Chapter Two #2
“You looked good,” he said. “Really good. Everyone said so.”
“I always look good.”
That also sounded bitchy, but it was different. She was coming out of the funk a little. “There were some good pictures, right?” she asked.
“That’s right, so make sure to credit your photographer.”
She snorted, but she might have smiled.
It meant the worst was over, and the mood as Hilary walked her to her door was better. Relief at having the party over and done with was definitely a part of it, but he was feeling almost generous when he kissed her, making her gasp a little when he picked her up and spun her around.
“Stop!” But she wasn’t pissed anymore, and she even said thank you as he helped get her things back into the house. Her father, Seth, came to greet them as they came in.
“Have a good time?” he asked as Varda gave him a hug.
“I didn’t know you sponsored the party,” Hilary said. He took the hand Seth held out to him and accepted the squeeze. “It was beautiful. I was really impressed.”
“Only the best for my baby,” Seth said. “Were you the cameraman again?”
“An honor I humbly accepted.”
Seth laughed. “Better you than me. Apparently, boomers always make things blurry.”
Varda gave her father’s shoulder a push. “It’s late. He has to get back.”
“But someone’s got to help me eat all this candy,” Seth said, “and you and your mother both eat like birds.”
Hilary was so glad to leave, he nearly forgot the most important tidbit, remembering only once he was back outside.
He turned again just as Varda was shutting the door.
“Mom’s necklace,” he said. “I should get it back to her tonight.” He was already raising his hands toward her neck, meaning to help undo the clasp.
But her neck was bare.
“Did you take it off already?” he asked.
She froze, and then Hilary knew.
“Varda—”
“I didn’t!” But there was no surprise in her exclamation, only the move towards defense. “I was wearing it. I didn’t take it off.”
The nausea surged and clamped suddenly at Hilary’s stomach. “You must have. When you were changing your dress. Check your things. Maybe—”
“I didn’t take it off!”
Seth came back down the stairs. “What—”
“My mother’s necklace,” Hilary blurted. “She can’t find—”
“I didn’t!”
Seth came right to his daughter, his arms going around her as if she were being targeted. “What’s this about a necklace?”
Hilary should have known not to phrase it as an accusation. Varda never did well with accusations. But he was panicking himself. “Check your things. You need to—”
She smacked his hand when he reached for her bag.
It was another thing he wouldn’t have done if he were thinking straight.
Or maybe he would have. Already the scene from the car was rewriting itself.
She’d known the necklace was lost before ever stepping into the car. She’d known and had said nothing.
“I’m sure if something was lost, we can replace it,” Seth said.
“It’s my grandmother’s.” And Hilary was angry. Not just at Varda, but at Seth. The man had done this. Had created this brat. This asshole who lost people’s things and refused even to acknowledge it. “And my mother’s most important memento from her. She never takes it off. She shouldn’t have lent—”
But abruptly, he knew it was pointless. Why was he even standing there?
In front of useless rich assholes who didn’t know the meaning of anything.
He turned, sharp and angry, and returned to the car.
It still smelled of cigarettes. Reeked of them.
Well, he’d see if he ever let her into his car again.
And why would he? Why was he even dating her? Vicious, Trenton had said.
The school was no longer bustling. Everyone had left—or almost everyone. Hilary panicked when he saw it shut, but when he hammered on the door, it opened.
“I need to check.” He’d practiced the words a little in the car, but now random ones came out in a rush. “My mother’s necklace. It was lost somewhere here. I need to check—”
He nearly fell in as she opened the door wider, and it was only then that he recognized who it was. Aspen.
For a moment, he forgot why he was standing there. “Did he send you?”
She seemed to regret opening the door. “Who?”
“Trenton.”
“Did you need him?”
With that, they were both confused.
“He’s still here?” Hilary asked.
“He’s helping us clean up.”
Hilary set that aside, his priorities reasserting themselves. “My mother’s necklace,” he said again.
He checked the women’s restroom first, sure it must have come off when Varda was changing costumes, but it wasn’t there.
He checked every stall, every crack—even tried to rig up a contraption to snake the drain, though the hole was too small to let the necklace down it anyway.
He was digging through the garbage when Trenton came.
“Hilary.”
The boy was out of breath and must have come running. It gave Hilary hope. “Did you find—?”
“Where have you looked so far?”
They checked the room where all the coats had been piled.
Then the gymnasium, the parking lot, and were sifting through the many, many bags of garbage when Hilary started to cry.
It wasn’t obvious. It was more a feeling in his chest, tight and burning, than a display of waterworks, though he knew if he spoke it would be dangerous.
So when Trenton said, “It’s not here. Open the next one,” Hilary could only nod and follow.
“We’ll find it,” the boy said. “We just need to check everything carefully.”
But that relied on too many assumptions.
The necklace might not be at the school anymore.
That seemed more and more likely as the minutes went by.
As Hilary’s thoughts grew more paranoid, he even wondered whether Varda herself might have taken it.
She’d liked the necklace, hadn’t she? But that was stupid.
Her family had enough money to buy her a dozen necklaces.
In fact, why hadn’t they? And why had Varda demanded to borrow the necklace at all?
When it meant nothing to her and everything to his mother.
“It stinks.” That was when Hilary realized about the crying.
His eyes were blurry. “It fucking reeks.” And he wasn’t exaggerating.
The smell was so awful it was making him dizzy.
He didn’t know why it smelled so bad. The garbage was fresh after all, but the mix of everything together was repulsive.
Watery fruit and congealing meat. When they ripped open the next bag to the sour smell of vomit, he began gagging himself.
He’d ripped the bag open with too much force, and some had sprayed out onto his shoes and pants, and he wanted to scream.
Wanted to take hold of the trash, bury Varda’s face in it, and scream.
“Did you try the old art room?”
The voice was Aspen again, back to check on them, the only one still remaining of the original cleanup committee. The others had already gone home, and with good reason. It was late—very late—but Aspen had said nothing about making them leave so she could lock up.
“The art room?” Hilary was grateful for the excuse to step away from the trash. He really was going to hurl. “Why would it be there?”
Aspen’s face was strangely tight. “I think you should check.”
Well, he needed the break anyway. Hilary stripped off the gloves he was wearing and tossed them onto the mess. Trenton was doing the same. And together, all three of them climbed the stairs to the fourth floor.