grabbed a flashlight and ran down to the beach. It was an old habit of Veronica’s to make it home as far as their block, but not to complete the journey, passing out on the cold night sand. It was amazing that she could still keep up these kinds of antics. Having just binged all six seasons of The Crown , Beatrix’s mind flashed wryly on the fact that she and her sister were like duty-bound Elizabeth and uninhibited Margaret.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
Bea stood at the top of the stairs and shined the flashlight in every direction. The beach was empty. She made her way to the bottom step and sat down. Exhausted, she wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.
“Calm down,” she said out loud, chiding herself for even taking the bait. Her sister was a grown woman who could take care of herself.
Then, something sticking out of the sand caught her eye. She aimed her flashlight on a pair of bright pink pool slides with the Balenciaga logo emblazoned across them. She couldn’t fathom them belonging to anyone on their block other than Veronica. She slipped them onto her feet. They fit perfectly. She and Veronica were the same size; she’d made a habit of stealing her shoes long before she stole her boyfriend. Bea grabbed the Balenciagas and sprinted toward the ocean. With each step, she ricocheted between feeling annoyed, worried, and panicked, ending with one beyond-distressing thought.
I killed my sister .