Higher Ground (21 page)

The book Wade bought for me in Savannah is on the dresser across the room. It reminds me of another book to take: Oliver’s. I’ll give it to Van to give to Troya. If he won’t, then my parents can add it to their collection.

I want it out of my apartment.

For now, I leave it, the ghost book, and my backpack on the chair in the corner. I’ll pack them up with my makeup and other necessities in the morning.

Wade rolls over to wrap an arm around my waist once I’m in the bed.

“Sorry if I woke you,” I whisper.

“Don’t be.” He kisses me softly without ever opening his eyes and then drifts off to sleep again.

This time, I follow easily, surrounded by his warmth and the smell of his skin, and sleep soundly through the night.

A shift of the mattress wakes me before my alarm goes off. After blinking and throwing an arm out to search for Wade next to me, it registers that he’s already up and sitting on the end of the bed, freshly showered with damp hair. I push the covers away and shift forward onto my knees to press my chest against the back of his white dress shirt. My lips graze his cheek, but he’s staring down at something in his lap.

An open book. The dedication from Oliver.

Wade stands and steps away from me. My hands fall into my lap as I watch him, still and silent with my book—Oliver’s book—in his hands.

“This was published right before the five-year anniversary of Katrina in 2010,” he says.

“It was?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

He turns to face me, pale and wary, and the stirring in my gut explodes into chaos. “When was the last time you saw Oliver?” he asks.

I swallow, close my eyes, and then take a deep breath. I’ve been unfair to the man standing in front of me. I let him fall in love with parts of me and never offered him the whole.

Because I didn’t trust him. Not really.

I’ve never trusted him to love me, the
real
me.

I’m no better than Oliver, twisting and hiding transgressions. And now the impossible choice: truth or lie? Wade might not ever know the difference.

But I would.

“Four years ago,” I answer. “He came to Atlanta four years ago.”

Then

A month passed, and my parents finally allowed Troya to come over after school a few days a week. They also gave me back my phone. Both of them stood and watched as I deleted Oliver’s contact information at their instruction. Dad still hadn’t spoken to me away from the dinner table since the night he picked me up from juvy. I thought about apologizing once or twice, but I chickened out. He seemed happy to ignore me.

When Van found out Bryan was bringing Ronnie to New Orleans during our spring break because of his deployment, he chose to stay home with Miss Verity while my parents and I travelled to Auburn. I almost complained and begged to be left behind, too, when I found out Dad was coming with us, but in the end, it was a perfect visit. The campus was small and inviting, a nice clean slate. Even my father was impressed. He and Mom spent more than an hour talking to the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. My name was added to the waiting list for the dorms, and we toured a few off-campus apartments during our free time.

We left Auburn early Thursday morning, so I spent the first half of the trip sleeping. We stopped at a diner outside of Mobile for brunch. Mom and Dad sat across from me in the booth, and she made conversation about school, asked me how my classes were going, and told me she was proud of the way I’d accepted responsibility for my actions.

“We’ve been talking,” she said. “Prom’s in a couple of weeks. If you want, you can go.”

I shook my head and stared at my food. “I’d rather not.”

Her voice was gentle, like her fingers on the back of my hand. “This is it. Your last year of high school. If you skip it, you won’t have another chance to go.”

I saved myself the embarrassment of explaining that no one would want to take me even if I did want to go. Oliver had run off every boy who’d shown any interest in me except Penn, but his interest in me had morphed into concern and pity the night I went to jail. He was off limits, anyway.

I knew Van would dress up and go with me if I asked, but how pathetic would that be?

“I’d rather sit this one out. I can’t dance, anyway.”

“Okay.”

Dad exhaled loudly, stacked the garbage onto a tray, and left us to carry it across the room to the trashcan.

“Is he ever going to talk to me?” I asked.

She sighed. “Of course he will. He’s proud of you, too.”

“Can’t tell.”

We went to the restroom and then met him in the parking lot. Neither of them had much to say once we got back on the road, so I put in my earbuds and settled with a book. The last leg of the trip passed much faster than expected, and home looked strange, temporary.

Ronnie and Bryan beat us to New Orleans by a few hours. She and Miss Verity were on the back porch sipping lemonade, thumbing through magazines, and waiting for us. Ronnie’s hair was longer, and her baby bump had grown larger than a basketball. I leaned over to hug her so she wouldn’t have to get up, and her arms wrapped around my shoulders.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Better,” I answered. Most days, I was. Sure, the random drug tests and loneliness sucked, but it wasn’t all bad. I liked spending time at the zoo, my grades had improved, and afternoons with Miss Verity and Van helped ease the deepest fears I had about leaving New Orleans.

Ronnie followed me to my room after dinner that night and climbed onto my bed. I sat next to her, leaned back against the headboard, and stared at her gigantic stomach.

