Remember When (Remember Trilogy #1) (21 page)

   Firstly, I couldn’t believe how Margie was talking to me. It’s not like we were bestest buddies or anything, but we’d always been friendly with each other over the years. Yet there she was, talking at me as if our friendship suddenly didn’t exist.

   Mostly, I was surprised at what she’d said about Trip and me. People thought we were a couple at one point? And they thought we’d broken up because I was holding out on him?

  
I was fairly shocked to find I was the subject of a very misinformed grapevine. God. Didn’t people have anything better to do with their time than talk shit about other people’s lives?

   I leaned against the counter across from Margie with my arms crossed, mirroring her same pose. I felt my anger rising like a heat wave up the back of my neck. Any minute, steam would start escaping from my ears.

   “First of all, you have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” I leaned forward, trying to seem intimidating, and aimed two fingers in her direction to continue, “And secondly, it’s none of your business!” I only half-registered that Lisa had entered the kitchen as I added, “What the hell is your problem tonight anyway? Are you serious?”

   Margie snorted back, “Are
you
? What, you think a guy like Trip enjoys your company so much, he’s willing to take cold showers every night?”

   What was up with her? What a psychopath!

   Before I could get over my astonishment and say a single word, Lisa piped up. “What do
you
care?”

   Margie actually had the bad taste to look smug as she said, “Well, I got to second with him, which was further than
her
.”

   Lisa snapped back, “Yeah, in front of everyone, trampoid. Too bad you skipped first, probably because he couldn’t risk taking the bag off your head.”

   Margie’s jaw dropped open, but she didn’t dare say anything back. She knew she’d been outmatched. She just gave a huff and stormed out of the room, leaving Lisa and me to look at each other in disbelief.

   I would have laughed, but I was still too taken aback to find any humor in the situation. I mean, Margie and I didn’t hang out every other minute, but we were sociable enough in school, and even if that weren’t the case, I thought she had acted entirely out of line. I didn’t know where the nasty streak was coming from.

   Two hours later, we saw her making out with Rymer in the hallway, so Lisa and I figured she must have just been completely drunk. Or on drugs. Or had survived a massive blow with a blunt object to her head.

   How else to explain not only the bad attitude toward me,
but the fact that she was hooking up with
Rymer
?

   Speaking of hooking up... Sargento and Heather seemed to be hitting it off, without any intervention from me or Lisa, so it was like they were meant to be. But even more unexpected was watching Cooper lavish attention on Heather’s friend Becca all night. I knew she’d had a crush on him forever and I couldn’t help thinking that if Coop hadn’t spent the better part of the past six months nursing my broken heart, those two could have gotten something going a lot sooner. Now, with only a summer left before we all went our separate ways, I felt like I’d robbed both of them the chance to actually give the relationship a real go.

   Standing there watching them gave me the smallest attack of jealousy. Not so much that Coop had finally gotten over me, but more because I’d spent my entire senior year basically single, in love with someone who would never see me as more than a friend. It was agony, but I was learning to deal with it, because I knew it was even more tortuous when Trip was totally cut out of my life. After half a year in that state, I’d already decided that having him as a friend was better than not having him at all.

   I felt an arm slip around my waist and turned my head to see Trip smiling behind me. How did I live the past months, not seeing him smile at me like that? I gave his arm a quick squeeze as he asked, “Having fun yet?”

   I could feel the length of his body pressed right up against mine from my shoulder to my calves. Yeah. I’d say I was having fun.

   “Yep. Another Rymer party. Fun, fun, fun.”

   He laughed and released me from our hug. “Jeez, Lay. That dress is something else. I almost feel like I should take you out of here to ah, you know...” then he leaned in to whisper, “go
dancing
.”

   Such a tease.

   I was thinking of calling him out for being a big flirt, but instead, the words that came out of my mouth were, “Actually, you think we could find somewhere to go talk?”

   He raised an eyebrow, almost mocking me for suggesting we “go talk”, which in high school world, was a euphemism for “make out”. But he saw the serious look on my face and must have
decided not to bust my chops. “Yeah, sure. I kinda figured you’d want to eventually. Let’s start saying goodbye while we polish of our drinks.”

   “Sounds like a plan.”

Chapter 26

GUILTY BY SUSPICION

   We’d decided to head back to his house, knowing that we’d have the place to ourselves. His sister and parents had gone into the city to have a late dinner in Mr. Wilmington’s new
TRU
hotel, which was slated for the grand opening in a few weeks.

   Since we only had about a three-minute ride, I decided not to get into any in-depth conversation until we hit the house. I was looking forward to getting rid of the awkwardness between us, hash out any lingering kinks about our standoff and get up to date on what we’d both been up to in our lives since then. As great as it was to have him back in my life, there was still this implicit unease that hung like a cloud over our friendship.

   When we pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t believe the house I was looking at. It was a huge, stone mansion with oversized windows and a steeply pitched roof, the sheer size of the massive structure dwarfing the surrounding pine trees.

   Trip’s voice broke my gawking. “Oh, shit. They’re home.”

   I noticed the Mercedes parked in front of the garage doors and wondered what the big deal was. I didn’t really see too much of a problem. The Wilmingtons lived in a mansion. I was sure we’d be able to find some privacy somewhere in the humongous house.

