Chapter 26
“CLOSEST THING TO HEAVEN” BY FRANK VALLI
Lukas jumped up on my bed as I placed Estelle down and hastily shut the door. I turned the lock and pressed my weight against it, closing my eyes and listening to my mother’s shouting. I flinched, holding the door handle when I heard a loud thud.
“Mommy!” Estelle cried. “I want Eric. I want Eric.”
“Me too, babe,” I mumbled and stepped back from the doorway.
I turned and stared at the way Lukas was huddled close to Estelle. He nudged her cheek, sniffing her tears.
“Why don’t we call Eric?” I cheerfully suggested.
Estelle nodded her head and rubbed her eyes.
My hands shook as I tugged my phone out of my pants and dialed Erica’s number. I waited patiently for her to answer as I made my way over to the radio.
When I was growing up, music hid me from the world outside these bright walls. Estelle shouldn’t have to grow up this way, but I didn’t know what else to do besides fall back on what I knew.
The opening to “Grease” played through my room.
Believe it or not, I almost named Estelle Frankie.
Not just because Frankie Valli was a great singer, but because there were multiple Frankies that made my life easier growing up.
In the end, though, I opted for Estelle because she was the only star I needed.
I shouldn’t have to look at her and think about anything other than that.
“Come on, Erica,” I growled when the phone went to voicemail, clicking her name again and putting it on speaker.
As Frankie started to sing, I sang to Estelle, turning the knob up louder when I distantly heard something outside the door.
Lukas’s tail wagged as I danced toward them. I couldn’t help but smile when Estelle giggled through her teary hazel eyes. Her father’s goofy smile was adorable on her, breaking across her face at the first spot of something worthy.
I twirled and failed to moonwalk across my floor. I didn’t care how silly I looked, as long as Estelle kept smiling and forgot about the reason her arm looked so red.
“Boo, boo, boooo.” I scooped her up from the bed and let my phone fall to the mattress when Erica didn’t answer a third time. She had to have a good reason then. “Da, da, da, daaa.”
I took her little hand in mine and danced around with her, adding her into the dance moves every chance I got. The song quickly switched to another Frankie Valli song once it faded out.
Estelle knew this one by heart. I knew it by the way she bobbed her head as we spun around through the room.
“I love you, baby!”
She squealed as I dipped her down and let her dark auburn locks fly through the air. She giggled hysterically, her big, broad smile making my heart soar as I felt tears running down my face.
Estelle’s little arms wrapped around my neck, her giggles in my ear for the rest of the song. Next was “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” then “My Girl,” and at least two other songs before I was able to close my eyes and feel my daughter drifting off to sleep.
We swayed back and forth as “My Funny Valentine” drifted through the room. I rubbed my cheek against Estelle’s head and sang quietly to her as my thoughts drifted away.
Dancing. Music. The setting sun. It all reminded me of her.
Quinntessa.
I let myself dissociate enough to escape, as I had done so many times as a child, imagining somewhere safe, somewhere where I could escape this heartache.
Quinntessa’s honey eyes and heart-stopping smile.
I sighed and snuggled into Estelle, imagining it was us three dancing in Mustang’s bedroom to my cassette collection.
She would sway her hips, and I would copy her signature move of playing air guitar in time with her light jogging feet.
She’d toss her messy hair over her shoulder as she twirled, and I’d admire how pretty her curls were against her velvet-looking skin.
“Closest Thing to Heaven” started playing, and I felt the tears run freely. I whispered the lyrics, imagining Quinntessa smiling at me again like she did that morning. We’d dance together, maybe with Estelle. Maybe my mind had drifted away from her out of instinct.
I reached out and took Quinntessa’s hand, following its movements through the air before lightly swirling her. She blushed, as she always did when I smiled at her, and shyly hid in her messy curls.
I touched her carefully. I knew she was in my head.
I could feel Estelle falling asleep on my shoulder as I methodically danced around my bedroom.
I envisioned my hands cupping Quinntessa’s sweet face as I smiled at the heart shape.
I thought about staring into those starry eyes that dreamed so big, I wanted to slip into her mind and know what it was I was so drawn to.
My heart raced as Quinntessa’s fingers released from mine mid-twirl. Her curly hair cascaded through the air as her smile flashed to me before she faded away and I was alone in my bedroom once again.
Me and Estelle.
And this stupid dog.
My little family and me. Locked in a room. Scared for our lives.
I sighed and stared at the last spot I had seen her. This fucking na?ve girl who haunted my thoughts more than I could have ever imagined.
My head tilted slightly when I noticed the picture I had stolen from the Dawson garage taped up on my bookshelf with the rest of my friends.
I frowned deeply and stepped closer, staring at the picture of Quinntessa and some guy she shyly leaned into.
Oddly, I couldn’t remember stealing this exact one.
A picture of her at what I assumed to be a Halloween party or some sort of—nerd fest?
She was at comic con, dressed like a dork as Raven from Teen Titans.
A hot nerd with purple tinted hair and dark makeup, a purple cloak, black tank top, and dark jean shorts.
She looked the same age in this photo, maybe a little younger, but she looked happy, happier than I’d seen her here, besides in the end zone of the football field.
I grabbed the edge of the photo and carefully untaped it from the bookshelf. My eyes flickered between Christian and my homecoming photo freshman year to the beautiful Raven cosplayer in my hands.
I definitely had a type: big brown eyes, round face, full brows, and most importantly, an adoringly goofy smile.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
The picture in my hands quickly found a home in my desk drawer. I shoved it closed and glared at my wall of pictures. How drunk had I gotten to add Mustang? Sweet cheeks didn’t deserve to be up there. Only my friends, boyfriends, girls I cared about—only they’d ever made it up there!
Only people I cared about.
My heart throbbed as I noticed another picture of Quinntessa. I quickly used my free hand to yank it off the shelf, where it joined the other photo in the drawer with a soft thud.
My thighs leaned against it as I fluttered my gaze over the calendar in front of me.
I was being played. Someone had been in my room. There, on my calendar, was a blue circle around the month of February. I used my freehand to flip through the passing months, feeling a throb in my chest with each page flip.
February.
Valentine’s Day.
A heart in blue marker marked out the fourteenth. I couldn’t place where I had seen the writing before, but I knew it was someone I’d been around frequently enough to see this wiggle at the end of the Q.
Qupid’s B-Day!
It wasn’t my handwriting.