Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 06.5 (3 page)

“Okay,” Carlotta said, shot through with curiosity. She slowly walked toward the rear stairway, and tentatively set a foot on the bottom step. When it didn’t disappear out from under her, she continued to climb.

If her parents hadn’t left and life had gone on as planned, how had Wesley turned out?

Chapter 3

As Carlotta climbed the stairs to the second level of the home she’d grown up in, memories rolled over her. Framed chronological photographs of her and Wesley hung on the stairwell walls… she remembered that Easter bonnet, that

Halloween costume. Wesley’s mischievous smile shined back at her. The photographs continued at the top of the landing, and one in particular caused Carlotta to stop.

In the picture, she stood in the foreground of a party wearing a short pink dress. The cake on the table in front of her read

“Happy Graduation, Carlotta!” along with the year she’d graduated from high school. By the time she’d graduated from high school, though, her parents had fled. There had been no party, no dress. She had zero recollection of this event, or of the picture being taken.

With her heart pounding against her breastbone, she scoured the photos that followed: A picture of her in cap and gown.

From her cap dangled a tassel in Vandy’s school colors of black and gold.

She smiled in revelation—she was a college graduate. She desperately wished she could remember the experience.
What
did I major in? Was I a good student or did I goof-off and squander the opportunity?

There was a photo of Wesley as a teenager—she leaned closer—wrestling? It was hard to picture her brainiac brother as being a jock. And another of him in a tux standing next to a blonde with cheerleader written all over her. He looked… cocky?

Her myopic, quiet little brother who had been bullied in school and who to this day betrayed his insecurities with unwitting stabs to his glasses?

And why was there no photo of Wesley graduating high school?

Then she caught herself—she wasn’t even sure what year this was… or was supposed to be. She glanced around for some sort of reference, and spied a digital infinity clock on a table in the hallway. When she saw the year was the current year, a chill ran down her spine.

She’d been so quick to assign a mental deficiency to Valerie, but was it possible she was the crazy one? That she had dreamed up the scenario of her parents leaving to protect her from facing some other traumatic event? Something she herself had caused? She’d read about people having psychotic breaks… it would explain why Valerie had been treating her with kid gloves since she’d “arrived” this morning.

The sound of loud snoring filtered out into the hallway. She turned her head in the direction of Wesley’s room, then made her way over. Gingerly, she lifted her hand and knocked. When she received no response, she knocked harder. Suddenly, the snoring stopped.

“Go the hell away!” Wesley shouted.

Carlotta frowned. Wesley could be difficult, but he’d never been mean. For all he knew, Valerie was probably the one knocking, and since when did he think he could talk to his mother like that?

“Wes, open up,” she called.

“Carlotta? What the fuck do you want?”

She blinked, then frowned. “Mom wants you to get up.”

“Go away.”

After nearly a minute of silence, she pounded on the door.

“What?” he screamed.

Her head went back at the raw fury in his voice. “Get your butt out of bed…
now
.”

She heard the muffled sounds of him moving around and talking under his breath. The door opened and he stood there in a pair of Hanro micro boxer briefs, with a salon-tan and muscles in places she’d never seen on him. Even with bed-head, she could tell his hair was cut in a trendy style. “What?” he yelled.

Carlotta scowled at this almost unrecognizable version of her brother. “Since when do you wear skivvies that cost fifty bucks a pop?”

“Since when do you call Valerie ‘mom’?” he sneered. Anger rolled off him in waves.

“You’re supposed to be someplace in thirty minutes?”

He turned back to his room. “What do you care?”

She followed him inside as he pulled on flashy designer jeans the Wesley she knew wouldn’t be caught dead in. “Try me.”

“It’s a damn tutoring session,” he barked.

She straightened. “Oh. Who are you tutoring?”

He turned to glare. “Very funny. As if I could tutor anyone. I’m failing English—remember? For the second time.”

She scoffed. “But you’re a straight-A student, and English is your best subject.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “You been drinking Valerie’s coffee?”

