The Replacement (13 page)

My fingers work over the elaborate gold bow, and I snatch a tiny gift card message from the corner before unwrapping the paper.

To keeping your dreams alive. Merry Christmas, lovely! xoxo Nat

It takes everything in me right then not to smash the box I’m holding, because my fingers are digging into it with reeling force. I work to loosen my death grip on the edges, taking a deep breath as I begin tearing at the festive paper.

A plain white box is revealed, and I tug at the top flap to peek inside. Two pieces of Styrofoam are smashed together, forming a casing of some sort. I pop out the case and pick at the tape keeping the Styrofoam pressed together. Natalie is barely containing her excited, hopeful squeal. I pull off the tape and the casing falls open, revealing a snow globe. I blink, and when my eyes focus on what’s inside the snow globe, my heart plummets to the bottom of my stomach.

The Eiffel Tower. The whole city of Paris, to be exact. A miniature version that is overshadowed by the historic landmark that frequents my dreams.

“Do you like it?” Natalie asks, her voice soft and full of apprehension. “Whenever you talk about visiting France and about how you almost majored in the language…well, you just light up. I saw it at the festival that night and just couldn’t resist.”

I can’t answer her, because my tongue is numb. I’m rooted to the seat, and my whole body feels like it’s been hit by a train. I hesitantly lift my hand from my lap to touch the globe. The city inside is carved so intricately, each little detail surprisingly crisp for such a small model, and there are little crystals mixed in with the snow that make the whole piece shine.

It’s the single most magical thing I’ve ever been given.

“Elise?” I hear Natalie’s voice again, but it’s muffled. Stilted. I have to stand up. I have to move, right now. “Are you okay?”

I’m suddenly on my feet, standing there, looking down at the fragile globe and all it represents. My throat is clogged with unshed tears, and I feel the dam from earlier violently growing. If I don’t get out of here right this second, I will break down in front of the whole diner, and no one, I mean no one, has ever seen Elise Duchamp cry. Natalie and Nate saw a glimpse of it, the day I had it out with Tim at the diner, but that was nothing compared to the threat looming right this moment.

“It’s amazing,” I finally say, my voice cracking. “I can’t even…” I don’t remove my eyes from the globe. If I look at Natalie right now, I will never ever recover from this. “Excuse me.” I dart from the dining bar and walk briskly toward the kitchen, where I pass by Brad.

“Elise,” Brad says, but I barrel right past him, toward the back of the building. “Hey!”

I reach the back door and slam it open, stepping outside.

“Hey! Elise!” I feel Brad on my tail, but I don’t care. I step out into the rain and let it saturate me, tilting my head back to feel the cold drops hit my forehead. “What the hell are you doing? Is everything okay?”

“Give me a cigarette, please,” I say flatly, closing my eyes.

“You…you want a cigarette? In the rain?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“Please!” I sob, a caving feeling crushing my chest.

“Shit, okay.” Brad feels in his pockets and ducks inside for a second, returning with an umbrella. He opens it and lights a smoke for me, pulling me under the umbrella with him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head, taking a drag. I cough. “Can you please just tell Natalie that I’m feeling sick? I can’t speak to her right now.”

“Are you two fighting?”

“No.”

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Brad, please.”

“Yeah, okay.” He sighs. “Whatever I can do, girl.” He kisses my forehead and leaves me with the umbrella, stepping back into the kitchen.

The heavy door slams behind him and I flinch. My nerves are fried, my heart is hollow, and my world is black. The rain continues to beat down on me, and it’s so clear, so pure, the sight of it makes me ache. The grass looks especially vibrant amidst this gloom, and glancing down at my feet, I realize even the black asphalt I’m standing on is pristine compared to the filth encasing my skin. I take deep, thorough drags from my cigarette as I’m bombarded with words that scrape at the wounds.

That’s all you are, you slut—a replacement. Sloppy seconds and an in-between quickie for every guy in this town who’s looking to fill a hole.

You’re wicked. So, so wicked.

You’re a dirty, filthy girl, and I fucking love you for it, baby.

I don’t hate those men for saying these things to me. Because I did this. It’s all me. They’re only voicing the truth, what they see and what they know to be real. I must have been dreaming to think I could cross over into Natalie’s world for a while—hell, even for a night. Or to think that I could fool someone like Ryder, that I could have a meal with a man on Thanksgiving without any lies, without any dirt. That I could be clean.

I can never touch foot on the solid ground enjoyed by people like Natalie, because I destroy everything I touch, and I am sinking—sinking into the quicksand I created.

“Elise,” a voice breaks my train of thought, and I’m further shaken to find Jay standing there in the open kitchen doorway. He lifts an umbrella above him and steps out to join me, his face solemn as he studies the cigarette in my hand. “Talk to me, hon.”

My lip quivers with my words. Part of that is the dampness sending chills down my spine, and the other part is those dormant sobs, waiting to rupture from my throat. “Did Brad send you out here?”

“Maybe.” He exhales and looks at me intently. “Is this about Tim?”

“What?” I’m so startled that I drop my cigarette and curse as I see it hit the wet ground.

“Here,” Jay says, handing me another from his pack. He lights one for me and himself. I accept gratefully, unable to look him in the eye. “Let me guess. You think I don’t know about Tim.”

My heart stalls in my chest.

He gives me a side glance. “Come on, hon. Who do you think I am, a chump?” He reaches out and strokes my cheek, and the touch causes me to wince. Why is he being so kind? Why is he so calm about this?

“Jay, I…” I fix my gaze straight ahead, watching the rain fall in sheets over the harbor. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He is calm, but there’s a snag in his voice as he speaks, like he’s struggling to maintain his cool. “I’ve known for a while now.”

“Tim told you.”

