Page 8

“God, what happened to you?” Melody asked, taking him in. Laurel smoothed a self-conscious hand over the front of his shirt. The fabric was stiff with dried sweat, and his hair felt greasy and disheveled, the phantom trace of Casey’s fingertips still dancing along his scalp. They hadn’t talked on the way back to Casey’s apartment. Laurel had hardly even been able to put a thought together over the rush of blood in his head, the pulsing heat beneath his skin. He’d ruined everything, of course. He had been so sure it was an emergency, that this, finally, was the call, and Melody was in the hospital or in jail or in a ditch somewhere. But she wasn’t, and Laurel was an idiot, and the silence in the car had felt almost as heavy as the memory of Casey’s hands all over him. When they’d parked, he had turned to Casey, hoping to catch his eye, hoping—let’s be honest—to invite himself in. But Casey had thrown the keys into his lap and rushed inside without a word.

He licked his lips. The slightest hint of sweetness lingered on his tongue, heady and nostalgic. He hadn’t had time to go home and change. Or brush his teeth. Or jerk off. Or anything. “Nothing. I’ve been out in the heat. What happened to you ?” As Melody stepped back from the door, he could see that her right foot was in some kind of supportive plastic and velcro boot.

“Oh, this?” She waved a hand in the air. “I’m fine. But the cat hates it.” She shuffled backwards unevenly, making enough space for Laurel to come into the condo. The boot made a hair-raising noise against the hardwoods, and Laurel sympathized with Luna. He kind of wanted to put his ears back and creep under the sofa, too. “Where have you been? You haven’t been answering my texts.”

Investigating fraud. Giving incomplete handjobs on the side of the road . Laurel scratched reflexively at his neck. “Melody, your foot—”

“I told you, it’s no problem. I just dropped a handle of bourbon on it, that’s all. Don’t worry, it didn’t break. I mean, the bottle didn’t. The foot was less lucky.”

“She keeps making that joke,” Chip said, looking up from where he was sitting on the sofa. “It’s not as funny as she thinks it is.”

“I didn’t think it was funny, period.” A familiar woman was in one of Melody’s armchairs, and Laurel did a double-take, seeing her in this context. She didn’t seem to have aged at all; in fact, she almost looked younger here, in a bright sundress and statement earrings instead of her usual slacks and button-up, her dark skin glowing, her eyes sharp and perceptive. Laurel’s last memory of her was her slipping him a copy of the complete poems of Arthur Rimbaud and congratulating him on his graduation. By being too sensitive I have wasted my life. He had highlighted that line, dogeared the page. The papery smell of books filled his nose suddenly, peaceful and comforting.

“Ms. Nelson?” He felt all the more self-conscious under the gaze of his high school librarian. Her expression was the same, too, the fond but slightly ironic look of having to deal with these kids .

“You know, you can call me Kierra now. How have you been, Laurel?”

“Great, yeah.” He thought of trying to fix his hair, but decided it was a lost cause. There was a shivery sensation in his lower belly as he thought of how Casey had yanked on it, pulling his head back, exposing his neck as if for the kill. “Sorry I’m late. If I am late. I didn’t really know we were meeting. Or, um, that you would be here, or—” God, what was he doing? Laurel hoped he wasn’t turning red again. He’d never really been aware of how easily he blushed until Casey had brought it to his attention. Fucking Casey. He needed to think of something, anything else. Needed to remember his manners. “Uh. How are you?” he tried. “It’s been a long time.”

Kierra Nelson shrugged. “Oh, I could complain, but I won’t. What have you been up to, Laurel? You look a little rumpled.”

“Hot day,” he said. “I’m not acclimated yet. I’ve been in Europe, visiting my dad. And before that, just traveling a lot. Wow, it’s great to see you. It’s been so long.” He hadn’t been back to the high school since he’d graduated. That building held a lot of shiny, oddly hollow memories, and he wasn’t sure how to talk to most of his friends from that time. He’d been in town for the ten-year reunion a few years ago, had meant to go, but he and Melody had ended up in a gay bar in Charleston instead, and after that, the night had turned into a black hole. “Are you still at McClellan?”

She made a face. “I am, Lord help me. It’s good to see you again, Laurel.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Laurel said, still not sure what he was doing here. His brain felt like a rag that had been wrung out, and when Melody placed a cold drink in his hand, he took a gulp gratefully before spitting it back into the glass. Vodka was the last thing he needed. “Do you have coffee?” he asked her. “Or anything that doesn’t taste like paint thinner?”

“It’s book club,” Melody said, as if that explained everything. Her eyes were a little wobbly, her cheeks flushed.

“I’m sorry?”

“Book club,” Chip explained. “A monthly tradition. We rotate who chooses the book. Last time it was Octavia Butler.”