   I got out of the truck, saying, “Yeah, so?” and started to walk up to the front door, Trip asking, “Hey, you want to go to the diner or something instead?”

   I tossed over my shoulder, “What’s the matter, Chester? You don’t have anything to eat here?”

   He opened the door, saying, “You really gotta stop calling me that.”

   I laughed, then was immediately silenced by the sight of the foyer I was standing in. Easily the size of half my entire house, the room was three stories of white-painted federal paneling with an elaborate, curving staircase that reminded me of Twelve Oaks. I’d never seen anything so extravagant in real life, but I tried to sound unaffected when I remarked, “This place is a real shithole, huh.”

   He just rolled his eyes.

   I was going to ask which direction I should head in, when a light flicked on from the hallway upstairs and Mr. Wilmington’s voice yelled down. “Terrence, is that you?” It was easily two in the morning and I hoped that Trip’s parents were up because they’d just gotten home themselves, not because we’d woken them.

   Trip started to shuffle me into the next room, saying, “Yeah, Dad. It’s just me and Layla.”

   I shot Trip a guilty look, hoping he wasn’t going to get in trouble for bringing friends home in the middle of the night when his father chortled out, “Layla? The Warren whore’s girl? What’s
she
doing in our house?”

   I don’t know how long I stood in that foyer, my jaw dropped wide open and my eyes bugging out of my head, but it was probably no more than a second. It felt a lot longer. It felt like I’d been slapped.

   Trip looked as though he’d been punched in the stomach. His posture deflated instantaneously at the burden of his father’s words. He turned toward me, all broken empathy, but I was only able to catch his eye for an instant before making a break for the front door.

   I flew down the front steps and bolted down the walkway, my only goal to get as far away from the scene as possible, when I suddenly realized I had nowhere to go. Trip drove me there
and I was miles from home. I didn’t even have the comfort and sanctuary of my own car to assist in the escape.

   I ran the length of the long driveway, my heart beating wildly even though it felt as though my blood had frozen in my veins.

   When I hit the iron gate near the street, I stopped running. I sank to the ground at the curb, the full force of Mr. Wilmington’s words sinking in and finding purchase.

   Whore.

   I guess I always knew that there had to be whisperings around town about my mother. Norman’s a small town, after all. But the fact was, up until that point, no one had ever been so blunt as to actually say anything to me about it. I’d been suffering under the delusion that maybe, just maybe, everyone
didn’t
know the whole story.

   People always describe small towns as
quaint
or
cozy
or
familiar
. “You know who your neighbors are,” they always seemed to say. But what you won’t find depicted in a Norman Rockwell painting is how cruel those same neighbors can be. I suppose living in a small town isn’t for those that have something to hide. I guess that realization is what made my mother finally leave.

   At the time, I remember being so grateful that at least my father chose to keep the family right where we were instead of uprooting us and moving away. But I can’t imagine what he must have endured in order to do so. Aside from the ghost of his wife that lurked in every familiar corner of town, he had to deal with the sewing circles, the store owners and the PTO. All those wagging tongues and “tsk, tsk, tsks” behind his back had to drive him batty. Oh, sure, there was sympathy. But I guess sympathy takes a backseat to a juicy bit of gossip any day of the week around here.

   Where did those people get off? Wasn’t it enough that my poor father was left to raise my brother and me all by himself? That Bruce and me were suddenly motherless? That the three of us had to endure the guilt, the unanswered questions, the
hole
that my mother left behind when she went away?

  
Whore.

   Of
course
that’s all anyone thought about my mother. Why wouldn’t they?

   No one knew her as I did, for too brief a time, dancing in the kitchen or frosting a lopsided birthday cake or singing showtunes at the top of her lungs to wake me up in the morning. The way she’d stand at the window and open the shades, the morning sun backlighting her honey hair and making her look like an angel.

   No. To Mr. Wilmington and most likely the entire town, Kate Warren’s entire existence can be summed up in one word:
whore
.

   I swiped my arm across my dampened face and looked down at what I was wearing; unexpectedly assessing my clothes with new, albeit blurred eyes. Suddenly, my dress seemed too short, the sleeveless top showed too much shoulder. I loved that dress only a few short hours ago, but Mr. Wilmington’s outburst had me feeling overly self-conscious. Exposed.

   Whore.

   I heard Trip’s sneakers pounding against the blacktop and coming to a stop at my back. He blew out a heavy breath and silently sank onto the grass behind me.

   I didn’t lift my face from my hands.

   “It’s true
,” I said.

   “What?”

   “It’s true,” I reiterated before explaining. “About my mother. What your father said. That she’s... she’s a...”

   “Layla, stop it.”

   I lifted my head, but I still couldn’t find it in me to turn and look him in the face. “No. I told you my mother wasn’t around, but you don’t know the whole story. She
left
us, Trip! She was probably screwing half the town when finally, she just up and left us for one of her boyfriends. And everyone knows it. Including your father.”  

   “My
father
is an
asshole
.”

   “Yeah, well, he may be an asshole, but at least he’s still around. At least he’s still
here
.”

   “Oh, you think that’s
better
?”

   “Better than being left behind?
Better than watching your father overcompensate every single day because he’s trying to make up for whatever part he
thinks
he played in her leaving? Better than being left to deal with the fallout of my mother’s
stellar
reputation? Yeah. I think that’s better.”