Chapter 75 Charleigh
Charleigh
Hours later, Charleigh still churns in the kitchen, halfway through a fresh pitcher of margaritas.
It’s past eleven, and it’s still so hot outside that the chill from the AC has fogged the windows. Nellie and Alexander are both upstairs; she’s grateful for that, especially after the phone call she just took.
It was Kathleen. She’d just gotten home from the hospital. “Charleigh, things have gotten weird.”
“Oh, no! What’s going on? Is Blair doing worse, or what—”
“No, that’s the thing,” she said, lowering her voice. “She’s better…and well…”
Panic rose in the back of Charleigh’s throat like bile. “Spit it out already!” she shrieked.
“Well, she woke up about six this evening, so Chip called the cops. It’s such good news because she managed to stay alert until they arrived.
But then…” Her voice dwindled again to a whisper.
“They asked her a few questions. I was standing right there, holding Monica, ya know, in case… Well, anyway, they asked her if she’d seen anything unusual before her accident—”
“And?” Charleigh squawked, cutting Kathleen off.
“She still can’t talk, but she nodded.”
Charleigh gulped, studied the contents of her glass, watched the margarita slushy slowly melt. “Well, what does that mean exactly?” Hysteria clutched at her chest.
“Well, whew, then they asked if anyone had done this to her and—”
Spit it out and quit pussyfootin’ around, Charleigh wanted to scream.
She could picture Kathleen in her giant living room, massaging lotion into her perfect calves as she doled out this intel. Charleigh wanted to drive across town and throttle her.
“And?” she asked again, sharply.
“And she nodded to that, too. But then she closed her eyes, drifted back off.”
Silence, thick as pancake batter, hung over the line.
Was Kathleen thinking the same thing Charleigh was? That Nellie had something to do with it? She couldn’t ask her, obviously, but as the silence stretched, that’s all Charleigh could think.
“That’s so creepy, right? That someone might do something like that to Blair on purpose?”
Creepy was one way to put it. Demonic was another.
“Yes, of course. Poor thing. Sounds insane to me, though. Like, who would ever do such a thing?”
“I know! But anyway,” Kathleen said, then exhaled. “Poor Monica and Chip. I just hope Blair pulls through. It’s a good sign she’s waking up more, but Monica nearly passed out when Blair answered the police like that.”
“Absolutely. Listen, I gotta run,” Charleigh said abruptly. “Pounding headache. Call me tomorrow if anything changes or if you hear anything else at all.” She slammed the phone down in its cradle, then eyed the ceiling as if she could see through it, all the way to Nellie’s room.
She walked over to the liquor cabinet, splattered a bunch of tequila into the bottom of the blender, tore open the can of frozen mix, dumped it in, and pressed Blend.
Now she’s finished her second glass, the edges of her vision growing murkier.
If Alexander hadn’t been acting so funny when they came home from the shooting range, she’d maybe finally want to have this conversation with him. But when he walked through the back door, he looked spooked, out of sorts, and Nellie pounded the stairs up to her room, slammed the door.
“What’s going on?” Charleigh asked.
“Nothing! Why?” Alexander replied, his voice edged with nerves. He stuck his neck in the fridge, rooted around for leftovers.
“What’s up Nellie’s butt? Why’d she storm—” Charleigh tried again.
“Hell if I know,” he snapped back.
Charleigh crossed the room, went over to him, tried to put her arms around his neck, but he gently shrugged her off. “Not now,” he said.
Stung, she retreated inside herself, stopped her line of questioning. Nellie probably acted like a gigantic asshole the whole time they were at the range, taking her teenage bullshit angst—or her rising guilt and fear over Blair’s accident—out on poor Alexander.
Charleigh swirls her third drink around in her glass, takes in a tangy mouthful. Picks up the phone again, dials Jackson’s hotel in Dallas. The line just rings and rings and rings. She hangs up without leaving a message.