Graham (Scandalous Boys Book 2) (10 page)

“Well, who was the girl?” one of her friends asks as I slowly make my way up the driveway and pretend to be interested in a stack of mail currently in my hands.

“You know that niece of the Issacs who moved in? With the criminal parents?”

All the ladies nod, and I stop dead in my tracks. “She and her friend were in the hospital. The Issacs’ girl was released, but the other is still there. My friend Nancy had to tell the paper all about it. But if you ask me, anyone who has those types of parents is bound to be a load of trouble. The girl probably deserved what she got.”

I clench my fists. She deserved to be poisoned? Who the hell says something like that? Bitter old hag doesn’t even know Sarah! She’s sweet and funny. She hates what her parents did. She said the worst part was that she’d had no clue. It was the very night Madison ripped into her about all the fancy clothes she wore. She cried in my arms and told me she knew what the clothes represented to others, but to her it was the only thing she had left of her parents. Her past life. And I got it. That doesn’t make her a bad person.

So when I found out she was seeing Ryan on the side it had crushed me. Because she just didn’t seem like the type to hurt people. But I guess she did do mean things to Madison—a lot of mean things. Even so, that doesn’t mean she deserves to be poisoned by anyone.

I get into my car and speed off to the hospital.

***

“Hi. I’m looking for a patient. Sarah Morris?”

“Sorry, we don’t have anyone in here under that name, sir,” the nice receptionist tells me.

“Okay. She wasn’t here with another girl?”

“Well, she’s not showing up as a patient. I’m sorry I can’t be of more use to you.”

I shake my head. “Look, I know she was in here. Just call it a reliable source. Please, can’t you give me any information?”

“No. I cannot. I’m sorry. You can wait in the waiting room, or you can leave the hospital.”

I walk toward the waiting room and try calling Sarah. I get voicemail once again. I slink into a chair and run my fingers through my hair, pulling at the scalp. A guy who sounds just as frustrated as me snaps my attention back. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on with her?”

“I’m sorry. We don’t have any new information for you.”

He turns away looking like he wants to throw his fist through a wall. I feel the same way. “All about saving lives, huh? But you leave out the part where you hoard information!” he shouts. He looks over at me and frowns. “Sorry. I’m really tired.”

“No worries, man. I’m dealing with the same thing. Them not telling me anything.”

“Yeah?” He shakes his head. “I get it. I do. But damn it! It’s frustrating as hell not knowing if she’s okay.”

I nod. “I know. My friend was in here, but they don’t have a record of her checking in. But she’s not at home. Or at her work. She’s not at her school. And someone placed her here late last night with another girl. I just want to know what happened to her.”

His brown eyes study me for a second. “What’s your name?”

“Graham. Yours?”

“Logan. You wouldn’t happen to know Red, would you?”

“Who?”

He laughs. “Sorry, I call her Red because of her hair. Um … Sarah. Her real name is Sarah.”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Is that who you’re looking for?”

I nod. “Do you know where she is?”

“She’s currently getting me and herself a round of coffee from the Starbucks in the cafeteria. She mentioned you last night.”

“What do you mean? Did you do something to them?” My voice raises to a deep growl.

He shrinks back. “No, man! I brought them here. I picked them up from a frat party. Both of them were out of it. Mostly Crystal. If I didn’t think she was on the verge of dying, I would have went into that damn house and kicked every fucking prick in the ass!”

“So, Sarah?”

“She’s recovering nicely from a horrible hangover. Crystal, on the other hand, is not faring so well. She was slipped a high dose of a date-rape drug. And possibly something else. These dicks won’t tell me anything else. Hell, they won’t let me see her.”

“Sorry, man.”

Her scent hits me first. Then Sarah hands a cup of coffee to Logan. An overwhelming sensation of joy fills me. She’s okay. At least she looks okay. I sigh in relief, but this doesn’t last long as her glare lands on me. She folds her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?”

“He came to see you,” Logan answers.

“Well, you shouldn’t have. Go home. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Sarah,” I say.