She did some quick mental math and a troubling realization dawned. “You haven’t graduated from high school yet.”

He gave her a mean smile. “Yeah, rub it in. You, the girl who majored in pot and booze at Vandy. Did you even open that little tube they handed you at graduation to make sure there was a diploma inside?”

So she
had
wasted her chance for an education. The knowledge brought tears to her eyes. Her throat convulsed, then she angled her head. “Where are your glasses?” Maybe his academic issues could be remedied with something as simple as updated lenses.

“Duh… I got Lasik, remember? Did you get knocked on the head? You’re acting retarded.”

“That’s not very nice.”

He snorted. “Since when is our family nice?” He picked up a T-shirt and sniffed it, then pulled it over his head.

Carlotta glanced around his room, appalled at the number of naked pinup posters of some rather crude-looking women having some rather lewd things done to them. She knew her brother wasn’t a virgin, but he’d always been respectful and discreet. What teenager displayed such misogyny in his parents’ home?

“Where’s Einstein?” she asked, glancing around.

“Who?”

“Your snake, silly.”

“Snake? Are you insane?” A thumping ringtone with offensive lyrics burst into the room. He jammed his phone to his ear.

“Yo… Yeah, I got some lame shit to take care of this morning, then I’ll call you. Later.”

Carlotta arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess—Chance Hollander?”

Wes made a face. “Hollander? Why would I be talking to that fat-ass loser nobody?”

She started to remind him Chance was his best friend, but realized this Wesley with the I’m-all-that attitude hadn’t connected with the idle-minded but good-hearted frat boy who until this moment, Carlotta had only tolerated. But Chance was starting to look downright charming compared to the hateful brat in front of her.

“That was Zeph,” he supplied.

“Who?”

He gave her a pointed look. “Zephyr—my girlfriend?”

Carlotta gave a wry laugh. “Zephyr? What is she, a stripper?”

“Uh,
yeah
.”

Carlotta gasped. “Mom and Dad are letting you date a
stripper
?”

“You’re kidding, right? Jesus, it’s my life.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re still in high school and still living under their roof.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He flailed his arms. “You left home and never looked back, left me here with these two misfits and now you think you can come around and try to be my mother?”

He felt as if she’d abandoned him. Where did she live now? With Peter? Something on Wesley’s arm snagged her

attention. She grabbed his wrist and stared at the red marks in the crook of his elbow. “What is this?”

He tried to twist away from her, but she held on with an iron grip.

“Are these track marks?”

“Let go!” he wailed.

“Answer me!”

He wrenched his arm away. “Mind your own damn business.”

She was so scared for him, her heart galloped in her chest. “What are you shooting up? Cocaine? Heroin?”

“Get out of my room!” He put his palm on her chest and backed her out into the hallway, then slammed the door in her face.

Carlotta stood there, shaking, trying to digest everything she’d just learned about her brother… and herself.

“Carlotta?” her mother called up the stairs.

She walked over to grip the stair railing and found her voice. “Yes?”

“Everything okay up there?” Valerie’s lilting voice indicated she was sure that was the case, regardless of the commotion.

“Yes,” Carlotta said, forcing a light tone. “Everything’s fine.”

And suddenly, it all came back to her full-force, how her family had communicated in trite phrases and air kisses and double entendres, like her parents’ earlier conversation about Liz Fischer. No wonder Wesley had blown up when she pointed out the needle marks on his arms—they had been raised to believe if you didn’t say it aloud, it didn’t exist.

“Good,” Valerie said cheerfully. “By the way, I found that thing you asked me about. It’s in your room.”

She started to ask what thing, but the
tap, tap
of Valerie’s mules indicated she’d already walked away. Carlotta turned her head to look farther down the hall, to the closed door of her own childhood bedroom. Dread washed over her. What would she find inside?

Chapter 4

Carlotta was in a flop sweat by the time she reached the door of her former bedroom. She had the uneasy feeling she might find herself inside.

