Only Ever Her Read online

  “You look so pale from all that city living,” Glynnis had said.

  Laurel signals the server that she is ready to go by waving the credit card Damon so graciously allowed her to take to this lunch, his way of making it less awful that she’s been reduced to covering Annie Taft’s wedding, the closest thing Ludlow has to a society event. But now she hasn’t even managed that.

  “You’re leaving?” the server asks, and her surprised look is real this time.

  “Yes,” Laurel says. She gestures to the empty chair across from her. “My guest appears to be a no-show.”

  “Oh,” the girl says, then rests her hand on Laurel’s shoulder. She pats her three times. Now it’s Laurel’s turn to look surprised. “First date?” the server asks in a low, sympathetic voice. “I’ve heard it’s better to do lunch than dinner. Less . . . commitment.”

  “N-no, this was a business lunch. Uh, an interview.”

  “Oh.” The server shakes her head gravely. “I bet they hired someone else and forgot to tell you.” She nods, agreeing with herself. “That happened to me once.”

  “No, no, it wasn’t a job interview,” Laurel says, not knowing why she feels the need to explain to this server. But she does anyway. “I was interviewing someone for a story.”

  “Oh!” the girl says, the surprised look back in place. “You’re, like, a reporter?”

  “Yes,” Laurel says, stifling a sigh. “I’m, like, a reporter.”

  The girl raises her eyebrows and nods her approval. “Cool,” she says.

  Laurel hands her the credit card, even though the girl seems to have forgotten her role in this exchange. “I’d like to pay for what I ordered. I need to get going.”

  The girl hands her back the card with a laugh. “You don’t need to pay for a water,” she says. She pats her on the shoulder again, and Laurel vaguely wonders how long it has been since she has been touched by a person she is not related to. “Good luck with your story.” She points to the empty chair. “Hope you find what you need.”

  Laurel also looks at the chair that was supposed to hold Annie and wonders how she will get the wedding—or the murder—story out of her now. This hasn’t gone anything like she’d hoped, much less dreamed of. (In her fantasy, she and Annie forgot all about the fact that they never really liked each other in high school. Annie had poured her heart out about the wedding, the murder, and her secret insecurities, then admitted that she was short a bridesmaid and asked Laurel to be part of the festivities.)

  Laurel throws an absentminded “thank you” over her shoulder as she leaves the server, the restaurant, and her humiliation behind, refocusing her thoughts on what to do next, on how to salvage what should not already be lost.

  Kenny

  He watches the woman leave the restaurant, her feet moving so fast they barely touch the ground, her chin set in that familiar jut he remembers from high school. Laurel Haines was one of his regular tormentors back then. She’d been so certain about things: that she was above everyone in this town and would rise even higher after high school.

  “See how far the mighty have fallen,” he says to himself as he wipes away the sweat from his glass of iced tea. It is May, and spring has been swiftly toppled by a South Carolina summer, just like every year for as long as he can remember.

  “Did you say something, sir?” the young waitress asks. He’d been so distracted watching Laurel leave that he hadn’t seen her sidle up to his table, quick and agile. Seconds ago, she’d been at Laurel’s table, patting her shoulder and acting chummy. He’s glad the girl didn’t hear what he said. No sense airing his personal grievances to strangers.

  “Oh no,” he says, and waves his hand in the direction of the path Laurel beat out of the restaurant. “I was just watching that woman over there leave. I think I might’ve gone to high school with her.” He works to keep his voice vague and noncommittal.

  “She’s a reporter,” the girl tells him, her voice weighted with perceived importance. Laurel would like people to think she’s important. But from what he’s heard, her grand plans of being a globe-trotting reporter have come crashing down, and she’s run home to Mama. Now all the trotting she’s doing is over to the Ludlow Ledger to cover such big news as the Garden Club home tour or the winner of the Little League fund-raiser.

