Higher Ground (13 page)

“I had fun tonight,” I tell him as he scoops me into his arms to hold me close.

“I’m glad,” he says, letting his lips brush across my forehead.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” His eyes are already closed, and he’s close to sleep. Sex wears him out. It always has. Multiple beers aren’t helping.

“Are you upset?”

That wakes him up.

“About what?” he asks.

“Hillary getting married.”

Wade moves himself up onto one arm and stares down at me. “No. Hillary’s a distant memory, a fading thought every now and then. You’re my future. You’re what I want. I thought you knew that.”

“I do,” I say. “In my heart, I do. It’s my head that gets mixed up.”

“Fuck,” he says. “I didn’t want to do this now.” He turns over and moves to leave the bed. “The timing sucks. I’ve had this plan…” The moonlight provides a stunning view of his ass from across the room as he ruffles through his bag. “But then Van called you, and now the Hillary shit…” He finds whatever it is he’s looking for and turns to give me my other favorite view of his body.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, sitting up.

“This.” He takes a seat next to me and holds up a ring between us. “You’re the only one I want, and I want you forever.”

The tears come so fast that I can’t see the cut or size of the diamond, but those things don’t matter, so I nod. He leans forward to plant his lips on mine at the same moment he pushes cool metal over the knuckle of my ring finger.

“So you’ll marry me?” he asks.

“Of course I will.” I bring my hands up to touch his cheeks, blink to clear some of the tears, and kiss him over and over.

“Every time I had a plan, our friends had some major life event come up. This isn’t about Van tying the knot or Hillary agreeing to. This is about you and me.”

“How long have you had this?” I ask, finally raising my hand to inspect the oval cut stone set in platinum.

“Four months,” he says. “In August, Ronnie called to tell you she was pregnant again. In October, Wren and Nick announced they were moving in together.”

“Lisa and Samantha broke up in November,” I add, catching on to his train of thought.

“See?” he says. “I didn’t want you to think I was doing it for any reason other than having you all to myself until I die. It’s not a contest with your brother or my ex. I just want you.”

“You have me. It took me a while to come around, but you’ve always had me.”

“It means everything that you’re finally opening up to me about your past. I’m beginning to understand why it was so hard for you to give me a chance.”

“But you never asked,” I say. “Why?”

He shrugs and slides under the covers next to me. “I wanted you to tell me on your own. I wanted you to trust me.”

“I do. Sometimes, even now, it’s hard, but that’s because of me, not you.”

Then

By October, my strawberry-blonde locks had been cut chin length and dyed black. Everyone in my family but Van hated it.

Oliver was fond of it, though. “
Ne bouge pas
.” His fingers settled on my bare knee, and he lifted his camera with the other hand. I was naked beneath the crisp, navy sheets on his bed.

I followed his instructions and didn’t move except to smile. “
Range l'appareil
,” I said. I wanted him to put down the camera and touch me again.

“Non.”

He climbed onto the bed, stood, and clicked the shutter over and over from above me until I dissolved into giggles and turned over onto my stomach.

It was a rare afternoon alone after a long week of school, friends, and parents. Much to Oliver’s relief, his dad had shipped out the afternoon before. I’d learned by then that he was happier when his dad was away. His mom spent less time at home when his father was gone, which seemed backward, but I kept my questions to myself.

Oliver liked it better when they were both out of the way. His house was still the best place to relax after school, but we hadn’t been alone in the seven days his dad had been in New Orleans that month. The moment the last bell had rung, Oliver had taken my hand and practically dragged me back to his house with a warning over his shoulder for no one to follow.

“I have a present for you,” he said, stepping off the bed and moving to his dresser. After rifling through the top drawer for a moment, he took something out and walked back over to me. “One for you, and one for Van.”

He tossed two licenses onto the bed next to me. The first one I picked up had been issued in Arkansas to a guy named Nathan Pickens. The other one belonged to Felicia McGee from New Jersey.

“What are these for?” I asked.

“The bars celebrating Halloween tomorrow night.”

I turned onto my side and pushed the IDs away. “They’re close, but no one’s going to believe we’re twenty-one.”

“That’s why you’re going to wear makeup,” he said. “Sonny will take care of it. Trust me.”

“Where did you even get these?”

“Do you know how many people get fucked up in this city and leave their shit lying around? Especially IDs. Mitchell knows a guy. I asked him a while back to look out for matches for you and Van. The rest of us are already covered.”

“How much?” I relaxed onto my back and watched as he picked up his shorts and pulled them over his hips.

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged and leaned down to grab his shirt from the floor. “I took care of it.”

“Who else is going?” Since it appeared we were leaving the bedroom, I sat up and reached for my own clothes.

“Troya, Sonny, and Penn. We’ll probably run into some others down there. I guess we’ll see.”

I followed him down the hall, through the kitchen, and out onto the porch. He pulled me down onto his lap and reached for the bong we’d left on the table. He held it up to my face, lit the bowl, and palmed my ass as I inhaled.

