Chapter 15 #2
Beverly came right on time, carrying two large trays of food to our table. My mouth watered at the sight of it, and Parker rubbed his hands together in sheer excitement. We thanked her as she placed the trays in front of us, followed by the sweet tea.
Parker grabbed his fork and dug into the fried catfish. It melted like butter on his fork. He held the fork in front of me. “Take a bite and tell me what you think.”
Heat rushed to my skin. This felt intimate, like something friends or even lovers might do. Did he mean for me to take the fork from him? The fork was suspended in the air in front of me, and here I was overthinking a bite of catfish.
Girl, get it together.
I leaned forward and closed my lips around the fork. I closed my eyes as the flavors exploded in my mouth, and I couldn’t hold back the moan of satisfaction that came from my throat.
When I opened my eyes, I met Parker’s searing gaze as he shifted in his seat.
Thankfully, the moment was fleeting. I didn’t think I could endure another moment under his watchful eye. Every time he looked at me, it felt like he was trying to figure me out, dig beneath the surface where all my ugly parts reside.
He takes the fork and goes for his own bite of fish, sprinkling hot sauce on it before bringing it to his mouth.
“Damn. This is just as good as I remembered.”
“That was delicious,” I said in agreement, my eyes already seeking out the next dish to try.
Parker didn’t try to feed me again, and I was grateful for it. My cheeks were a permanent shade of pink around him. I chalked it up to being out of practice—being a recluse didn’t do wonders for my social skills.
He directed me on which foods to try next and asked my honest opinion about each one.
In between bites, I asked him about his time here.
He spoke about it so fondly, I wanted him to continue.
Much of what I knew of his life here in Oakland Ridge seemed so dim.
It was nice to hear him recall better memories of his hometown.
Once my awkwardness passed and I let myself be in the moment, I found that I enjoyed talking to Parker.
He was playful and charismatic, making me laugh a few times to my surprise.
Being in Oakland Ridge felt so foreign—a new place with new people.
However, I could see myself building a friendship with Parker.
It seemed like he wasn’t giving me much of a choice either way.
Arriving at the estate, we each headed to our rooms after saying goodnight.
What I needed was a shower and some sleep.
I felt like we had been on the go nonstop since we arrived.
The room was just as I had left it, except for the closet full of clothing that was now bursting with cocktail dresses, designer jeans, skirts, and blouses.
I've never been around so many designer clothes in my life.
While I wouldn't wear all of them, the pieces were beautiful.
I looked through all the new items, taking note of what I liked, until I finally found some satin pajamas.
I quickly grabbed them and a pair of underwear I had bought at the superstore, then went into the large ensuite bathroom.
On the shelf in the bathroom were now a face wash, moisturizer, body lotion, butters, and other toiletries.
A bonnet hung on the hook next to the shower, along with a shower cap.
Whoever had been in here had thought of everything.
I felt a small tinge of excitement at trying all the new products.
Cellie would have loved all of this. She used to go to these beauty expos and sample sales a few times a year.
Celeste would return home with tons of samples, and we’d spend the next day trying them out together.
I try to just be in the moment like my therapist would suggest. As I start to fill the bath, I pick up the Lavender soap and pour a little into the tub.
Once the tub is filled, I slowly sink into the steaming water.
The hot water warms my body and sends a calm over me.
I release a heavy sigh of relief and close my eyes as the muscles in my body relax.
The sound of my phone roused me out of my sleep.
The water has run cold, and the bubbles have fizzled out.
I go through the motions of draining the tub and starting the shower so I can wash off.
Once I’m clean and dry, I help myself to the coconut almond scented body butter on one of the shelves.
Catching my reflection in the full-length mirror and I pause, looking at the myriad of scars that litter my body.
It took me a long time to get to this point.
The first year without my sister, I removed almost all the mirrors from the house, and I would get dressed in the dark.
Seeing the scars on my body didn’t remind me of the pain I endured.
It just reminded me that for every scar I received, Celeste received twice as many.
My scars reminded me that I couldn’t protect the one person I loved most. They were ugly, and they were plentiful—part of me believed I deserved them.
The other part of me, the one supposedly in her healing era, knew that Charles would’ve done what he did regardless, even if I hadn’t initiated the reunion. He didn’t plan on letting Celeste go.
After a beat, I dressed in the burgundy satin pajama short set and turned down the bed. Almost forgetting I had received a notification, I reached for my phone and got myself settled under the sheets.
It was an email. Someone gifted me an article from The New York Times. Weird. I tapped the link and waited for the page to load.
“Missing New Jersey Financier Found Dead In Hudson River Park”
My hands shook as I scrolled through and scanned the article for anything that might seem familiar.
A scream caught in my throat when I scrolled to the end of the article and saw the photo of the man.
Staring back at me was a photo of Rico Clemente.
My sister’s last boyfriend. A memory rushes to the forefront of my mind.
The pieces were coming together one at a time.
It never made sense why Rico disappeared without so much as a call or text.
He was smitten with my sister, and I couldn’t blame him; she was just so easy to love.
Flashbacks from that day at the salon struck my mind.
“They touched what is mine.”
Slash
“They could never love you like I do.”
Slash
It’s like I was stuck in time. I struggled to close the article, tears blurring my vision.
When I try to stand, my legs buckle beneath me.
My ears rang as I clawed at my chest, begging for the air to return to my lungs.
I tried to remember everything I’ve learned from my therapist. The tools to break myself out of this panic attack, but I can’t.
My mind is blank except for the images of Charles and Celeste, that salon, and the blood-smeared knife.