“Are you kiddin’?” He huffs with a sarcastic laugh. “He doesn’t need to say a word. I know his game. I knew it the moment he started coming into the diner. I remember telling him to stay the hell away from you, that he was skating on thin ice.” He shakes his head and takes a drag, watching the harbor with me. “The son of a bitch makes me so mad. You don’t know the half of it, hon. Cheryl’s always been so good to him—so good to me. What he’s been doing with you isn’t just an insult to her, it’s an insult to our whole damn family.”

“Jay—”

“No,” he raises his hand with his palm facing me. “Just listen to me, Elise. Tim is a schmuck. He’s my brother, but he’s always been a schmuck. You weren’t the first and you won’t be the last. Cheryl knew what she was getting herself in to when she agreed to marry him, believe you me. That’s not what matters. That’s not my point.”

I am still frozen, staring out at the rain. Ashes spill from my cigarette, sending a gray flurry into the wind.

“All I want to say to you is that you’re too goddamn beautiful, too goddamn smart, and too goddamn
good
for a life like that, you hear me? Tim’s responsible for his own shit. So is Cheryl, for being with a schmuck like Tim. We all do what we do and we live with our choices. Some people do what they do because they don’t know any other way. They’re tainted. Bruised.” He turns to me now, and I’m forced to shift. He waits until I turn completely, so that he can look me straight in the eye. “I know your mother’s death wrecked you. I knew your father long before your mother died, and if you think that no one in this town knew what he was about, then you’re blind. We knew. We all knew. It’s why I gave you this job when you left college, and I don’t ever regret that decision.”

“Jay, please,” I cry, the volcano of hurt tearing through my chest, fighting its way up my throat.

“Nah-ah,” he reaches out from underneath his umbrella and places a hand on my wet cheek, like a father would a daughter, “I’m not done. You listen to me. Those other people don’t know, Elise. They don’t know how to change. They trudge through life just trying to survive, hurting themselves and dragging everyone down with them, because they’re sinking ships and that’s what sinking ships do—take the weight. But you—” he points to me, holding my gaze with hard, fierce eyes, “you know another way.”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Yes you do. Your parents might have let you down, you might have lost them, but you never lost yourself, you hear me? You always had something right. You had this.” He places his hand over my heart and the sob I’ve been holding in breaks free. An explosion bursts from my chest and my head rolls forward, my whole body caving in on itself. “You always had heart, kid. And dreams, and ambition, and spirit. You know innocence, Elise. You possessed it once. But the world will crush you if you let it, and kid, you let it. Nothing breaks my heart more.”

A tidal wave of anguish washes over me and I succumb to it, feeling it rush over my skin. “I know.”

“Just because the world breaks you doesn’t mean it has to win, hon. You remember that.” His big hand clasps my cheek once more and then he releases me, quietly closing his umbrella and retreating back into the kitchen. He leaves me with the rain, and I’m left stunned. Somehow, in the span of a few short minutes, my world has been turned upside down, and it has nothing to do with learning that Jay has known about Tim all along.

Jay lumped my name and the word “good” into one sentence.

I’m not a competitive person. I have never aspired for greatness or dreamed of winning an Olympic gold medal. But hearing that sentence makes me want to win.

CHAPTER 8

Tap, tap, tap.

A sound ripples over my thoughts like a stone skipping across a pond, but I focus on my father’s face as it appears in my vanity mirror. He steps through my bedroom doorway and our gazes meet. The grey of his hair is dull and tired, like his eyes.

I stop brushing my hair and meet his glare in the mirror. “What is it, Dad?” I ask, shifting in the vanity stool. “Did I do something wrong?”

He sticks his hands in his pockets and continues to glare at me from behind, the hard set of his jaw telling me I indeed did something wrong. Tori Amos’s “Spark” plays in the background, but as far as I’m concerned, the room is starkly quiet.

“Yes,” he says, his voice even and hard. “You.” He moves, keeping his hands tight in his pockets as he walks up behind me, never letting go of my gaze. “You ruined your mother, do you know that?”

The brush is still at my side, suspended next to my silky blonde hair. I don’t blink, don’t breathe, don’t move. My father has never hit me, but his words sting as much as any backhand. “I don’t understand—”

“Don’t!” he shouts now, the veins in his neck bulging. He raises a finger sternly and points at me through the mirror. His anger is uncontainable, and for the very first time, I think his verbal rage might spill over into something physical.

For the very first time, I am afraid of my father.

Inhaling quietly, I realize why. He’s been drinking. The harshness of the liquor wafts off him and covers me like a blanket. I take another deep breath through my nose and look down.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he hisses, stepping closer. Suddenly I feel his fingers on mine, covering my brush. He grips the handle and I let go, and he holds the brush there next to my head, still watching me.

I look back up.

“Dad,” I whisper, “you’re scaring me.”

“You should be scared, Elise. Do you know why?”

I barely shake my head, a trace of a movement.

“Because you’re going to be just like her. And soon, you’ll be alone. I’m leaving you and your mother. Do you know why?”

I know he wants me to nod again or acknowledge what he’s saying, but I can’t. My body is frozen.

“Answer me!”

“Nnnn—no, no.”

“I’m leaving your mother because she gave up. She gave up on her body, on her life. She doesn’t care how her image reflects on me, do you understand?” He crouches down next to me and his whiskey-laden breath hits my forearm. “She’s sick, because of
you
. You gave her cancer, Elise.”

“How…how could I do that, Dad?” My voice is so small, and he is an ogre, about to devour the sound.

“You worried her sick. Running around with that dyke friend of yours. Out late drinking, doing God knows what. Are you one of them?” His knuckles crack as he balls his fists up.

I flinch.

“Well, are you?”

“One of what?”

“Are you a dyke, like your
dyke
friend?”