Higher Ground (18 page)

The tall officer took a step closer to where Oliver was standing. “Are they yours?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Oliver answered. “No. Someone must’ve dropped them in her pocket during the parade.”

“Yeah. People give their weed away all the time,” the driver of the newly arrived car said.

The other officers laughed, but all I could do was stare at Oliver. He was busy looking at his feet… the sidewalk… his knuckles… and keeping his mouth shut.

“Their licenses, too,” the older guy said.

The tall one shoved me into the back of the squad car and slammed the door shut. My arms ached from being cuffed. Oliver had to take a breathalyzer, but he still wasn’t in handcuffs by the time the car pulled away to take me downtown.

I was too petrified to ask if they were taking me to juvy or real jail. Both scared the shit out of me, but juvy was definitely the lesser of two evils.

Instead of walking through my front door at curfew, I was photographed and fingerprinted at juvenile court. I was then given the chance to make a phone call to piss off my dad in the middle of the night. The holding cell was small. One girl was asleep on a bench, and another was sitting in the corner, nodding and shaking her leg uncontrollably. I stayed near the door, still high and nauseated and wishing I was at home in bed or anywhere else in the world besides kiddie jail.

Fucking Oliver.

That was when the tears started. They were followed by weeping. On top of that, the paranoia kicked in.

What if they make me take a drug test?

Can they do that?

Fucking Oliver.

Anger was the icing on the cake. As I sat in that cell, I cursed him to Hell and back in my mind. He’d proven his point.

There was no such thing as love, not when he was involved.

I dozed off with my head against the wall and woke up with cold drool on my chin when a guard unlocked the cell door and called my name.

She didn’t cuff me, so I took that as a good sign I was going home. Dad was waiting for me, holding a clear plastic bag with my cell phone, coin purse, and dozens of Mardi Gras necklaces in it. The Marlboro box was missing.

He didn’t say a word to me until we were in the front seat of his car with the doors shut.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Violet?” he asked. “Trespassing… a fake ID… drugs…”

I didn’t know how to answer, so I stayed quiet.

My silence did little to stop him. “Are you trying to throw away your future?” he continued. “You have to be in court Thursday morning.”

“Oh, God.”

“It’s a little late for that.” He stopped suddenly as a traffic light switched to yellow. “You’re grounded. Don’t ask for how long, because I don’t know, yet. You’ll come directly home after school every day. No phone. No internet. And you’re not going to see Oliver anymore. That’s done. Do you understand me?”

“We go to school together, remember? How exactly is that going to work?”

“It’ll be much easier than you think.”

“Why are you taking this out on Oliver?” My voice was hoarse, and I could feel tears threatening again.

“Was that your marijuana?” he asked.

Without pause, I answered. “Yes.”

If he knew it was Oliver’s, he might’ve followed through with the threats he was making. So, for the second time that night, I took the blame for Oliver. Doing it by choice didn’t make it hurt any less.

My father’s indifference was easier to bear than his disappointment.

“You’re going to rehab,” he said.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite!”

“Watch your mouth, young lady.”

“No,” I said. “I’ve seen the pictures of the day Ronnie was born. You were high as a fucking kite, but you want to send me to rehab?”

“I was in graduate school when Ronnie was born. You’re in high school!”

“So weed deserves rehab in your mind? Who
are
you?”

“You were arrested with drugs. I guarantee the judge is going to demand rehab.”

Spit pooled under my tongue, and I had to count backward from fifty to keep from vomiting. I didn’t want to give my father the satisfaction. The heat was on full blast, but I shivered the entire drive home. Dad waited until we were home and he was unlocking the back door to drive the knife in.

“I expected better from you,” he said.

Miss Verity was waiting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee cradled between her hands. She stood after my father passed her. “It’s been a long day,” she said. “We should all turn in.” Too ashamed to look her in the eye, I nodded and walked around her to get to the stairs. My parents’ bedroom door slammed down the hall. “It’s not the end of the world, Violet. It might feel like it right now, but it’s not.”

I left her at the foot of the steps and climbed them alone, debating whether or not she was right and whether or not I still cared.

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror of a gas station. I’ve splashed water on my face and washed out my mouth. The butterflies in my stomach start to settle around the same time my hands stop shaking.