  “Be nice,” he hears Annie’s voice in his head say. But Annie is not here. She’s not here for Laurel Haines, and she’s not here for him. She’s stood them both up. He hears something else in his head: Annie again, this time from earlier today, when she’d called and begged him to show up at this restaurant. “You can’t just leave me in there with her,” she’d whined. “You have to be there to rescue me.” She’d taken a well-timed dramatic pause. Annie is the queen of the dramatic pause. “You know how snotty she is.”

  And of course, that had been what hit home, that memory of Laurel Haines looking down her pug nose at him, her friends flanking her as she leveled him with one of her zingers. How was it she always knew what to say to him that would hurt the most? And who’d always stood up for him? Annie. That was who. Without Annie by his side all those years, he would’ve had no social cred at all; his adolescence would’ve been even more miserable.

  And so he is here today, in this restaurant, to protect his oldest friend, even though she didn’t show up to need protecting. He grabs his phone and texts her a second time. The first text was measured and patient. Hey, I’m here, but I don’t see you. She’s here, though. Are you running late? Please tell me you didn’t forget.

  There’d been no reply.

  This text is less patient and devoid of measure. Well, she just left and now I’m leaving, too. You better have a good explanation for not showing up. Sometimes he gets tough with her just to prove that he’s not her whipping boy. He can’t always be there for her. Especially not now that she’s getting married. To someone else. Someone who didn’t get tormented in high school. Someone who isn’t even from Ludlow.

  He sighs and shoves his phone in his pocket as he counts out cash to leave for the server, who is, thankfully, engaged in conversation with another customer. With any luck, he can slip out, and away, before he has to talk to anyone else. He’s used to working from home, with little human interaction during his day. Some weeks, when his girlfriend goes out of town, he can go a whole day without talking to anyone. He likes those days. They’re peaceful.

  Safely outside the restaurant, he scans the parking lot for Annie’s new car, the one Scott bought her as a wedding present. She loves the new-car smell, always asking him to inhale it reverently when he gets in. He acquiesces, never admitting he’s one of an apparently small minority who doesn’t prefer the smell of a new car. He liked the smell of her old car, the way it reminded him of a unique mixture of the half-drunk coffee cups always sitting in the cupholders, drive-through french fry splurges, and her soap. The way her car smelled like her. Her new car smells like nothing.

  But her new car is not there. She is not sitting in it screwing up the courage to go inside, as she is prone to do whenever she’s nervous about something. She has simply not shown up. She has pulled one of her disappearing acts, something she does from time to time. Something most people wouldn’t guess, based on her reputation as the town darling. To everyone else, Annie is hearts and sunshine. But to those who know her best, she’s got a dark side, usually brought on by stress or anything that has to do with her mother.

  Considering they’re talking about letting the guy convicted of murdering her mother out of prison, he should’ve seen this coming. He regrets the text he sent, pulls his phone out of his pocket to text her again. Then he thinks better of it. He can guess where she’s gone. He will do better than a text. He will find her, and he will forgive her for disappearing, just like he always does.

  Clary

  The dove is really and truly gone. The one she calls Mica—her favorite, if she’s being honest—has not returned. He wasn’t just later getting back than the others, as she told herself when
she arrived home from the release to find the other three doves there and him missing. Sometimes it happens—she knows this. A bird who didn’t make it home is how she got into raising these birds, after all. She’d found one, years ago, on a day she’d needed to be needed. And that bird had needed her. So she knows it can happen; she knows it does happen. It’s just never happened to her.

  She needs to pee, and badly, but she ignores the urgent sensation, choosing instead to count again, as if she has merely miscounted. As if, in counting, she will make the dove appear, like a magician with a hat. One-two-three kazam! But the counting yields nothing, and the spot on the perch where Mica should be remains empty. She pictures him there, studying her the way he always does, his head cocked as if he’s analyzing her, as if he can see right through to her soul. He is her most interesting dove, easily spotted among the others, with the iridescent silver feathers on the tips of his wings, the ones that remind her of those rocks she and Annie used to collect, thinking they’d found something valuable, that the silver veins within them were the real thing.