“No. Go home. I don’t want to do this with you. You’re like a roller coaster, Graham. And I’ve been on enough of those this past year. I don’t want to ride anymore. Do you understand?”

I nod. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Reluctantly, I leave.

Chapter Sixteen

Sarah

It’s for the best.
I keep telling myself this. So what if it’s a white lie to get over him?

I pull into the driveway and stare at the place I now call home. My uncle is outside on a ladder stringing up lights, while Auntie Heather is holding on to the bottom of it. I get out of my car, and she turns at the sound of my door shutting. “Hi, honey. Can you get the mail for me?”

“Sure.”

I head across the street, where our mailbox is. Bryce’s mom is going through her stack of letters when I approach. “Hello, Sarah.”

“Hi.”

She flips through some more letters. A bout of wind blows, causing her mail to spring free. As the white envelopes fly and land in different places, she drops to the ground to retrieve some of them. I help her gather the rest.

I unravel one from Mr. Larson’s bush, another stuck between a car rim and tire, and the last in Miss Adams’s grass. As I’m walking back, I notice what look to be poker chips rolling toward me. I bend down and pick them up.

“I believe you dropped these,” I say. “And here’s your mail.”

“Thank you. These are very important.” She takes the chips from me with a smile. Then the mail. She shoves the chips in her purse along with her letters.

“I’d imagine so. Although I’ve never seen poker chips like that before.” I grab our mail and glance over at Ms. Matthews, who is laughing. “What’s so funny?” I ask.

She and I walk back across the street as she answers, “These are my sobriety chips.”

“Oh.”
Wait, what?
Bryce’s mom is an addict of some sort? No. She seems so normal and put together. Aren’t they usually dingy and, well, I don’t know, hair all frizzy?

She continues to smile. “It’s okay. I’m not ashamed. I’m an alcoholic, and each day I’m facing my problem head-on.”

“Ms. Matthews, not be nosy, but do you think I can talk to you about this? I have an assignment for school about certain behaviors. I’m doing research using books, but having insight from a person would really help me. I’d understand if you don’t want to though. Please feel free to say no if it’s not something you want to do.”

We reach the sidewalk. She turns toward her house. She’s going to say no. What was I thinking? Who would want to talk about their struggles and problems? No one. They certainly wouldn’t want to share them with a person who lives next door to them.

I’m just about to take it all back when she says, “Are you free in twenty minutes?”

“Really? Oh, goodness. You have no idea how much this will help. Thank you so much. I’ll be right over. Unless you want to do this somewhere else?”

“My house is fine. See you in a little bit.”

Yes!
Maybe some good will come out of this day after all.

***

This is the first time I’ve been inside Karen Matthews’s house. It’s actually quite charming. The mantel holds pictures of Bryce as a child all the way to his senior photo. In some of the childhood pictures, there’s not only Bryce, but Graham and Madison too.

I stare at the one with a tree house in the background. Graham is holding what looks to be a wooden sword against Madison’s neck. She looks as if she’s laughing about it. Bryce, however, is glaring at Graham. The picture is really worth a thousand words, because if anyone saw this they’d know exactly what was making Bryce scowl. And poor Madison is obviously oblivious to Bryce’s feelings.

“Here’s a water,” Karen says, pulling my attention away from the photos.

“Thanks.” I smile at her.

She takes a seat on the couch. “Well, how would you like to start?”

“Oh, um … is it okay if I ask some questions and you answer them the best you can?”

She nods. “I can do that. Ask away.”

I pull my notebook from my bag, which I abandoned on the couch. Once I’m on the page of questions, I begin, “In your own words, can you tell me how you might have found yourself in this situation?”

“You mean how I became an alcoholic?”

I nod.

“Well, it’s never planned. Not like marriage. Or a dream job. It’s not something where anyone says, ‘Hey, later in life I plan on being drunk all the time.’” She laughs. I smile because that’s the only thing I think would be appropriate right now. “Before Bryce, my ex and I did everything. We met in college. I thought he was the love of my life. And at the time, he was. Anyway, we did everything. He got a great job. We got married when we were more secure. We traveled all over. Never fought. Not even about paint colors. Which I guess is a red flag. You have to bicker a little. That’s how you keep a spark.”

