The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (108 page)

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I turned off her computer. As soon as the room went dark, a floorboard creaked behind me. I whipped around, heart in my throat, but again, there was no one there. Nothing but Cheyenne’s open closet.

I really was losing my mind, and this room wasn’t helping. I quickly got up and slipped back to my room, sliding silently under the covers, which I drew all the way up to my chin. There would be no sleeping tonight, that much was now clear. I was just going to have to lie here and wait until morning. Until Cheyenne’s memorial. Until it was time to say good-bye and maybe, just maybe, I could say good-bye to all this guilt and fear and uncertainty as well.

A girl could hope.

“My daughter always wore her heart on her sleeve. If you knew her, you knew her feelings, you knew her hopes, you knew her dreams,” Mrs. Kane, Cheyenne’s mother, said. She stood behind a small podium in front of a huge bank of windows that fronted the rocky Cape May shoreline. Before her, a hundred guests sat still as statues, not daring to move and disrupt the service. “But as her mother, I like to think that I knew her better than anyone, so today I’d like to share with you some little-known facts about Cheyenne Martin, my little girl.”

I reached out and gripped Josh’s hand. Every time Cheyenne’s name was mentioned, all the hairs on my neck and arms stood on end. Ever since I had received her e-mail again the night before, I had felt shaky, vulnerable, almost as if I was being watched. That feeling had only intensified upon entering her mother’s huge, airy Victorian on Cape May. Cheyenne’s picture was everywhere. Staring at me. Judging me. Blaming me. As miserable as I had expected this
experience to be, it was ten times worse now. My own personal torture chamber.

“My little girl,” Mrs. Kane repeated wistfully.

She placed her hands on the sides of the podium and paused as we all held our breath. Cheyenne’s mom was a slim blond woman who could have doubled for Naomi Watts, but even with her wispy body, she had a strength about her. She wore a formfitting black suit and black heels, her hair back in a low bun, her makeup perfectly applied. Behind her and to the left, hunched in a wooden chair, was Cheyenne’s father, who was not nearly as composed as his former wife. He had a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and day-old stubble—handsome even through his obvious grief.

“Cheyenne loved horses, as I’m sure you all know, but did you know that her greatest dream as a child was to own a pink pony with a red tail?” Mrs. Kane said.

The crowd laughed quietly and shifted in their seats.

“Many of you know that my daughter was also a philanthropist, spending a few weeks each summer building houses with Habitat for Humanity,” Mrs. Kane continued. “But did you know that she learned to love architecture and construction so much that she designed and built a house for our dog Coco all on her own?”

Mr. Martin hung his head. Guilt surged through me, white hot and fresh. I squeezed Josh’s fingers again. Thank God he was there. Steadfast, solid Josh. Josh, who hadn’t mentioned a word of our argument all morning. Who’d simply put his arm around me on the quad, brought me to his car, and hadn’t stopped asking if I was okay
all day long. Even in the midst of a fight, he cared about me enough to selflessly be there for me.

Why had I sent that e-mail to Dash last night? Why? I had done it in a moment of weakness. A moment of needing to be understood and comforted. But who was here for me now? Josh. All day long. Comforting. He was the guy I loved. The only guy I needed.

“And I’m sure you all know how much she loved her friends, the girls of Billings House.” Here Mrs. Kane paused to smile down at us, Cheyenne’s housemates. We were all seated in the first two rows, at her insistence, and I suddenly felt a glaring red spotlight burn my skin. “She loved you girls more than anything, and I know that if she were here with us today, she would tell you all how much she misses you, and that she hopes you all remember her for the things she did to brighten your life at Billings, and not for the way in which she left it.”

Her eyes shone as she looked at each of us. A tear slid down my cheek and I shakily swiped it away. Cheyenne didn’t miss me. She hated me. She wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for me.

“Now, if you’ll all adjourn to the shoreline outside . . . in a few minutes we’ll be releasing Cheyenne’s ashes at her favorite spot on the bluff. Thank you,” Mrs. Kane said, mustering a bright smile.

The guests started to stir, but Mrs. Kane stepped around the podium and stopped Rose with a hand to her arm.

“Girls, would you mind staying back for a moment? There’s something I’d like to say to you all,” she said, looking me directly in the eye.

My heart plummeted. Why had she looked at me? Why me?

“You gonna be okay?” Josh asked, squeezing my hand.

There was an enormous lump in my throat, impossible to speak through, but I managed to nod.

“I’ll wait right outside,” he assured me, his blue eyes resolute.

“’Kay,” I croaked.

I sat down again next to Kiki, who had hidden her pink bangs under a black cabbie pulled low over her brow. My heart pounded so hard, I was sure I was going to pass out. What could Cheyenne’s mother possibly want to talk to us about?

“This should be interesting,” Kiki said under her breath, popping her gum as she slumped down. Her heavy black boots peeked out from under the hem of her long gray skirt.

“This will only take a moment,” Mrs. Kane began. She smiled as she clasped her hands in front of her. A rock the size of my head flashed on her ring finger. Mr. Martin, shoulders hunched, hovered behind her. “First, a request. Tomorrow morning, Cheyenne’s father and I will be coming to Easton to pack up Cheyenne’s things, but we’ve talked about it and we’d like for each of you to stop by her room tonight and choose something of our daughter’s to keep.”

Everyone looked at everyone else. She couldn’t be serious.

Mr. Martin cleared his throat loudly. “We know how much you all meant to our . . . to Chey—” He paused and collected himself, running his hand over his eyes. “We know how much you all meant to her, and we know she’d want you all to have something to remember her by. So we hope you’ll do us . . . do her memory . . . this honor. . . .”

He trailed off, looking at the floor, and shook his head. “I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me . . . ,” he said, his voice cracking.