  At Willie McGuirt’s funeral today, Mica was the bird she chose to represent the spirit of the departed for the release. The other three birds symbolized the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, there to show Willie’s spirit the way to heaven. The whole thing was perhaps a little over-the-top, but it never failed to comfort the grieving. She herself still got a lump in her throat every time she witnessed it. But today had been especially moving—shocking, even. She gets one of those full-body shivers as she thinks about it, especially considering Mica has not returned with the others.

  She’d let Willie’s widow, Myra, hold Mica for a moment before letting him go with the other three birds. Myra had kissed the top of his little head, then released him. The birds had taken flight, just like always, but as they ascended, they must’ve spotted some sort of predator, because they quickly retreated back inside the funeral tent at the graveside. But to the dearly beloved who had gathered there, it had probably seemed like the birds had chosen to return to the tent of their own volition. The other three doves had chosen the floral spray atop Willie’s casket as their perch. And Mica had chosen the empty chair beside Myra as his.

  The gathered mourners had all inhaled in one collective breath as they watched Mica study Myra for a few moments. The other three birds watched Mica watch Myra, and it was as if Willie—who’d been married to Myra for fifty-four years—was saying one last goodbye as the Trinity looked on in approval. No one spoke. Clary doubts anyone breathed. And then, without warning and in unison, the four of them took off again. Silently, the mourners had all stood up, walked outside the tent, and watched until the doves disappeared into the clouds.

  But Mica has not returned from that flight, and Clary wonders, and worries, that it all meant something she had missed. Clary hollers his name in desperation. “Mica!” she calls, her chin pointed toward the sky.

  The loud noise startles the other birds—she has fifteen in all—and they flap their wings in response. The power in their wings creates a roaring sound and stirs up a wind that blows through the loft. Two of them swoop over her head, barely brushing the top of her spiky hair as they come just close enough before returning to their perch. The sound dies down, and the loft is still again except for her heart pounding. They study her with those intense eyes of theirs, knowing eyes. She wishes she could ask them where Mica is. She wishes they could tell her or show her. But she will have to look for him herself. It is up to her to find what she has lost.

  Annie

  “I should go,” she says, but makes no move beyond the movement of her lips, saying the words. Kenny ignores the words, pulls her closer, and kisses the top of her head in a brotherly way. Sometimes she wishes Kenny were her brother or a cousin—someone related. Though some parts of their relationship pushed the boundaries of brotherly behavior. They’d never crossed a line, though, not since that one time back in high school. If Kenny were a family member, she wouldn’t have to give him up in a few weeks. Take a new name, lose a best friend. She sighs.

  “Stay,” he says. “Let ’em wonder.”

  “Oh, they’re wondering all right. You’re not the only person I stood up today. I bet my phone has fifty-seven missed calls and texts.” She holds up her fingers and ticks off the people who are likely looking for her. “Barbara Todd from the country club, Aunt Faye, Tracy, Laurel Haines—”

  “She was pissed,” Kenny says, and laughs. “You should’ve seen the way she tore out of that restaurant.”

  “Yeah, well she can take a number. I bet she’s only after me for a story about my mom. Like she really cares about me getting married.”

  “It is the wedding of the year in this town,” Kenny says. He thinks about it. “Maybe even the decade.”

  “And to think you’re going to miss it.” Annie shakes her head and tuts. “Shame.” She feels him stiffen and elbows him. “Don’t get all sensitive,” she says. “I’m kidding.”

  He looks at her. Through the thick lenses of his glasses, his green eyes seem larger than they are. He looks like Clark Kent with those glasses on. He’s even got the little swoop of dark hair across his forehead. But if you take off Kenny’s glasses, he doesn’t become Superman. He just becomes a better-looking version of himself. Kenny cannot leap tall buildings or fly through the air. But he is pretty good at knowing when she needs rescuing. She will miss him when he’s out of her life. She starts to tell him so, but he speaks before she can.