“I think you should go to prom,” she said.

The bump shifted and moved, and for a moment, even though it had been over a month since I’d touched anything other than soda, I felt high. “What the hell?” I asked.

She laughed. “It’s gross, right?” Her hand rubbed over the hump and moved to pull the hem of her shirt. “Give me your hand,” she said. Her belly twisted and moved under my fingers.

“Is that normal?” I asked.

“The book says it is.”

“When’s it supposed to happen?”

“Well, my due date’s next week, but I’m hoping he’ll come early. I’m tired of being pregnant,” she said. “I want a beer.” We laughed, and she rested both of her hands on top of her belly. “Go to prom. Have fun. Dance and go crazy. Well, not too crazy. You’re still on probation…”

The next day, she joined me and Mom as I shopped for a dress. Even though it took the entire afternoon and we walked about a hundred miles, Ronnie didn’t complain. She’d heard somewhere that walking could help start labor. It didn’t work, but we did find an amazing silver slip dress and a horribly uncomfortable, yet gorgeous, pair of heels.

Hayden didn’t come the next week, either.

On the morning of prom, Ronnie’s water broke shortly after breakfast, and while my parents took her to the hospital, Miss Verity stepped up to take me to the salon for a style and a manicure. We picked up Van’s tuxedo on our way home after my appointment.

We had dinner at home and dawdled until almost 7:00, hoping Mom might show up to take a picture or two since she’d wanted me to go in the first place. Van had his phone in hand, ready to call a taxi company, when my phone buzzed with a text from my parents. They were almost home.

They came in long enough for Mom to fawn over us and for her to pack an overnight bag. She wanted to stay with Ronnie and baby Hayden, who’d weighed in at seven pounds, four ounces. Dad mentioned complications and a C-section, but he promised us that both of them were fine and we’d see them soon.

Mom and Dad dropped us off at the Marriott on Canal on their way back to the hospital. Penn and Troya had promised us Oliver wouldn’t be there, but I still paused outside the ballroom with my ticket in hand. Part of me wanted to run back to the elevator, take it down to the ground floor, and flag a cab on Canal to go back home.

“It’s prom, Vi,” Van said. “You’ve been to jail. This will be cake.”

“You’re right,” I answered. “Cake.”

We walked in together. Sonny and Troya were already there, sitting at a table several feet away from the dance floor. She stood when she saw us and met me halfway.

“Hot,” she said after giving me a onceover.

“You, too.” I admired her black, fitted dress and the ballet flats she’d paired it with.

Penn and Celeste showed up a short while later, and he sat down in the seat next to mine.

“I got something for you.” He set a plastic container on the table and slid it over to me.

It was a wrist corsage made of miniature lilac roses, and it looked beautiful with the shimmering silver of my dress. “Thank you.”

“Let’s dance,” he said.

I decided to take Ronnie’s advice, so I followed Penn out onto the floor. He wasn’t a good dancer, but neither was I. Celeste danced with us part of the night and also traded steps with anyone who asked. Her pupils were dilated, and she was high as a kite. She was smiling and having the time of her life, though.

Penn held on tight during the slow songs, and it was nice. He smelled of soap—not coffee and cigarettes—let me rest my head against his shoulder, and never left me alone for a moment.

I didn’t want to have my picture taken—ever again, really—but Van begged. Van, Penn, Troya, Celeste, and I took one as a group. Celeste suggested making goofy faces, and we laughed our way through it.

Sonny had borrowed his dad’s car, so he and Troya decided to stay later than we wanted to. Since he was going to pass our place on his way home, Penn wouldn’t let us take a cab. I climbed into the back seat to be alone, rolled down the window, and let the cool air wash over me.

The downstairs was lit from family room to kitchen when we reached Dufossat Street. “Miss Verity’s still up, man. Want some food?” Van asked.

Penn looked back at me, and I shrugged. He’d been nice enough to drive us home, but I didn’t want to keep him from a party, if that was where he wanted to be.

“Cool,” he said.

None of us saw Oliver on the porch swing until we were almost at the door.

“Isn’t this fucking adorable?” he said.

I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to push him off my swing. I wanted him to leave me alone—
really
leave me alone—instead of the slow-motioned desertion. My voice was lost, my body was frozen, and everything inside was panicked.

“I gave them a ride home,” Penn said. “That’s it.”

“Bullshit!” Oliver stood and walked toward us. He turned his phone around to show us a picture someone must’ve taken of Penn holding me at the Marriott.

“Fuck off, Oliver,” Van said. “We went to prom. They danced. Big fucking deal.”

“Is that how it is?” Oliver stepped closer and pushed Van’s shoulders with his open palms.

Van lost his balance for a moment and then stiffened. “Leave,” he said.