Once we were stoned again, he made grilled cheese sandwiches for us. Mitchell showed up close to dinnertime and offered to give me a ride home since my dad had made it clear my family had plans, ones that included me, for the evening. Oliver rode with us and kissed me goodbye on the sidewalk in front of the gate.

“Be at Troya’s tomorrow around 3:00,” he said before they drove away.

I nodded and turned to face the house. Every light was burning on both floors. To anyone else, it’d be a welcoming beacon, but to me, it was scrutiny and discomfort.

My mother walked by at the same moment I stepped inside the front door. “Oh, good. You’re home. Get changed so we can go to dinner, okay, honey?”

“Sure,” I said. Since she was already down the hall and in my parents’ room—adding last-minute jewelry and perfume, no doubt—I continued on the stairs, mumbling to no one but myself. “My day was good. How was yours?”

I jumped and nearly fell backward when Van answered, “Not bad.”

He was dressed in khakis and a rugby. “Where are we going?”

“Dinner at the Murphys’.”

“That’s their idea of quality time for the family?” The Murphys were old school. Dinner was served in a formal dining room, on the family’s finest china, and by a staff of well-paid servants. Mr. Murphy was a big shot lawyer, and Mrs. Murphy was a calculus professor in my mother’s department at Tulane. They’d both been born into money, and dinners at their house were always boring.

“George is home for the weekend, so at least there’s that.” Van smiled at the thought of our mutual crush. The Murphys may have been tiresome as hell, but their son was amazing: handsome, kind, funny, and smart. His best quality was being the exact opposite of his parents in every way.

“This might not be so bad,” I agreed.

It took me longer than usual to get ready, because I was still a bit stoned and couldn’t decide which dress was cutest. Miss Verity called up the stairs after a half hour of indecision. “The red one, Violet. Y’all are going to be late!”

She was right. Bright red had never looked particularly attractive with my natural hair color, but it looked great with my new hairdo. I didn’t bother with makeup or a hairbrush. Freshly fucked was a good look on me.

My mother didn’t think so. “Do something with your hair, Violet. Did you ride with the windows down on your way home?”

“I did,” I lied.

She pulled a brush from her purse and handed it to me. “Fix it.”

When she finally found me acceptable, we moved through the house to the back door. Miss Verity was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping lemonade, and thumbing through a Reader’s Digest. “Y’all have fun.”

“You’re really not coming?” I asked as I walked by her.

“I have an appointment at 8:00, and it’s one I can’t cancel.”

“I’m sure you’re heartbroken.”

She caught on to my tone, and the corner of her mouth turned up in a grin. “I’ll get by.” She leaned back in her chair, tilted her head, and said, “Meanwhile, I think you’re going to be surprised. Now, go or you really will be late.”

I mulled over her words during the short drive to the Murphy residence. My father parked, and then Van walked around to open my car door. We followed our parents down the walkway, up the porch steps, and stopped behind them at the front door. Manners had been drilled into us since toddlerhood. Miss Verity was as stern as she was sweet, especially when it came to etiquette.

George Murphy was less interested in social graces. He opened the front door and waved my parents in. His dark hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in weeks, and he’d grown a long beard since the last time we’d seen him. It wasn’t as dramatic as ZZ Top, but it had rock-star quality. It was hot. “Hey, guys,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, man.” Van shook his hand, while I stood silent. “You know how it is.”

George nodded. He asked about our new school and waved for us to follow him down the hall. His father’s idea of a game room was a billiards table and an electric dartboard. There was a stained glass lamp hanging in the center of the room and a corner bar with two stools.

“Do you play?”

Van and I looked at each other.

“I don’t,” I said.

Van shrugged. “I can shoot.”

George found it unacceptable I was going to graduate from high school with no clue how to play pool. “We’ll show you,” he said.

There was more touching than I thought there would be. It wasn’t anything intentional or flirty, but having his skin on mine and his voice near my ear made my heart race and palms sweat. Before that night, George had never spoken to me or my brother. I was still in middle school when he’d graduated from high school and taken off to California for college. Being on his radar had been a lifelong dream.

They laughed and complimented me when I sank my first shot. After that, the coaching took place from a stool. George watched Van kick my ass, but they both lied and said I did great for a beginner. Mrs. Murphy knocked on the open door before I had a chance to die of embarrassment, but being a loser had never felt so cool.

During dinner, Mrs. Murphy paused her fork over her plate and set her sights on me. “So, Violet, have you decided on a major?”

I chewed slowly to give myself time to think about my answer. “English. Poe, Hawthorne, maybe Arthurian Legends.”

“We’re still discussing it,” Dad said.

“Huh.” George leaned back in his chair to study my father from across the table.

Miss Verity had been wrong. I’d never felt more like a child. Any cool points I’d earned in the game room vanished into thin air. I wanted to talk back and make some smartass answer, but in the end, it wasn’t worth causing a stir.