“This time it’s a book about an alien swamp monster and a human woman, but the swamp monster is the one who gets pregnant and has to carry the lady’s eggs!” Melody exclaimed. Chip let out a sigh.

“We’ve been on a sci-fi kick,” Kierra added.

Book club. He had rushed all the way over here for book club. By now he could have had Casey’s clothes entirely off; they could have been under the cool spray of the shower, doing all manner of things to each other. Relearning every inch of skin, every dip and hollow. Laurel sank into a chair like a deflated balloon. “I didn’t realize y’all had been hanging out together.”

“Melody started it,” Chip said. “She was volunteering at the library, and got back in touch with Kierra. I’m kind of just along for the ride. Against my will, some months.”

“Well, I don’t want to interrupt,” Laurel said.

“Don’t be silly. I don’t think Chip actually read the book this month, anyway.” Melody plopped herself down onto the couch. “Besides, it feels like we’ve hardly gotten to hang out since you got back into town. I guess you’re too busy driving around with your new boyfriend—”

“Boyfriend?” Chip asked. “I didn’t know you’d met someone. That’s great!”

“Oh, Laurel.” Kierra smiled. “Congratulations, honey. I mean, I kind of knew, but—”

“Jesus Christ.” Laurel knotted his fingers in his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. He’d made the mistake of telling Melody on the phone that he was with Casey. He should never have said anything. “He’s not my boyfriend. I hooked up with him once. It’s very embarrassing and I’d rather not talk about it. And my mom doesn’t know. About Casey, or about me liking guys, or any of it, so—”

“Casey?” Chip frowned. “Wait, the party planner?”

“And don’t worry,” Laurel barrelled on, heat creeping up his neck, his cheeks tingling, “he’s a total asshole and I don’t like him and nothing else is going to happen, and—Melody, I changed my mind, can I have some vodka after all?”

“I think I’ll take some too,” Kierra said. “You kids are even messier than I remember.” She leaned back, watching Melody wobble off into the kitchen. “So what’s going on with this party planner?”

“I’m just helping him with my mom’s Halloween ball. He needed some extra input. And his car was in the shop,” Laurel added, using Casey’s lie from earlier that day.

“And he’s an ex of yours, or something? Oh, thanks, honey,” Kierra added, as Melody came thundering unevenly back into the room, a mixed drink sloshing around in either hand.

“Something like that. But really, I don’t want my mom to know, so—”

“I understand.” Kierra squeezed his shoulder, and Laurel felt his eyes prickle unexpectedly. “It’s hard to be different around here. But I hope you’ve been well, Laurel.”

Well great, now he felt even worse. Of the four of them, he was the only one who could hide his differences. “I have,” he said. At least he had been, until he’d come back into town. Now, he wasn’t so sure. “And you?”

She shrugged, earrings swinging. “Still fighting with the school board. I keep telling them these kids need books with passion and grit, books that reflect their actual experiences. But of course, that would be inappropriate .”

Laurel grinned. “So does this sexy swamp monster book have passion and grit?”

“You know, it’s innovative,” Kierra said.

“Well, speaking of innovative, this party is going to be amazing.” Laurel looked at Melody, trying to catch her eye. “I mean, Casey has a gift with flowers. You should see it. I thought I had a big vocabulary, but he knows plant names I’ve never heard of, and…” Laurel trailed off, aware that everyone else in the room was staring at him. Kierra had a speculative smile on her face. Chip and Melody just looked confused.

“Casey,” Chip said, “who’s a complete asshole.”

“An asshole who’s good at floral arrangements,” Laurel amended.

“Right. Well, it doesn’t really sound like my kind of scene, but you’ll have to take plenty of pictures,” Chip said.

“I can get you an invitation. All of you, actually. Melody?” Laurel tried not to look too nakedly hopeful, his eyes focused on her face. His palms were sweaty. He had the urge to pull out his phone, see if Casey had texted. To make sure he hadn’t scared him into calling everything off.

Melody chewed her lip. “I don’t think your mom would like that.”

“Who cares? I want you there.”

“I don’t know. The last ball I was at, I spilled a whole platter of deviled eggs onto the floor and called Lavinia Bonard a hypocritical cow.”

“Ooh, I would have paid money to see that,” Kierra remarked. (Lavinia Bonard basically was the school board.)

“You don’t want to come?” Laurel asked, his stomach sinking. He sure hoped she did. He had only promised Casey a hundred and fifty thousand dollars and made out with him in a car about it.

“It’s not a good idea,” Melody said. “Even if this stupid thing is off my foot by then, I—I wouldn’t know what to say to people. And what if Howie’s there? I just—”

“He might not be, though,” Kierra said. “Actually, if the restraining order’s in effect, he can’t be, right? So it might be a good opportunity…” she trailed off, glancing at Laurel, whose face must have indicated his surprise.

