Higher Ground (3 page)

“Holy shit. You’re serious,” he said.

“She’s had the same clientele for forty-five years. Now their kids and grandkids see her. There are a few vacationers from the old days who drop in whenever they’re in town.”

“I guess you can’t get away with shit, huh? That must suck.”

“Miss Verity tries to let us live our lives. I remember a worried look once when I was twelve. She’d been studying my hand in the back seat on our way to the airport for vacation. Other than that, she’s never offered and I’ve never asked.”

He asked me to share some of her scariest predictions, and by that, he meant the most accurate. Talking about her took my mind off the constant guilt over Van, the nervousness of being so close to Oliver, and the boredom that spending my free time with dead people had induced. I told him story after story as we walked. Occasionally, he’d stop to take a picture of something, listening to me ramble next to him. He didn’t miss a word, though. He asked questions and laughed, and when I told him I needed to get home, he stayed with me until we were back in Uptown, standing at the end of my block.

“Can I take your picture?” he asked. I’d been expecting a “goodbye” or maybe an “it was good to see you again,” but not that particular request.

I swallowed down a nervous lump and nodded. “Sure.” The smile I managed was bigger outside than in, but I stared at my shoes until I heard the click.

“I’ll see you later, Violet.” He turned to leave before I had the chance to look up.

“Thank you,” I said to his back. “For the coffee and beignets.”

He turned, grinned, and nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Miss Verity was waiting by the door when I walked in that afternoon. “You’ve been gone for a while,” she said, glancing at me in question.

“I know. I lost track of time.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” she said. “Now I can catch a small nap before dinner.”

I ended up doing the same thing, sleeping until the heat from the afternoon sun and the kitchen beneath my room combined to wake me. Covered in sweat, with my hand tucked into my panties, my first thought was of the dream I’d just had about a boy I barely even knew.

My father’s voice boomed up the stairs to announce dinner around the same time I stepped out of the shower and onto my bathmat. The rest of the family was already seated at the dining room table when I took my place next to my mother. My parents made small talk about a farmers market they stopped at on the way home, but they avoided any mention of Van’s therapy session, the reason they’d been out in the first place.

“How was your day, Violet?” my mother asked midway through dinner.

“It was good. I met an old—”

The sound of the front door opening caused all of us to turn our heads. A few moments later, my sister, Veronica, walked into the room. “Is there any food left?” she asked. “I’m starving.”

Miss Verity left us to make a plate, and Ronnie sat down next to my father.

“Where were you last night?” he asked.

“At Bryan’s. I wasn’t feeling well. I found out why today.” My parents looked at each other and then at her. “I’m pregnant.”

Van dropped his fork, and it clanged against his plate before it landed in his lap.

“Son of a bitch!” my father yelled. His hand smacked the table, causing me to steady the glass of tea in front of me.

Van and I got up quickly and practically ran to get out of the room.

“Holy shit,” he said when we reached the stairs.

Ronnie’s voice blended with Dad’s, and before we could make it to our rooms, Mom and Miss Verity had joined the fuss.

“Do you think they’ll kill her?” I asked, only half-joking. Ronnie had just finished her second year of college, and a baby was the last thing they expected.

“Would it be a double homicide if they did?” he countered.

“Probably a triple. Bryan’s as good as dead.”

No one died that night. The only casualty had been my parents’ dream for my sister’s future. Bryan was in the Navy and had just gotten word he was being transferred to Fort Worth. Ronnie had agreed to marry him and was leaving. Van and I sat at the top of the stairway and listened to life as we knew it blow up around us. Again.

“Who did you run into?” Van whispered during a lull in the shouting. The look I gave him was blank enough that he felt a need to continue. “During dinner, you were saying you ran into someone today.”

“Just an old friend.” I shook my head when the voices below us rose again. “It doesn’t matter.”

He didn’t push. None of them ever did. In the grand scheme of our family, I was the boring one. Nothing I did really mattered.

Wade helps me up, leaving the mess on the floor and the book in the center of it. He guides me to the bed and lies down next to me so we’re facing each other. My cheeks ache, and my breath is halted by sniffles every so often. Silently, he stares and waits for me to say something more.

