Chapter 23 Present Day
CHAPTER 23
PRESENT DAY
July
After Wes’s departure, I try to focus on work and the pending final due diligence documentation expected by end of today. But Eleanor’s daytime silence is foreboding, even more so following last night’s barrage of texts. After seven hours of unbroken sleep, I should be more focused, but every scroll of my finger on the trackpad as I pore over the documents feels like wading through sludge. Maybe I should have said something differently. Maybe I should have taken more time with Wes, because now I’ve uprooted the fragile renewal of our friendship.
I’ve been so distracted that I forgot to respond to Hassan’s last message. After I didn’t pick up his call, he sent follow-up messages throughout the morning.
Hassan: Hey! How are you? Been a bit! Just wanted to check in :)
Hassan: Sending you thoughts and prayers, Norah said that Eleanor is on a rampage today
All innocuous enough. Nothing that should be making my stomach churn. But all I can think about is how right it felt waking up next to Wes. Even if we don’t have a future together, I’m not over him. The years have not healed my old wounds.
Or maybe I’m a plaster sculpture, formed around loving Wes, too brittle to take another shape.
What I’m doing isn’t fair to Hassan. Instead of going through yet another year of financial statements, I find myself pacing in the living room at lunchtime until I gather the courage to click FaceTime.
“Lia, you’re alive.” Hassan answers immediately. He’s leaning back against his office chair, arms of his dress shirt casually rolled up, suit jacket nowhere to be found. I long to be like him, at home at Gold neither car is in the driveway. Desperate, I try calling Wes. His phone rings once, twice before going to voicemail, and I hang up. I have to go now, Ciji is waiting.
Clouds layer over the sheen of stars in the sky, but the brightest lights trickle through. Today is not like that stormy day, slick with rain and heavy fog, so many years ago. Not knowing if Ciji’s safe or not unfreezes me. I have to do this. I steel myself as I enter the compact sedan and am greeted with beige fabric seats and the new car smell from the air freshener.
Driving a car is like riding a bike. I know how to do this. At least that’s what I tell myself as I turn the car on, unlock the parking brake and somehow pull out of the driveway.
Except every lurch of the car over gravel sends a spike of adrenaline into my veins, and the large oak trees loom like menacing guardsmen as the pathway seems to narrow in on me. The urgency of this drive makes my hands shake until I’m barely keeping control of the car. A surprising crunch of the tires makes me jerk, but I right myself. I’m almost at the highway when a foggy shape, big enough to be a bear, dashes in front of my headlights.
I swerve, losing control, the car jerking and turning until it stops, the windshield going black with a bang. My breath comes in harsh pants, the belt digging into my abdomen, and a primal fear roars in me like an angry beast.
Finally the darkness gives way to the long, draping leaves of a tree branch, the dim starlight pushing through the gaps in the foliage. I’ve crashed into a tree. My windshield is intact, but my breathing is broken.
I need to get out of the car. I need dirt and ground beneath my feet. With my last remnants of sense, I hit the hazard lights and tumble out the door.
How long has it been since Ciji called? Is she okay?
I check my phone. One bar of service. I missed a call from Wes. Holding the phone out, I turn in a circle hoping to capture more bars when the screen lights up, the phone buzzing in my cold fingers.
“Hello?” I gasp.
“Lia?” Wes asks, the reception making his voice tinny. “Is everything alright?”
I look at the car, tucked away under a branch with the lights flashing red, turning everything a bloody hue. “No,” I say. “I’m not alright.”
He’s there, on the phone, waiting for me.
“I fucked up,” I tell him. My explanation is a jumbled word search. Ciji, the car, needing to get her, my apologies for ruining his evening.
“I’m coming to get you,” Wes says, somehow understanding my unintelligible plea. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know,” I say, voice shaky. “Somewhere between the cottage and the highway, on the side of the road.”
“I’ll be there soon.” His seatbelt clicks and I hear the car starting. Even though we don’t talk, he leaves the phone on, and I try to calm myself with the faint sounds of his breath in the distance.
Finally Wes’s green Jetta rolls into view from the direction of the highway, stopping ahead of me. Gravel crunches under his feet as he approaches. I’m curled into myself, standing next to my car. He says nothing as he checks me, hands sailing over my arms, and I feel myself shiver.
Until I realize I’m not the one who’s shaking. Wes vibrates with tension; I reach up to his nape, dragging my thumb reassuringly across the back. It sinks in that I’ve interrupted his evening. He’s wearing a pair of pressed khakis that outline his thighs and a grey button-down that makes his eyes vivid like the stars hidden behind the clouds.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammer, as he pulls me in against him.