“Restraining order?” Laurel’s heart fluttered, a mix of hope and anxiety.

“I’m trying to get one.” Melody looked away, tapping a nail against her glass. “He’s been texting me awful things. And showing up at the library when I’m volunteering there. Kierra has seen it, so we’re hoping, with her as a witness—”

“It’s not just her he’s been bothering,” Kierra added darkly. “I could mention several former students whose DMs he has slid into. But no one wants to speak out against him.”

“We do,” Chip said. “We will. I’m friends with a couple of local judges. We should be able to accomplish something .” He knocked on the coffee table for luck, and Kierra followed suit.

“I didn’t know about any of this,” Laurel said, feeling all too aware of the dried film of sweat on his neck, the imprint of Casey’s hand on his thigh. “I could have helped.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. You’re so busy.” Melody looked away. The translation was clear. Laurel was never around, at least not often enough to be reliable. He’d gone from her best friend to a side character in her life, and he couldn’t exactly place when or how it had happened. Laurel swallowed, lungs feeling tight. He squeezed Melody’s arm.

“At least come to the party.” God, was that all he had to offer her? A stupid Halloween party?

She sighed, making a reluctant grimace.

“It could be fun, Melody,” Chip said. “You could dress up as a sexy swamp monster.”

“Oh, please. You could dress up as a sexy swamp monster. You’ve got the legs for it.” She rolled her eyes, but she was laughing. “I’ll think about it. You’re right, it would be good to get out somewhere he isn’t. And Halloween’s a good time to reinvent yourself. It’s worth a try.”

*

They were lying on the floor, in that kind of buzzed, easy intimacy that made Laurel think of stargazing and sleepovers, his fingers playing through the wool strands of the carpet and his thoughts feeling comfortably submerged. Kierra and Chip had left hours ago, and Melody was splayed out on her stomach, one hand under the couch, trying to coax Luna out into the open with baby talk and nasty-smelling tubes of pureed meat.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and for a moment, he thought she was talking to the cat. Laurel turned to see Melody staring at him, her expression stark, her eyes glimmering.

“Melody, what—”

“I’m awful, I really am. You must hate me.” She curled in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest. “I didn’t mean to out you to Ms. Nelson. God, I’m a piece of shit. I—I was drinking, and I didn’t even think.” Her voice was muffled, her spine protruding through her blouse, a fragile, bent thing.

“Oh, I don’t care,” Laurel said. Maybe you shouldn’t drink so often , he thought about saying, but pushed it away. He was the one who’d been sweating out Midori all day, after all. “She’s great. I trust her. It’s not like you told my mom.”

“You know I would never.” Melody looked up, eyes hollow. There were crumbs of mascara on her cheeks, and her skin was slick with tears. “And I was just trying to be funny—I didn’t think—I mean, I don’t think he’s your boyfriend. I mean, is he? Are you, like—I would be happy for you, you know I would, even if I don’t really like him and—oh my God, I’m sorry. I’m such a dumb bitch.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just ignore me. God.” Her shoulders shook, and Laurel couldn’t tell if she was laughing or sobbing.

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t really, but he’d get over it. He swallowed. “Look, let’s talk about something else.”

“Yeah, okay.” She lay back on the carpet, looking up at the ceiling. Laurel could see her chest rise and fall. The air conditioner was a consistent rush of white noise. When Melody spoke again, her voice was almost too quiet to hear.

“I was doing fine, you know. I quit drinking and—and everything else. But then it just—with his brother, and the campaign ads everywhere, and suddenly I couldn’t avoid it anymore.” She sighed. “I’m a mess.”

“You can’t let him get into your head.”

“I can’t help it. I tried to ignore him, even the texts, I really did. He always starts out so nice. And then I don’t write back, and then he’s calling me a whore and a bitch and a worthless piece of shit.”

Laurel could feel his nails digging into his palm. “Can’t you block him?”

“He gets new numbers. Or uses different apps.” Melody bit her lip. “Do you really think it’ll work? With Chip’s help, do you think—do you think I can get him to finally leave me alone?”

“Of course,” Laurel promised, though he didn’t really know. Guilt simmered in his chest, guilt for all his carefree sunlit days spent elsewhere, while she’d been stuck in this town. Why hadn’t he checked in more often? Why had he just assumed everything was okay?

“I just keep thinking, maybe if I had been better, maybe if I had been a good girl from the start, no one could blame me. But I was in bars at fifteen with a fake ID, you know. I wasn’t a debutante, or some shit.”