It’s rare for me to talk about my past, so when I do, Wade clings to every word. Before tonight, I’d never spoken to him about what happened to my brother all those years ago.

“Van called today.” My voice is rough, nasally, and sounds like it belongs to someone else. “He and Corey got married in Chicago this past weekend.”

Wade smiles and lifts a hand to brush my hair away from my face. “That’s good.”

“Mom’s throwing a reception next Friday… in New Orleans.”

“Okay.” He nods, running his finger down and across my jaw. “I’ll see what I can do. I told you earlier that we’re short-staffed, but I’ll try to switch my vacation days around.”

I glance at the clock on the bedside table behind him and see it’s a little after 8:00. “What happened with Kevin? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” He gives me a small smile and glances at his watch. “It’s late. We should eat.”

I let him tug me closer for a hug. His lips rest against my forehead, and I take a moment to breathe him in—soap, cologne, and vanilla mint gum. My fingers twist in the back of his shirt.

Maybe if I can keep him here, skin to skin, we’ll be safe in our bed, in our home, in this world we’ve made together. Atlanta’s the only thing that matters. New Orleans was a long time ago.

“We’ll stay here,” he says. “We have stuff for sandwiches and salads, or if you still want to catch the movie, we can grab something to eat at the theater.” He shrugs. “It’s up to you.”

“I want to stay home, maybe hear more about this mysterious meeting.”

He glances at the closet. “Do you want me to…?”

“I’ll get it later.”

He gets up first, prompting me to follow. Hand in hand, we walk down the hall to the kitchen. None of the lights are on, but I can see his backpack is next to the door, the keys are on the bar, and the beloved Braves coat is hanging haphazardly from the back of the couch.

“I got worried when you didn’t answer your phone or any of my texts,” he says, hitting the switch on the wall next to the stove. We’re bathed in soft light, a contrast to the espresso-finished cabinets. He goes for the plates, takes two, and sends me to my favorite stool at the bar.

“I turned it off. I wasn’t in the mood for my mom or Ronnie.”

He nods as he cleans fresh spinach and slices tomatoes. He then finds the bread before taking deli meat and condiments from the fridge. “So…”

I don’t want to answer questions about Oliver or what I just told Wade in the closet. “Yeah… The meeting. How did it go?”

He stops what he’s doing to give me a long look. I’m avoiding, and he knows it. His lips press together, firm in disapproval, but he answers. “It was good. They’re posting a position tomorrow for a production manager in Image and Sound. Kevin wanted to give me a heads up and offer a recommendation.”

For a moment, I’m frozen in place. It’s not for long, though, because this is a huge deal. I desert my stool and hurry around the corner to join him in the kitchen.

“That’s fantastic!” I hug him and feel the tears threaten again—the good kind.

“It’s not a done deal. I have to apply like everyone else.” He ducks his head, temporarily bashful. His arms hold me against him, reassuring me and loving me.

“You’ll get it.” I take a step back and nod. I know it as surely as I know the sky’s blue and tomorrow’s Friday. Every now and then, I’m my grandmother’s descendent. I can’t predict or pretend to understand the things she does, but sometimes, the universe kicks me in the gut.

Premonition aside, Wade’s brilliant and more dedicated to his corner of the newsroom than anyone else in the game. He deserves this. It’s everything he’s been working for.

“It would mean a raise,” he says, keeping our fingers entwined and our palms pressed together.

We’ve talked about raises and promotions, about bigger apartments, rings, and promises I’m too afraid to want. I’m the last one standing. My parents and siblings are all effectively coupled up with permanent plus ones. Wade would’ve put a ring on my finger two years ago if I’d let him.

Marriage is a big word and an even bigger deed, so we moved in together in the meantime. Our pace has been a little slower than almost everyone else around us, but it’s ours. Plus, my brother just got married. Van needs some time to bask in the glow of that spotlight.

“When is all of this happening?” I ask.

He leans down to kiss the corner of my mouth. “After the holidays, late February.”

“I’m so excited for you. You deserve this.”