My Pavlovian response to police is fear mingled with shame. I’ve kept my nose clean for more than eight years now, and luckily, I’ve never been arrested as an adult. I’ve never forgotten the feel of those cuffs on my wrists or how scared I was in that holding room, though.

Wade’s leaning against the wall facing the bathroom. He gives me a small smile when I open the door and catch sight of him. “I was starting to worry.”

“I’m okay,” I say, and for the most part, I am. Cool air hits us when we step through the automated door out to the parking lot. I bypass the car to walk to the side of the building, and a few deep, cleansing breaths help clear my head. “Thank you for stopping.”

“We’re not in a hurry. Take all the time you need.”

“I can’t imagine what you must think of me right now.” I turn away to face the trees in the distance.

“Truth?” he says from behind me. “I’m intrigued by the thought of you in handcuffs.” I laugh and almost cry before I turn to face him and rest my head against his chest. “Too soon?” His hands rest on my hips, matching the gentle tease in his voice.

“Maybe a little.”

“My best friends in high school were arrested for egging during our senior year. The only reason I wasn’t with them that night was because my grandfather had had a heart attack. Kids do stupid shit. I’m glad Miss Verity was there. Your dad—”

“Don’t do that,” I say. He’s always had a good relationship with my father, and I don’t want that to change, especially since Wade’s going to be my husband—my family—someday. “I was wrong. I did things I regret.”

“I get that, but I thought he was cool, a mellow old hippie with too much money. Turns out he’s an asshole.”

“Things are better with my parents now.”

“Is that why you didn’t answer your phone for days?” he asks with a patience I don’t understand. “Because things are so much better?”

“I didn’t answer my phone because I didn’t want to go to New Orleans.”

“And now you do?”

I think of Miss Verity, of how long it’s been, and nod. “I do.” It’s been a year since I’ve seen Ronnie, Van, and my parents. I take his hand and walk toward his car. “I’m excited. In a couple of days, I’ll be hugging Van and eating in Miss Verity’s kitchen.”

Once we’re settled and on the road again, he turns the radio down and asks, “You okay?”

“Better,” I say. “Much better.”

“I was worried back there. You were so pale…”

“I haven’t talked about this stuff since I told Wren during our third year at Auburn. She’d never been to Mardi Gras and decided we would go. I tried to play it cool, but I ended up in tears on the floor of our dorm room, telling her all the reasons I couldn’t go.”

“You did, though,” he says. “I’ve heard the stories.”

“She called Van and asked if he would meet us down there. Troya arranged to come for the weekend, too. We all stuck together, and I was okay. I had more fun than I thought I would.”

“No Oliver?” he asks.

“Wren and I saw him that weekend, but we were on a trolley and he was walking down St. Charles. He didn’t see us. Whatever pain I’d expected didn’t happen. The world kept turning, and I was still breathing.”

And nothing hurt.

“We hit Bourbon for hurricanes, found spots on Canal, and partied until the last strand of beads flew through the air,” I continued. “Wren doesn’t remember most of it, but it was a good trip.”

“Maybe we should go to Mardi Gras.”

“They might come to New Orleans for New Year’s Eve. Wren and Nick, I mean. We talked about it earlier. She’s supposed to ask him.”

“Check my phone,” he says.

I reach for it and type in his passcode. When the screen unlocks, I tap to reveal the three waiting text messages.

The first is from his co-worker, Darenda.

I’ll be in Kentucky on Christmas Eve. Sorry. Can’t help this time. :(

He nods after I read it aloud. “Still no luck,” he says.

The second is from our neighbor, Scott.

We’re good for tomorrow, man. See you then.

“What’s that about?” I ask.

Wade shifts in his seat and taps the steering wheel before he answers. “I promised to help him move some furniture for his brother after work tomorrow.”

He’s focused on the rearview mirror, the gas gauge, and the Bluetooth settings on the dash—anything but a glance in my direction. It might not be an outright lie, but it isn’t the truth.

“Where?” The word sounds heavy on my tongue.

“Not sure,” he says.

It takes a few deep breaths to calm myself enough to check the last text. It’s from Nick.

NYE in NOLA? Hell, yeah! Baker said no, by the way. His in-laws are in town, and he said Leanne would have his balls if he agreed to work CE.