“You were a kid,” Laurel insisted. His jaw hurt, and he realized he was clenching it too hard. “And I was right there with you.” They’d both been raised religious, but Melody’s parents’ version had been especially fire-and-brimstone-heavy. He remembered how intoxicating those years had been, once they’d realized it was all bullshit. Breaking curfew, Melody the only person he trusted. The two of them had both had secrets. Her with a much-older boyfriend, and him with his Old Hollywood crushes, his slow realization that he would never like girls. The world had felt like a wide-open road, and they’d been barreling down it without seatbelts. He should have watched out for her better. He should have been there during all the years between then and now.

Melody looked away, running a hand through her hair. “Do you remember going to Raleigh?” she asked. “For the—the thing?”

“I remember. We couldn’t read the directions.”

“I know, man, I—I printed them out, but I cried so much and they were all smeared.” She let out a little giggle, rubbing her eyes. “And I remember going to Waffle House after. Of all places. Like, to this day I can’t taste syrup without thinking about getting a damn abortion.” She giggled again, and it sounded a little hysterical. “And you kept playing the worst shit on the radio. I swear that Pitbull song came on like ten times.”

“I mean, I’ve always thought that Pitbull possessed a certain base charm.”

Melody didn’t respond to his attempt at humor, which was probably for the best. “I never told Howie. That was one of the only things that he didn’t get to have, I guess.” Melody turned to look at him, a beached mermaid, her hair spreading out across the floor like seaweed. “You know, he never hit me. He took care of me. And sometimes he was sweet. And I thought—I thought maybe that was what it was supposed to be like, you know?” She gnawed at her lower lip, looking so tired, so childlike and also so ancient.

Laurel put a hand on her leg, but his fingers were numb, and in his head there was a dull buzzing. He wouldn’t call what Bonard had done taking care of her, but he didn’t know what to say. Every adult in her life had failed her as a kid, from her parents to Howie Bonard, and now Laurel was failing, too. He felt very, very isolated, very far away, stranded here on the shore of her pain.

“Maybe that’s why no one will listen. Why no one believes the bad parts.”

“I’m listening,” Laurel said. “And Kierra and Chip are, too, it sounds like.” He squeezed her ankle, hoping she could feel the beat of his heart, all the fierceness he had for her. He wanted to make noise, to crack the room open and let sunlight in, to do anything that would peel away the heaviness draped over everything.

“Yeah.” Melody sighed.

“I’m glad you have them. Since I—I haven’t been around.”

She gave him a look that was hard to read, her lips pressed together. “I can’t tell them everything. Not the way I can with you.” Rolling onto her back, she looked up at the ceiling. “I still don’t know what it’s actually supposed to be like. Do you?”

“Know what?”

“Love. What it’s supposed to be like.”

“Nah.” He wiped a glittery smudge of eyeshadow off her cheek. “I’m a no-strings gal. Emotionally stunted. The field in which I grow my romantic notions is barren.”

“Wow.” Melody took a deep, shuddering breath. A tiny smile crossed her face. “Stone-cold.”

“That’s me,” Laurel said, something shivering in his lower belly. He was lying to her again. The truth was, he had been in love before. Disastrously, whole-heartedly in love. But it had happened so long ago. And it had been brief, and stupid, and not worth burdening her with. “Want to get out of here?”

“With this thing?” She made a pouty face, picking her right foot up and stomping it against the carpet. “I can’t go anywhere.”

“I could carry you. Or get you one of those jaunty little carts?”

Melody rolled her eyes, but she was smiling for real now, and Laurel felt his heartbeat slow, the warmth come back into his hands and feet. He hadn’t been holding his breath, but it felt like he had. “Let’s just stay in. We can order food and watch old movies.”

“Musicals?”

“You know it.”

Laurel hoisted himself up onto the couch. “Only if you let me sing the high parts.”

Later, as the credits of West Side Story were rolling and they had both had a good cry and had agreed, as they always did, that Rita Moreno was the only woman either of them would make an exception for, Melody asked, “So what actually is going on with the party planner?”

“Nothing.” Her head was resting on his shoulder, and Laurel was glad he didn’t have to meet her eyes. He watched as the words scrawled across the screen, his vision blurry. In his mind he saw Casey looking down at him, lips parted, sweat standing out on his brow. Guilt lurched around in his stomach. “We’re keeping things professional,” he said.

“It’s not going to be awkward?”

He wanted to tell her. He didn’t want to bother her. He probably didn’t even deserve to confide in her, at this point. Laurel took a deep breath, feeling all of a sudden like he couldn’t get enough air. “I’m sure it will be, a little. But it’s fine.”

Melody looked up at him. “You can talk to me, you know. If you need to.”

He couldn’t. But he didn’t say that. He just put an arm around her shoulder, and pulled up another movie.