“Stop,” he says, tugging me forward into his arms again. “Are you okay?” His head dips, and he brushes his lips over my ear. “Really okay?”

“I’m okay.” I nod, close my eyes, and let my head rest against the crook of his neck. “It’s been a while since I’ve been… home.” That word is foreign on my tongue now when I think of New Orleans. My home is right here in this apartment with Wade.

My stomach growls, spurring him into action. “I know it’s not much,” he says, gesturing to the sandwiches and salad he’s thrown together for us.

“It’s perfect.”

We use thick paper plates and eat on the living room floor while watching TV. He doesn’t bring up what happened in the closet, and neither do I. Instead, I try to focus on things that matter, like our schedule leading up to Christmas next week.

“Tomorrow night, we have the ballet with Wren and Nick,” I say. “Saturday morning, we leave for Savannah for Christmas with your parents. Sunday night, we’re back home late so you can go to work Monday morning.”

He nods, chewing his food and his thoughts for a moment. “When do we need to be in New Orleans?”

A pause for a sip of water helps calm my shaking voice. “The reception’s Friday night.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t really answer my question.” His voice is gentle, but there’s an edge there, one born of curiosity.

“Van asked me to come down a few days early.”

He’s quiet for a few minutes. We finish our dinner, throw away the plates, and settle on the couch with the volume turned down on the TV. My head rests against his shoulder as I stare at our entwined fingers on his thigh.

“Since I have to work, you could leave Monday. Or you could rest Monday and leave Tuesday.”

My daydreams of long hours alone with him are dissipating, slipping right through my fingers. “Or I could wait and leave Thursday or even Friday morning—”

“Violet,” he says, using the tip of his finger to guide my chin until we’re eye to eye. “I don’t understand what’s going on. You were…” He shakes his head. “Please talk to me.”

“I want to be with you,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about you nonstop for weeks, excited about this break and your vacation. And I love my brother—you know I love Van—but I don’t want to go to New Orleans. I want to go to Ronnie’s house and the beach. I…”

I don’t want to go to New Orleans. I don’t. It’s childish and selfish, but I made my choice back then. Those old wounds were still new and raw not all that long ago. It’s a different life, one I didn’t choose and don’t want to visit.

“Don’t you want to see Miss Verity?” he asks.

Out of everyone, I miss her the most. I talk to her at least once a week. Most of the time, it’s more than once. The arthritis in her hands prevents texting, not that she’s really a fan of modern technology, and she hates computers, emails, and anything high tech. She kept a rotary telephone in her bedroom until it died completely about three years ago.

“You know I do.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket and searches flights from Atlanta to New Orleans. “Here,” he says. “Southwest has a flight around 9:00 on Tuesday. We can buy it right now, and when I know what my travel plans will be, you can book your return.”

“You want me to leave without you?”

“I hope you won’t have to, but at least you’ll have a ticket this way.”

He fills in the blanks on the airline’s site while I leave him momentarily to get my purse and credit card. So much for starting the year debt-free. When the reservation’s confirmed and it’s a done deal, he puts away his phone to hold me, turns up the TV’s volume, and leans back against the cushion of the couch, taking me with him.

I wake up the next morning in our bed and still in my clothes. Wade’s arm is tight around my waist, and his face is buried in my neck. I steal a few moments of peacefulness, letting his breath warm my skin and his touch ease my mind, until I remember the mess of my old life scattered across our closet floor.

After untangling from his embrace and a quick trip to the restroom, I decide to put the past back in the corner where it belongs. The notes and keepsakes fit neatly into the box, but the book’s another story. I have no idea what to do with it. I’m also too tired to decide, so I add it to a stack of others on the bookshelf on my way back to bed.

As much as I want to go back to sleep, thoughts of that one-way ticket and the fear of walking into my brother’s reception alone keep me awake. Considering the way she was robbed of doing anything at all for my sister when she got married, I can only imagine how over the moon my mother must be. I’ve never considered myself needy in this relationship, but I want the man I love, my partner, there with me to celebrate my little brother getting married.