He doesn’t hear my apologies. “I didn’t pick up,” Wes says. I feel his swallow against my forehead. “I called you back but you didn’t pick up, and all I could think about was how we’d left things. I had to find you.”
“I know,” I say, pulling away to look up to him. My chest is still heavy but the anxiety has receded, present but no longer all-encompassing. “I didn’t have service.”
“I realized but I couldn’t help but worry. I spoke to Andrea today about that morning and she told me what she said when you called. Lia, I’m so sorry,” he says, his expression splintered. “I want to explain.”
I close my eyes, taken back to that day, but force myself to shake my head. “Wes, we can’t right now. We have to get Ciji. She’s at a party and I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Right,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re right.”
I follow Wes into his car, leaving my aunt’s emergency flashers on. We drive silently, following the directions on Maps. His hands clench around the steering wheel. I lean back against the headrest, taking in the smell of clean lemon soap and pine, my nerves steadying.
Finally we reach the town, our speed slowing as we drive past the quiet homes with minivans out front until we come to a cul-de-sac with cars littering the side of the road. Lights are on in every window of the house, a beacon guiding us to the party.
I slide out of the car and call Ciji.
“We’re here,” I say when she picks up. But I’m not sure she can hear me over the thump of music in the background.
I walk up the winding driveway and ring the doorbell and knock. No one will hear it over the rush of the music. I send her a text message, and finally Ciji slips out. She closes the door on throngs of people behind her.
I take in her spaghetti top, one strap hanging limp off her shoulder, and her smeared dark lipstick. Even in the dim lighting, her eyes are downcast. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, stumbling forward. I reach to fix her strap and she lets me.
“The car is over there,” I say, putting my hand on her arm tentatively, and then more firmly when she doesn’t shake me off.
I pull her along with me, steadying her as she stumbles on the steps. The cloying scent of alcohol washes over me, but she seems especially small right now and I can’t bring myself to lecture her in this moment.
I open the back passenger door and slide Ciji in. She lets me buckle her up, like a child, and then I take my seat.
“Hey, Ciji,” Wes says. She doesn’t answer. When I meet his eyes, he has a hooded expression.
We drive home in silence, heavy with the smell of overindulged rum. Ciji stares out the window and eventually nods off.
“I don’t know what got into her,” I tell Wes, quietly, careful to not wake her. My parents would have sent me into lockdown if I was ever caught drinking. But they were never interested in why we did what we did. Yet in this moment, regardless of the circumstances, I find myself thinking about the stress of everything going on in Ciji’s life and how it might make sense to get trashed and make out with a boy, to feel good even if it’s fleeting.
“You’ll figure it out,” he says. The words come out gentle, but I get the message. You’ll figure it out. Not we . Because we aren’t a team anymore.
When we arrive home, the stopping motion wakes Ciji. “Oh god,” she says, opening the car door. She puts her hands to her mouth and then retches, again and again until everything pours out of her in a rancid, sour torrent. I rush to hold her hair back, my sandals narrowly avoiding the splatter.
She moans, running into the house, the front door closing with a snap behind her.
“I’m going to go after her,” I say, looking apologetically back at Wes. “Thank you for your help.”
“I can get your aunt’s car,” he says quietly from where he’s leaning against the door. “Need a walk to clear my head, anyway.”
My fingers brush against his as I hand the keys to him, and then he’s gone into the darkness.
When I get inside, I expect Ciji to be hiding in her room so I can’t scold her. Instead I find her shaking on the sofa underneath my dad’s throw blanket, as if she couldn’t make it any further before she collapsed.
“Are you mad?” she asks me.
I sit down on the cushion next to her feet. “Not mad. I’m glad you called me and that you’re safe.”
Ciji gulps down a sob. “I’m sorry about going to the party. I just wanted to be one of them, you know. And Everett was so nice. He called me beautiful and made me drinks. But then I started feeling really sick and I thought I was going to fall over, die and vomit.”
“Well, you only did one of those things,” I say, coaxing a watery laugh from her.
Her laughter fades and she spews out, in a rush, “You shouldn’t be so nice to me. I snuck out with Helen on Wednesday night before the quiz.”
Those sounds that morning were from her sneaking back home, not from her searching for a snack. Internally, I berate myself for my na?veté. “I wish you hadn’t lied to me, Ciji. But I get it, I wasn’t always honest with my parents either.”
“Mom’s never going to forgive me for being such a screw-up,” she continues, stopping to belch. “Ugh, I don’t feel well.”
“Let’s get you upstairs,” I tell her. She leans on me fully as I haul her upright and drag her up the stairs. I tuck her in, leaving Tylenol and a large glass of water at her bedside. “Sleep well, Ciji.”
Her breath comes in steady, sleepy waves, and I turn off the light and softly close her door.