“Damn it,” Wade says.

“It’s okay.”

We slip into the type of silence that normally feels comfortable with Wade. Tonight, it strangles as the mile markers slip by in the darkness. There are times I want to curse this intuition. I don’t know exactly what’s coming, but it isn’t good.

The lights of Atlanta loom in the distance when he speaks again.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really,” I say.

“We’ll go home, then.”

Traffic’s surprisingly bad for a Sunday night, and by the time we park and make the trek to our apartment, we’re irritated and exhausted.

He falls asleep long before I do, so I stare at him in the pale light from the television. Dark curls cover the tips of his ears. It’s been a while since he’s had a haircut. My fingers settle at the base of his neck, and my thumb sweeps over the stubble on his chin that will be gone tomorrow morning. He sleeps through it, breathing steadily and completely oblivious.

The timer shuts off the TV, but my mind still whirls. Memories and worst-case scenarios flash and threaten in the darkness until exhaustion wins out.

Wade’s alarm stirs me long enough to feel his scruff on my neck and hear the words “I love you.” Hours later, I wake again to cold sheets and silence. It’s early enough to shower and down a large cup of black coffee before Wren picks me up. Sliding Wade’s ring off my finger makes my stomach twist. No matter how many times I tell myself it’ll be fine, I can’t leave it in the small wooden box on my dresser. It feels wrong. I find an old silver chain in the contents, add the ring, and wear it tucked under my sweater instead. On the way out, I grab Wren’s Christmas gift and take it down with me.

“We’re going to Little Five Points,” she says when I get in the car.

“Who are we shopping for?” I ask.

She checks her mirrors and pulls away from the curb. “Everyone. Well, everyone but you.”

Wren excels at procrastination. She always has. It’s a good thing she decided to burn vacation time with a three-day weekend.

“I know what I’m buying,” she says. “Kind of. I need food first, though. Burgers with fried eggs.”

My mouth waters. I prefer fried chicken topped with a fried egg and bacon that’s drowned in sausage gravy. “We’re going to have pacemakers by the time we’re forty.”

“You were the one who said all bets were off until January. Oh! We’re on for New Year’s. We won’t actually get there until New Year’s Eve, though. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I say. “Whenever’s fine.”

The parking lot of our favorite brunch spot is packed. Everyone and their mother’s brother are here since school is out and it’s Christmas Week. We wait, though, because the food’s worth it.

The view isn’t bad, either. The server for one of the closest sections is hot and tatted, wearing an old-school bowling shirt, torn jeans, and black boots. Wren gives me a sour look when we’re finally led to our seats and they’re not in his section.

The girl who takes our order is cool, so the complaining doesn’t last long. Since we both know what we want, we don’t waste time looking at the menus. Our first drinks are on the table moments after we’ve ordered.

“Are you nervous about the reception?” Wren asks.

“Are you kidding?” I reach for the beef jerky garnish and use it to stir my Bloody Mary. “Every time I think about it, I want to throw up.”

“I’m guessing Troya will be there.”

“Troya, Penn, George, and all of his family…”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” she says.

“How can it not be a bad thing?” I ask.

“You should talk to her. You should’ve talked to her years ago.”

“I should’ve, but I didn’t.”

“Call her. Tell her you’re sorry. Don’t wait until the reception to see her. Y’all should talk and work this shit out once and for all.”

“You really think it’s that easy?” I ask.

“I do.” She downs the rest of her Bloody Mary and nods for another. “Please call her.”

“I don’t know. She’s married now, so her husband will be with her. I’ve never met him, but I can imagine what he’s heard about me from her family.” “Sorry” doesn’t undo the past or open a time portal. Troya was a much better friend to me than I ever was to her.

“I still think you should call her. You’re going to see her and her husband either way. It can’t hurt.”

“It can,” I say. “It can hurt a lot. She might tell me to fuck off.”

“And if she does, that’s okay. You earned it.” I lower my glass and my eyes to the table. “You’ll both get some shit off your chests, and you’ll feel better.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Ugh. You’re so damn stubborn.”

“I know,” I say. “It sucks.”

