She Dims the Stars (9 page)

“Bite me,” he responds.

Elliot shoots me a grin and laughs silently as he grips the wheel tighter.

“Fine! Fine. Let’s do this. Anna Kendrick …” I offer.

Cline perks up. “Yeah?”

“Kendrick Lamar. Lamar Odom.”

“I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns,” Cline says.

“You flatter me so, Cline Somers. You really do.” I blow him a kiss. He, in turn, pretends to catch it and rolls down the window to throw it away.

The car begins to slow, and all joy slowly fades from my body as if I can feel it leaking out of my veins through my fingertips into the open air. Ruth Dewitt’s mini mansion comes into view, and Elliot almost brings the car to a complete stop as he faces me.

I move my hand to tell him to keep moving forward. “Don’t look so shocked. This is it. You’re in the right driveway. Go ahead and pull up and then just go around the loop and park on the left where you see the other cars. I think that’s where the maids and other people park.” I don’t know this for sure, but it seems like the most logical explanation, because there are old Hondas and a Toyota Tercel sitting there today.

I know that’s not what Ruth would drive. If she drives herself at all.

“We should have dressed nicer,” Cline says from the backseat.

“She won’t let us inside. I don’t think it will matter.” I tell him quietly.

Elliot parks as I’ve instructed and turns to look at me. “Do you even have a plan? What are you going to do if she doesn’t let you in?”

I run my fingers through my hair and wipe at the mascara under my eyes, hoping I haven’t smeared anything. “She’s a lady. The least she could do is let me use the bathroom.”

“Powder room. Say powder room. Be
fancy
.” Cline is leaning across the console now so he can look up at the top of the house through the windshield. “Holy shit. Too bad she hates your guts.”

“Yep.” I grab my purse and exit the car. Once outside, I rummage around and find the flowered bag within, locate the correct orange bottle, pop the top and slip a yellow pill onto my tongue quickly, then swallow. I should have done it at least twenty minutes ago, but I wasn’t expecting to be this overwhelmed.

Too late now.

The place is huge. Fountain out front in the circular driveway. Full staircase leading to the wraparound porch. Two stories with pillars running the length of both. It’s essentially the cover of a V.C. Andrews book without the seduced cousin staring out of the upper window in a rainstorm.

I count my steps on the driveway and then count the stairs on the way up. There are no creaking boards as I cross the porch, and once I make it to the door, I pause. I can’t believe I’ve actually made it this far. I know I’m crazy, but this is legitimately insane. I should have called Cara first. There is a moment of hesitation where I think maybe I should walk away, but before my brain can stop my hand, it’s raised, and my finger is pressing the doorbell. There’s a booming bell chiming throughout the expanse of the house.

My instinct is to run, but my feet are firmly planted as if they’re glued to these white-painted wooden planks.

A voice inside my head is assuring me that she won’t be the one to answer the door. Surely she has a person for that type of thing. It would be too low of her to open the door for—

“Can I help you?”

I take a step back under her scrutiny. She’s smaller than I imagined, as I’ve built her up to be a larger-than-life evil villain in my head. We’re about the same height, give or take the three inches of silver hair she has elegantly piled atop her head. She’s dressed formally like she’s about to attend an early dinner.

My voice is gone.

Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step back, her slipper-covered feet not making a sound as the floral skirt of her dress sways around her ankles. All I see is a bunch of green.

“Ruth Dewitt?” It’s all I can manage before she shuts the door in my face.

It cracks back open again, and she purses her lips. “Yes. Again, can I help you?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so overwhelmed. I can’t remember the last time I saw you. It’s me. Audrey.” There’s a strange ringing in my ears, and the tips of them have gone red hot. I can’t feel the ends of my fingertips.

Her posture goes rigid, and her face pales as she takes me in with one long look. “Please leave my property.”

“Grandma—“

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry. I apologize. Look, I know you don’t want anything to do with me, and I can live with that. Really. But I’m twenty one now, and I just want to know about my mom. Patrick doesn’t ever talk about her, and I don’t know
anything
. You’re the only person who I thought could possibly give me any information on her. What she was like. Who she was.” My voice cracks and I try to tuck away the bit of desperation I’m starting to show.

“She was a wonderful daughter until she met your father. And then she died.”

I close my eyes when she says it, because I know what she’s implying. “I’m sorry. Would you please just give me five minutes of your time?”

Ruth’s eyes flick to a huge grandfather clock standing in the hallway to my right, just in my line of vision. “I have a dinner. Today is not a good day.”

I nod. “I understand. I did come a very long way, though. Would you mind if I used your powder room?”

The look of distrust in her eyes would destroy anyone else, but I’ve experienced much worse. And I’m simply putting on a show to gain entry into this house. Stooping to conquer, if you will. She only nods the slightest bit and then moves out of the way to let me pass.

“You’ll have to use the one upstairs. The one down here is being renovated.”

I take the stairs two at a time and locate the one she has mentioned, turn on the light and fan, close the door, and step back out into the hallway. There are multiple doors on each side of the hall, and I tentatively open each one, hoping not to make a sound as I try to figure out which room used to be my mother’s. It’s nerve wracking trying to be quiet, keeping my footsteps light, listening out for her to come barreling down the hallway, calling me a heathen and throwing holy water at me.