She winks at me. “A few years later, we had Bryce. I thought everything was perfect. But Ned started working more hours. Barely came home for dinner. I didn’t dwell on it. Not at first. I thought he was doing all of this because I wasn’t working. When I got a job though, the long office hours didn’t stop. One night I opened up one of our vintage bottles. The good wine we got on our many trips traveling Europe.”

I frown. It sort of reminds me of my parents. They didn’t distance themselves from me until I was about ten though. Before that, we were close-knit. We went on trips, saw movies, explored museums, and it was awesome. Then they started doing less and less with me. Our nanny/housekeeper, Miss Kimble, was my company. Until I turned sixteen, then I no longer needed her watching over me. Not really.

“Are you okay, Sarah? You look upset.”

I shake myself from my thoughts. “I’m fine. I’m sorry your husband acted like that.”

She nods. “Thank you. But I believe everything happens for a reason. Even our greatest downfalls.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a testament of your own strength. If you can reach the darkest pits of yourself and still rise up from it, you come out ten times stronger. It’s all how we handle things. For instance, take my drinking problem. I know it’s going to be my test every day. But as long as I stay sober, then I’m conquering it.

I scribble down her story as she tells it. “Alcohol was a coping mechanism for dealing with your marriage?” I ask as I jot down more notes.

“Yes.” Karen says as she pours me some tea. “Like I said, it wasn’t a planned thing. I didn’t wish to fail at marriage or drink my woes away. It happened, though. And I’m slowly dealing with it each day.”

“How does Bryce handle this? I mean, he’s affected by it too, yes?”

“He is. He told me I had a problem. In fact, he had an intervention with me and my boyfriend, Dave. They sat me down and told me I had a problem and needed to fix it. Not everyone wants to hear that. But what they really don’t want to hear is if they don’t fix it there will be consequences that will follow shortly. Bryce told me he would never speak to or see me ever again if I didn’t fix it. That I could live in this house all by myself. Dave said the same thing. I couldn’t bear the thought of that happening. An empty life is my breaking point. I entered myself into rehab and then started going to AA meetings.”

“Do you feel you’re cured?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll never be cured. I constantly have to fight my battle. When I’m out at dinner, a nice glass of wine with the meal sounds great. But I can’t. One glass will lead me down a path I can’t come back from.”

Chapter Seventeen

Graham

“Graham, I need you to run to the store.”

“Mom, I can’t.” I start to step past her, but she latches on to my arm and jerks me back into the kitchen.

She hands me a huge list and an envelope full of cash. “I need you to go shopping for me. I won’t have time. Between cleaning this house, work, and the few errands I have in town, I don’t have time. You can do it after your meeting.”

She has no idea I’ve sworn to myself that I won’t go to any of the places where Sarah is. And since Sarah works at the grocery store, it’s off limits. I’m doing this for her. As much as it may kill me. She said she didn’t want to see me again, and I don’t blame her.

My main goal now is to serve my time, leave, and not get Sarah involved. It’s simple enough. But my mom is throwing a fucking wrench in those plans.

I take the stupid list and money and stomp out of the house. Mrs. Mayberry glares at me as I make my way to my car. I almost flip her off just to rile up her pruned ass. “I see you’re following in your friend’s footsteps after all,” she chirps.

“My friend?”

“That Matthews kid. Which jail is he at? I didn’t see it mentioned in the paper. But I haven’t seen him around town either.”

I raise a brow. “That’s because he’s not in jail, you nibby bitch!” Yep, I totally lost all my willpower to not let this old bitter woman get under my skin. She managed to, and now there’s no backing down from it.

She gasps, as if I smacked her in the face. She points a boney, wrinkled finger at me. “You have turned into one horrible boy, Graham Nichols.”

“And you shouldn’t talk about people as if you know them. Bryce, by the way, is working on an engineering degree at the University of Pittsburgh. But that’s what small-minded people like you will never get.”