Our food’s delivered, which temporarily stops the conversation. Neither of us can finish the generous servings, but we leave the leftovers since we have a long day ahead of us. After settling our bills, we spend the afternoon walking off brunch and crossing items off Wren’s “Nice” list.

We find a cute dress for her sister, bike equipment and accessories for Nick, and a stack of records from the seventies for her parents. I score at the record store, too, and find several Black Sabbath albums. Dad’s the hardest person on my list to shop for, but I know he likes the band. My nerdy father likes to pretend to be a rocker in his spare time. He’s not bad on air guitar. He’ll love these, and I love the obnoxious sense of accomplishment that accompanies knowing he will.

When we’re finished in Little Five Points, we make a trip to the apartment Wren and I used to share to drop off her purchases and take her dog for a walk. We spend the rest of the afternoon wrapping presents and sipping wine on the floor of her living room.

Wade sends a text when he’s leaving work to meet Scott.

This shouldn’t take long. Want to meet for dinner? Bring Wren. Nick’s working swing.

“Do you want to have dinner with me and Wade?” I ask her.

She looks up. “Where?”

“Not sure. Let me check.”

While we wait for his answer, we exchange gifts. The small wrapped package she gives me has a gorgeous planner with a black raven on the cover. She’s thrilled with the Rudolph gift bag filled with an assortment of character-themed knee socks I picked out for her upcoming season of kickball.

Wade answers, suggesting the Thai restaurant on Piedmont, and Wren agrees. Since she’s had more wine than me, definitely more than the legal limit, we decide to take the MARTA. On our way to the station, we stop at the post office long enough for me to pack up the wrapped LPs and ship them off to Dufossat Street in a flat-rate shipping box. I don’t want to risk damaging them in my checked luggage.

“You didn’t buy much,” she says.

“I’m giving my nephews and niece money.” I shrug and grin. “I’ll be able to find stuff for Miss Verity at the apothecary back home. Mom will be easier to buy for in New Orleans, too. I don’t want to check five bags and get stuck hauling stuff through two airports.”

“Good idea. What about the sibs?”

“Ronnie wants a Sephora gift card, her husband likes Home Depot, and Van and Corey asked for Lowe’s cards for some remodeling they’re doing.”

“That’s easy enough,” she says. “What are they getting you?”

“Ronnie will give me a Barnes & Noble gift card. I’m not sure about Van. He didn’t ask what I wanted this year, but he did say it was something for me
and
Wade.”

She laughs as the train slows at our stop. “Y’all are like an old married couple.”

I’m glad I’m walking behind her. My hand touches the outline of the ring resting beneath my shirt, and the urge to blurt out the news is even stronger this time. I almost wish I hadn’t asked Wade to wait.

He’s waiting for us in front of the restaurant, relaxed and leaning against the wall, with one hand in his pocket while the other grips his phone. The dim light from the streetlamp accents the curve of his jaw, which is now shaved. He also cut his hair, trimmed above his ears and shorter on top, so the curls are gone.

“Hey,” he says, pushing away from his spot to greet me with a hug and a kiss on my neck.

My fingernails scratch the back of his head lightly. “Your hair…”

“I went to Tasha on my lunchbreak. I need to look serious tomorrow.”

“Right,” I say.

“Hey, Wren,” he says, leaving one arm at my waist while opening the door to the restaurant for us.

“Hey,” she says. “Ignore her. The hair looks great. Very professional.”

“I like it.” I glance over my shoulder at her. “I was surprised. That’s all.”

She grins. “A warning text would’ve been nice, right? When they get a haircut, they look totally different, but when we get one, they don’t even notice. It’s funny how that works.”

Wade shakes his head but doesn’t argue. He orders a beer, but Wren and I are done drinking, so we ask for water. “How’s work?” he asks her after our orders are in and he’s taken a relaxing pull from the amber bottle in front of him.

“Shitty,” she says. “There’s a wicked strain of rotavirus in a couple of the daycares near the station. Wash your hands when you get to work every day, especially before you eat.”

He gives her a disgusted look. “Great.”

“You asked,” I say. Going to school with Wren was bad enough. She used to scare the daylights out of me with infectious disease statistics and information. I learned a long time ago to never ask. Wade’s still fascinated that she works for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Most of her job is boring paperwork and research, but Wade always asks on the off chance that something dramatic might’ve happened.