“Fuck you.” Oliver advanced again, and Penn stepped up to block him.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled my phone from my purse, flipped it open, and dialed.

“What on Earth is going on out here?” Miss Verity’s voice boomed as the front door opened. She was angry, that much was obvious, but Oliver wasn’t stable. I wanted her as far from him as possible.

“What is your emergency?” echoed in my ear.

I shoved the phone into Miss Verity’s hand and then reached out to push the door closed. “Take it,” I said, looking down at the screen.

She followed my gaze, recognized what I’d done, lifted the phone to her face, and stopped trying to block my progress. The door clicked shut at the same time Van bumped into my side.

“You need to leave, man,” he said to Oliver. “You shit on my sister long enough, and you’re not going to ruin tonight for her. Get the fuck out.”

Oliver’s eyes darkened, and he stepped closer to Van with his pointer finger extended between them. “You shut your mouth. This is none of your business.”

Penn moved to stand next to Van. “Oliver—”

“You can fuck off, too,” Oliver said, switching targets. “So hard up for my fucking leftovers… Fine! Take her.” His arm waved in my direction. “I’m done with that shit, anyway. Just remember that I taught her everything she knows, motherfucker. She was practically a virgin when I put my dick in her.”

My hand moved to cover my mouth to hold in a scream. Or maybe it was vomit. It could’ve gone either way. Van moved before anyone could stop him, and the crunch of his body hitting Oliver’s preceded the two of them flying through the air and falling off the porch until they hit the ground with a thud.

Penn ran down the steps, and I followed.

“Get up!” Van stood first and twisted Oliver’s shirt in his fist.

Oliver shifted onto his feet and caught Van’s midsection with his shoulder, taking him down again. Then he focused on Penn and stalked over to where we were standing, and despite Penn’s voice trying to talk him down, he hit his chest with two open palms. I made the mistake of trying to pull Oliver away from him. He shoved me off without even turning around, and I ended up on my ass on the ground with a torn dress and an aching ankle.

The chirp of a siren wailed through the night air, and a police cruiser stopped in front of the house. A moment later, the front door opened and Miss Verity stepped out. One of the two officers unlatched the gate, and they both stepped into the yard.

“Is everything okay, Miss Verity?” one asked.

Oliver spit on the ground before yelling at my grandmother. “You called the cops?!”

“No,” I said, rubbing the bones beneath my already bluing skin. “I did.”

“You fucking bitch.”

“No more of that,” the bigger officer said. His gaze shifted from Oliver to me. “What happened?”

I’d lied for Oliver once, and it had landed me in jail. Prom night, the truth, and nothing but the truth set me free. Oliver was searched and was, of course, carrying weed and a mini-pharmacy. Unlike me, he was a legal adult and going to a real jail cell. Even though he was shouting horrible things at me and Penn the entire time, some tiny part of me ached as he cursed and kicked his way to the police car.

The first tear fell when they pushed his head down to keep from bumping it on the car when they shoved him into the back seat. By the time the tail lights disappeared, I was silently sobbing on the stairs as Van sat on one side of me and Penn sat on the other.

We stayed there until dad got home from the hospital sometime after midnight. I expected to be yelled at, but he stood in front of me and asked if I was okay.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

The boys were in the same state of shock and despair. None of us understood how it had come to that. The Oliver dragged off in cuffs wasn’t the same guy who’d taken me for coffee and beignets nearly every day the summer before. Or maybe he was. It was hard to tell where the lies stopped and he began.

My dad let me stay in bed until well after noon the next day, and then we all loaded into his car to meet Ronnie’s baby for the first time. I tried to stay as far away as possible, but Ronnie insisted on pictures of me holding Hayden. Luckily, he was wrapped in a blanket and sleeping soundly.

His hands and fingers were tiny, and his skin was the softest thing I’d ever felt. I stared at his almost-invisible blond hair and the contrast of thick eyelashes next to pale cheeks. Relief settled over me. Knowing I could hand the baby back to my sister and walk away was the best feeling in the world, so I promised myself right then and there that I’d never gamble with my body again.

Monday morning was easier than I expected it to be. Oliver wasn’t at school, and the rumors were spreading, burning from classroom to classroom. People stared in the halls like they hadn’t for months, but Penn and Van were the targets instead of me.

Until lunch.

I knew something was wrong when Van met me and Troya at the cafeteria doors.

“Let’s eat outside,” he said.

“I didn’t bring a lunch.” Troya stepped around him and pushed open the door.

I followed, and the moment I stepped into the room behind her, conversations stopped. A long moment of silence stretched out as every head turned. The low buzz of voices kicked in while Troya and I bought food.

We chose a table in the corner and tried to ignore the funny looks being thrown our way. Troya waited until we were seated to answer the question that had been consuming my thoughts all day.