“Where are you going to school?” George asked.

My dad laughed and picked up his goblet of unsweetened tea. “Tulane, if she wants me to pay for it.”

I’d had enough. “I’ve applied to Vanderbilt, Auburn, and Southern Methodist University.”

“Methodist?” Dad asked. “Since when?”

“Are her religious choices still being discussed, too?” George crossed his arms.

“That’s enough, George.” Mr. Murphy’s voice was firm. “You’re excused.”

“It’s in Dallas,” I said to my father before George left the table.

Dad dropped his napkin on the table. “I know where it is.”

My mother and Mrs. Murphy sat stunned at the turn of events, and Van was staring at me. Thinking I was leaving and knowing it were two different things.

“Getting away is a good idea, Violet,” George said. He walked backward toward the game room. “See ya next time.”

Aside from the distant cracking of pool balls, the rest of dinner was quiet. Even though George was the one who’d spoken up, it somehow felt like I was in trouble. I still hadn’t made up my mind about leaving New Orleans. It would mean leaving Miss Verity, Van, Troya, and Oliver.

It was clear, though, that staying would be accepting that my life was, in fact, up for discussion and not really mine at all.

Dad surprised us by not mentioning the events from dinner during the drive home. Instead, he reminded us that Miss Verity’s client might still be at the house since we were returning earlier than expected. I thought about bringing up college again. Part of me wondered if he’d really cut me off for deciding my own path.

He’d threatened Ronnie, but in the end, he and Mom had spent a week helping her get settled in her new life and home. They’d stood beside her at the justice of the peace and even posed for pictures with her and my new brother-in-law. There had already been talk of them visiting New Orleans for Christmas.

My dad was a big talker, but he rarely walked the walk.

Miss Verity was still busy when we got home that night, so I made my way up to my room. It didn’t take long for Van to knock on the door. We spent a few minutes smoking on the balcony, and then we lost ourselves in TV and conversation until well after midnight. Spending time together with our new friends had helped bring us back together. He’d hung out with me and Oliver a time or two, but he was closer to Troya than the rest of the group.

Van was happy. I was happy. How much of it was real and not drug-induced, I’ll never know.

Miss Verity caught me at the bottom of the stairs the next morning and asked me to ride with her to the cemetery. My parents had been busy every weekend of the month, and it had been a while since my dad had taken her.

She’d already picked fresh flowers from the yard and arranged a small bouquet for the family tomb. Breakfast was hot boudin and grits. Miss Verity put some on a plate for Van and left it covered in the microwave since he was sleeping in. She handed me her car keys on the way out the back door. It was rare for anyone to let me drive, so I jumped at the opportunity to navigate her land yacht.

I found a spot on Sixth, which wasn’t far from the graveyard but was close enough that Miss Verity could make the walk. We took our time, enjoyed the warm, autumn breeze, and let the sun cut a path to the Protestant section. My grandfather’s mother had been the last practicing believer in our family, but the tomb belonged to us—to my family, anyway.

All of my grandfather’s people were in it, including him and my aunt. Someday, Miss Verity would join them in that same dank space. That idea caused a lump in my throat that was hard to breathe around. It was impossible to understand how she could visit the place, because even then, I knew I’d never be able to step through those gates again once Miss Verity became a resident—not unless I ended up buried there, too. “Buried” seemed like the wrong word, though. It was impossible to keep things buried in the City of the Dead.

Miss Verity stopped at our destination and held her hand out to trace the letters of my grandfather’s name first, then my aunt’s. I’d seen her do it a thousand times, but it still made my eyes water.

“Do you know why I come here, Violet?”

The question took me by surprise, and I had to gather my thoughts before answering. “To feel close to them?”

“They’re not here,” she said. “I know that. I come here because your grandfather came to honor his parents, week after week, with flowers after they were gone. He told me they’d done that for their parents years before.”

“Tradition?” I asked.

“No. It’s something more than that. I know it means a lot to him that I still come.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this. I try not to interfere with your lives.” Her pointer finger lingered over the V of my aunt’s name. “When I tried to… My Violet… She didn’t listen. You might not, either, but I love you and feel compelled to say this. Oliver will break your heart. How many times you allow it will be up to you.”

“No, he—”

“I want you to have a long, happy life, Violet, and that’s not something you’re going to find with Oliver.”

I swallowed and looked down at the ground between us. I’d never doubted her before, but I’d never wanted to believe her less. The truth was hard.

“He’s sweet,” I mumbled.

“He’s a very nice boy,” she agreed. “Even Satan was capable of charm when it was necessary.”

“You don’t believe in Satan.”

“Every story has a lesson.” She turned to face me. “I’m not asking you to stop seeing him. I’m asking you to be careful. Stop accepting what you think you deserve. Someday, you’ll know love—a love bigger than you can even imagine.”