  “Maybe you should get going,” he says, and moves away from her slightly. “Don’t want to keep you from all the people who need you.”

  She is not in the mood to bicker with him, to beg him to relent. And she does need to get going. So she just says, “Okay.” Then she adds, “Thanks for coming to find me today.”

  “It’s not like where you were was a big mystery,” he says.

  She makes a face. “It is to some people.”

  “Well, you know what I think about that. The fact that you haven’t told your fiancé where you like to go when you’re upset but you did tell me speaks volumes.”

  “You know me . . . differently . . . than he does.” She offers the same old argument she always does. “You’ve known me longer. That’s all. There’s never been a reason to tell him.”

  “You’ve never found a reason because you don’t want him to know,” Kenny says. “You want him to think you’re the pretty little princess you’ve led him to believe you are—all sunshine and roses and that winning smile. You’ve let him fall under the same impression that the rest of the town has,” he says.

  She shoves him lightly. “I have not.”

  “Oh yes, you have; you’ve convinced him—like you have everyone else—that you’re all sweetness and light with no darkness in you. Hell, you’re even marrying him because of it. If you were honest with him—if you were honest with yourself—you wouldn’t go through with it.”

  “Oh, and I guess you think I’d marry you.”

  A look passes across his face that is every bit as hurt as if she’d slapped him. They look at each other without speaking for a few seconds. She can see him decide not to go any further.

  “You wouldn’t be entering this business deal you’re calling a love story,” he says. “You wouldn’t be selling yourself short.” He rolls his eyes and moves farther away, increasing the distance between them by another fraction, signaling that the conversation is over. He has his pride.

  If she wanted to, she could close the distance between them; she could smooth things over. But she holds her ground. They have to let each other go, give each other the space to do it. She needs to be kind to him now. Even though he thinks she’s being cruel. She does not know how to end this, and she does not want to, but she has made a promise to someone else; she has made her choice. To let him think she will do anything else is unfair and unkind. And yet . . . She leans over and kisses him, a chaste peck, friendly, the kind Europeans give each other all the time.

 
He remains stony, impassive.

  “I guess I’ll go now,” she says, willing him to speak up, to stop her. She doesn’t have to leave just yet. She could stay a few more minutes. They could keep talking.

  But Kenny stays silent, averts his eyes as she stands up and smooths her rumpled clothes. She brushes off the pine needles and bits of dead leaves that are stuck to her shorts, her gaze falling on the place where her mother died, the spot she likes to come to when her life gets overwhelming and confusing, which is often these days. Kenny is the only one she’s ever told about this place. She’s never felt comfortable telling anyone else.

  She knows that counts for something, Kenny’s right about that. She’s cruel to pretend otherwise. But to do so is to open a door she’s trying desperately to close. So she can do the right thing, so she can marry the right guy. Kenny is not the right guy. Scott is. Kenny, of course, does not understand this. He’s not aware of the protocol. But she knows—as she always has—what’s expected of her, what her role is in this town. She cannot marry the odd duck, her quirky friend. She has to marry the guy who is her perfect match, the one people expect to see waiting for her at the end of the aisle in a few weeks. She has to make the town happy, like she always has. It is her act of service, her offering on behalf of the greater good. When you’re the only survivor of the town’s darkest moment, you do whatever you can to bring light.

  When she walks away, Kenny doesn’t call after her, doesn’t try to stop her. He just lets her go.

  Faye

  “I can’t believe she’s not here,” Faye says, glancing at the oversize clock she keeps on the wall so that everyone—both customers and stylists—will know what time it is and hopefully stay on track. You can’t say you didn’t know what time it is when there’s a big-ass clock hanging in plain sight, she always says. She tried this at home with the girls when they were teenagers, but they were harder to convince than her customers and employees. Annie and Clary run on their own time and by their own rules.