I’m disheartened each time a door reveals another room that is nothing more than a guest room, an office, or storage. And then I see it—the last room at the very end of the hallway. Opening it is like stepping back in time. The walls are a faded yellow wallpaper with little embossed canaries all over it. The bedspread has massive flowers embroidered everywhere, and a crocheted blanket of contrasting colors hangs off the side of four-poster bed. Framed concert posters adorn the wall, and pictures are tacked up on corkboard that’s aging and missing chunks.

There’s a suede fringed purse hanging from the back of her closet, a flower wreath sticking out of its pocket. I reach out to pull it down, and the closet door eases open enough for me to see plastic containers stacked inside the closet, arranged one on top of the other. All of them labeled: Wendy.

Wendy’s pictures.

Wendy’s drawings.

Wendy’s school papers.

Wendy’s books.

Wendy’s medical records.

I have no idea how long I’ve been in here. There’s no telling how much longer Ruth will buy me being in that bathroom. But I’ve just been handed a key to my mother’s entire existence, and I’m not about pass it up. I quickly open the one with the pictures first and grab a stack blindly, shoving them down into the purse I’ve now claimed as my own. I bypass the drawings and papers, and I’m about to move beyond the books to the medical records when I notice that the books in question aren’t
reading
books they’re journals. They’re
diaries
. With speed I can only assume is fueled by adrenaline, I jerk that drawer open and grab all of them, shoving them into the purse as well.

I’m just about to open the container holding the medical records when I hear my name being called. My heart lodges into my throat, realizing I’ve been caught. Ruth is banging on the bathroom door, and I jump to my feet, knocking over one of the bins in the process, sending a whole box of book reports scattering across my mom’s old bedroom floor.

The commotion sends Ruth running in the direction of the bedroom, and in a moment of panic, I lunge for the double windows and throw them open. Running out onto the balcony that my mother probably once stood upon, I debate whether or not to run or stay. I sling her purse over one shoulder then mine over the other and crawl over the railing.

It’s a short fall, but my life flashes before my eyes anyway, and I lose my breath upon impact. When I come to a few moments later, I am on the ground staring up at Ruth Dewitt shouting at me from the balcony that I’m from the devil, and I need to be cleansed of my sins. She’s calling for an exorcism. She’s practically screaming for a healing from my wicked ways.

All I can focus on are the purses bouncing at my sides as I round the corner of her house and wave my hands frantically while shouting for Elliot to start the car, because I’m one hundred percent sure she’s about to call the police.

Nags Head beach stretches out to my right, and the long pier extends into the waves on my left. Cline is out somewhere in town getting food, and Audrey sits between a couple of dunes as the sun begins to set in the sky The salt water carries in the wind, and I can feel it start to clump in my hair as I walk the edge of the shoreline, waiting.

I just have no idea what I’m waiting for.

She came tearing out of Ruth’s backyard, screaming for us to drive like she was in some kind of bank heist and had half a million dollars’ worth of jewels in her possession. The pure excitement and fear on her face made my heart slam into my sternum, and Cline started swearing, and then, suddenly, she was in the car and the front door was open, and there was yelling and I was driving. Tires squealing. I slammed my head into the top of the car. Cline went flying across the backseat and almost into the back of the Xterra. But all the while, Audrey just held onto the oh-shit handle, a huge smile on her face, and her other arm gripping onto an old bag full of what I now know is a bunch of journals and pictures of her mom.

She’s been in the dunes for over an hour looking through them, and while she’s calmed down, she hasn’t spoken at all, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to approach her or not. This is what we came for. We figured the beach was the best place to go, so we headed that way, and I’ve been on the edge of the water ever since, hoping the cops don’t show up. They haven’t yet.

Audrey’s face is downcast, partly hidden behind the tall grasses in the dunes and the shadows that are starting to form as the sun sets. Her skin glows orange from the distant burning of the last rays of the sun, and I take in her posture as she sits cross legged and shoeless in the sand. Her long black skirt is bunched up over her knees and covered in soft white sand, her teal v-neck t-shirt hangs open as she reads over the books scattered around her. I’ve walked closer and am staring, like I do. It’s a thing my mom says I’ve done my entire life: I’m a people watcher.

It’s probably why I’m good at making molds and creatures, characters and profiles for games. I catch the subtle things about people that others might just overlook or discount. I store them away, because the little things are what make up the whole of a person.

This girl pulls at her clothes unconsciously, especially around her stomach, like she’s never exactly comfortable in her own skin. She’s wearing a bracelet made of soda can tops and elastic today, and as she reads, she alternates between tucking her hair behind her ears and fussing with the aluminum against her skin. She’s always moving.

“Hey, girl,” I say as I approach and watch her jump slightly, her head rolling upward to acknowledge me. “Are you from Tennessee?”

She laughs and shakes her head, then closes the journal in her lap and stretches her legs out, letting her skirt fold down a little as she points her toes out. She pats the sand next to her and then wipes her hands off on her knees. “Am I the only ten you see, Elliot?”

“Damnit, you beat me to it.” I sit down next to her and pull my knees to my chest, resting my arms on top of them as I gaze out at the ocean and the last remnants of the sunset.