Wade’s gone and the sheets are cold on his side of the bed when I wake up again later in the morning, so I must’ve dozed off sometime before his alarm went off. Instead of spending all day under the covers like I’d originally planned, I head to school, spend my morning grading yesterday’s finals, and input scores into the system. It’s a good excuse to keep my phone off and in my purse. There won’t be time for much between my trip to Savannah and my departure to New Orleans, so it’s worth a few hours now to complete all of my obligations to Georgia Tech before the madness starts.

On the way home, I stop at Lenox to buy the green dress I decided against yesterday. It may have been too flashy for tonight, but it’s perfect for a wedding reception two days before Christmas. It’s bold in a way I’ll need to be.

During the train ride home, I turn on my phone, dismiss the text and missed call alerts, and toss it into my purse. Service is spotty on the MARTA, but even if it weren’t, I wouldn’t be able to hear or have a real conversation. It’s no surprise to feel a vibration against my side after I’ve made it into the apartment and closed the door behind me.

I drape the dress bag over one of the kitchen chairs and dig around in my purse until I find my phone.

“Miss Verity,” I answer, not having glanced at the screen. She’s always been able to tell when I need her. I could move a hundred thousand miles away, and that wouldn’t change.

“Well, hey, sugar,” she says. Her voice doesn’t sound any different or weaker, and that’s a relief. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, ma’am.” I sink onto the sofa and pull a throw over my legs to warm them. “Perfect timing, as always.”

“I hear you’re coming home next week.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” I try to laugh and keep it light.

“Not this time,” she says. “How’s Wade?”

“He’s good. We’re meeting some friends at Fox Theatre for Atlanta Ballet’s
Nutcracker
tonight, and we leave for Savannah tomorrow morning.”

“A man who likes sports and ballet. He’s a keeper, sugar.”

She loves him almost as much as I do, I think. When I tell her about the job, she confirms my belief he’ll get it. She also seems confident he’ll be with me in New Orleans for Van’s reception, but that could just be her wishful thinking.

Since we’ll probably get home late tonight, I give up my spot on the couch to start packing. Miss Verity tells me about the gorgeous Christmas tree Mom picked out and decorated this year. She speaks of caterers and coordinators, wedding cakes and photographers, and that’s when the dread in the pit of my stomach returns. Of course there will be a camera in our faces all night long.

It’s another thing I’ve avoided for as long as I can remember.

“Are you okay, sugar?” she asks. “You sound distracted.”

“I’m packing while we talk. The next few days are going to be busy.”

“I won’t keep you. I just wanted to check in on you and say hello.”

“It’s fine,” I say, trying to keep her on the line to avoid silence and my own thoughts. “I can do both.”

“I have an appointment in a little while, anyway. I may have some tea and a snack before Glinda Harvey stops by.”

“Okay.” I add pajamas and underwear to the folded jeans and pants already in my suitcase. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You will.”

“I love you, Miss Verity.”

“Oh, honey.” Her voice catches and then grows soft. “I love you, too, and I’ve missed you so.”

The hardest part of staying away from home is missing my grandmother. My family calls me the “holiday” child, the one they see at Christmas and occasionally at Thanksgiving. Guilt settles on my chest as we end the call, and I admit to myself that this trip is long overdue.

After packing, a hot shower soothes the anxiety and helps me relax. Extra time spent on my hair and makeup pays off. The little black dress fits in all the right places, and big, soft curls frame my face. I’m debating dressy boots or heels when the sound of the apartment door closing makes me jump and cover my heart with my hand.

A moment later, Wade leans against the doorframe in our bedroom. “Hey.” His eyes study me from head to toe, and he pauses to stare at my feet. “Nice toes.” The corners of his lips turn up, and I forget all about my shoes. He’s still and calculating as he watches me walk toward him. Once I’m within arms’ reach, he pulls me close to press his lips against mine. “You’re gorgeous,” he says. “Let’s skip the ballet.” His teeth trail down my neck, stopping when they tease my bare shoulder.

“You’re home much earlier than I expected.” My eyes slip closed, and I hold on to his biceps to keep from easing back onto the bed. I worked way too hard to look this damn pretty. I always want him, but it’s going to have to wait, no matter how good his hard body feels in comparison to his soft mouth.