She turned the knob and pushed open the door noiselessly—when she’d lived there, she’d kept the hinges oiled so she could more easily slip in and out of her room with no one the wiser. She winced, conceding she’d been a bit of a wild child before her parents’ disappearance had forced her to grow up in a hurry.

The first thing she zeroed in on was the white bed—the same bed she’d crawled out of this morning in the townhome. A cold awareness settled over her as she struggled to stay vertical. Here was solid proof she was walking in some kind of alternate universe, where people and things were on a trajectory separate from the world she knew.

The air inside was stale, as if the bedroom hadn’t been used in a while. Most of her girly things had been removed—the comforter and window coverings were new and gender neutral, but there were still a few familiar knickknacks here and there.

She walked around, trailing her fingers over the furniture, then moved to the wide picture window overlooking the front yard.

How many times had she stood here waiting for Peter’s car to arrive, usually in the dark? He would flash his lights once to signal her. She would rush down to slip into the Crown Victoria, his father’s old car, too big to be cool, but sporting a back seat as expansive as a full-size bed. She and Peter would drive to some secluded spot and get wrapped up in each other. Just the memory of it sent a tug of longing through her midsection. That was back when sex was new and exciting and a little scary… they had spent hours kissing and caressing and exploring each other’s bodies. She had been so in love… she thought Peter had been, too. But her father’s scandal had been enough to cause him to reconsider their future together. He had turned his back on her when she’d needed him most.

She roused herself from the past before she became mired in the murkiness. Her mother had said she’d asked her to find something. She glanced around the room, looking for an item that stood out. On the edge of a dresser lay a small yellow photo album. The cover read “My College Graduation” written in block letters in her handwriting.

She opened it and recognized herself in cap and gown from the photograph on the hallway wall. She flipped through the photos, studying the candids of herself and what she presumed were other students she hung around with, celebrating. A few faces were familiar—Peter, of course, and fellow school mates Tracey Tully and Angela Ashford—correction, Angela

Keener. Carlotta bit her lip. If she and Peter were together, apparently he hadn’t married Angela. Did that mean the woman was still alive?

The impact of being here, on a parallel path, hit her… what might she find if she kept going? How different was her life in this place?

She flipped through the rest of the photos, but she had no recollection of the other people at the gathering. She felt a pang for the good time she’d obviously had but couldn’t remember. Then she frowned.

Why had she asked her mother to locate the album?

“Did you find the pictures?” Valerie yelled from downstairs.

Carlotta closed the photo album and walked toward the hall. “Yes.”

“Your bagel is ready,” Valerie said, her voice muffled.

Carlotta turned to take another look at her childhood room, remembering the happy times here—the endless fashion shows, the impromptu dancing, the hushed phone calls. She had been so spoiled, and blissfully ignorant of how drastically her life could change overnight. She pulled the door closed, then made her way back to the stairs. Obnoxious music leaked under Wesley’s bedroom door. She wondered what he was doing in there, thinking it probably wasn’t good.

She descended the stairs with a stone in her stomach, wondering what else she might find out about her family and herself.

This was starting to feel uncomfortably voyeuristic.

She returned to the kitchen to find Valerie humming and sipping from a coffee mug that had been refilled with her

“special” brew.

“Thanks,” Carlotta said, holding up the photo album.

“You’re welcome,” Valerie said, glancing at the album as if she’d never seen it before.

It occurred to Carlotta her mother had probably asked Henny to find the photo album—Valerie had a tendency to offload any parenting duties she could.

“Wesley’s up,” Carlotta offered.

“Oh, good.”

“Mom, I’m worried about him. He seems so… angry.”

“Angry? Why would he be angry?”

Carlotta pressed her lips together. “Have you ever found drugs in his room?”

“Of course not!”

“Have you ever looked?”

Valerie made an exasperated noise. “Why would I do that?”

“Mother,” Carlotta said sternly, “I think you need to keep a closer eye on Wes, maybe occasionally ask him what’s going on in his life. Do you know he’s dating a stripper?”

“That will pass, dear. He’s at the age where he’s curious—about a lot of things.”