He rushed out of the room, hand to his mouth, his expensive pants swishing as he went. I had never felt so uncomfortable in my life. No one moved. To see a man like him break down in that way—it was awful. Horrifying. It brought the whole thing home all over again.

“Mrs. Kane. I’m so sorry,” Rose said, standing tremulously. “I wish I . . . I wish—”

“Oh, Rose. Come here, honey,” Cheyenne’s mother said.

Rose stepped over everyone’s legs, already crying, and Cheyenne’s mother pulled her into a hug. No one knew what to do. We all just sat there, listening to the sound of Rose’s muffled sobs.

Cheyenne’s mother fished a tissue from her Chanel purse. She handed it to Rose, who pressed it to her nose shakily. “Girls, I know you’re grieving, and you should be. You just lost one of your best friends. But I don’t want any of you to waste time feeling guilty or asking ‘what if.’ None of you are responsible for my daughter’s actions.”

Except me.

“She loved you all so much. She loved that house so much,” Mrs. Kane said. “She would want you to get on with your lives. She would want you to continue to uphold the Billings name and its traditions. Mourn her, honor her, but don’t forget to live your lives too. Don’t look back with regret.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was Cheyenne’s own mother trivializing her death? How could she expect us to move on? To have no regrets? The last year had been nightmare after nightmare for all of us. I glanced around, expecting everyone to look as appalled as I felt, but my blood ran cold. Instead, my friends seemed to be buying
it. Already a few of them had visibly perked up. But then, I suppose I couldn’t blame them. If Cheyenne’s flesh and blood was excusing them from mourning, was telling them to get over their grief, who were they not to listen?

“Now, let’s all go outside and join the others,” Mrs. Kane said, giving Rose a squeeze. “I’m sure they’re ready for us now.”

After the briefest hesitation, everyone around me started to rise and file out of the room. My knees quaked as I got up, and I had to steady myself with a hand on the back of a chair.

“Reed? Are you okay?” Constance asked me.

“Yeah, I’m—”

“Reed Brennan?” Mrs. Kane interrupted, having overheard Constance. “I wasn’t entirely sure it was you. You look so different in the pictures. . . .”

My heart all but stopped. Pictures? What pictures?

“I’m sorry?” I said.

A few of the Billings Girls shot us quizzical looks as they left the room, but only Sabine and Constance hung back, standing a respectful distance from myself and Cheyenne’s mother.

“Cheyenne spoke so highly of you,” Mrs. Kane said.

I blinked. “She did?”

“You’re surprised,” she stated, smoothing her already perfectly smooth hair back toward her bun. “But she did. When we were in Greece over the summer, she told me all about you. How you brought a much-needed dose of reality to Billings. How grounded you were. I think you were a good influence on her.”

I couldn’t have been more flabbergasted if she’d whipped out a flaming baton and started tap-dancing.

“I have something for you,” Mrs. Kane said.

She turned and placed her bag on the podium so that she could search through it. I was so confused I felt weak. Was this really what Cheyenne had thought of me last year? It was hard to recall after all the bickering and venom of the past few weeks, but we
had
been friends. Had spent a lot of time together last spring.

But still, if she had ever thought I was grounded, and that I was “much needed” in Billings, then why had she spent so much time this year making sure I knew I didn’t belong? Just over a week ago, she had told me flat out that I wasn’t Billings material. That I would never understand what it meant to be there. What had happened since the summer that had changed her mind about me so drastically? Or had she not changed her mind at all? Maybe she’d just been so in love with Josh that she would have done or said anything to hurt me. Tried to get me to leave Billings so she wouldn’t have to look at me anymore. She had to have had real feelings for him, right? You don’t drug a guy into fooling around with you if your feelings are immoderate. Not that I would know from experience, but still.

“Here. I found this among her things,” Mrs. Kane said turning around. She handed me a photo. It was a picture of Cheyenne and me taken at Vienna’s Sweet Seventeen party last spring. The two of us were smiling broadly, hugging each other, our cheeks pressed together almost as if we were best friends. Because we had been friends. As difficult as it was to recall, we had been. It was a gorgeous shot, and
I remembered when Tiffany had taken it. We had been dancing to “Margaritaville” on the deck of the yacht, singing at the top of our lungs. I remembered being surprised that people in the Easton circle knew the words to a song like “Margaritaville,” but I suppose tunes like that were universal. There was a pinhole in the top of the photo, as if Cheyenne had hung it somewhere. It had meant enough to her to put it on display. “She would have wanted you to have it.”

A bubble rose in my throat, choking off my air supply.

“Remember what I said, Reed. Don’t waste too much time ruminating on what’s already done. You’re young. You should live your life.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze and started past me. Suddenly, the guilt crashed over me anew, and it was too much for me to bear.

“Mrs. Kane,” I blurted.

She paused and turned to look at me expectantly. “Yes?”

“I . . . I’m so sorry,” I said, my vision blurring as I looked at the picture. “I didn’t mean—”

Constance stepped forward as if to hug me or steady me, and suddenly I snapped back to reality. What was I going to say? That I hadn’t meant to force Cheyenne to kill herself? That I was sorry I had contributed to the death of her daughter? I looked at Constance and Sabine, both of whom were wide-eyed, concerned. What was I thinking? No one could know about that e-mail. No one.

“You didn’t mean what, dear?” Mrs. Kane asked.

I swallowed hard and shoved the photo into my purse. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I’m just . . . really sorry.”

Mrs. Kane smiled sympathetically. “Thank you, Reed.”

She turned and strode out.

“I can’t believe Cheyenne said all that stuff about you,” Constance said, biting her lip.

“Yeah. Me neither,” I replied, overwhelmed by my confusion, my guilt.

“We should probably go outside. They’ll want to start soon,” Sabine suggested, putting her arm around me.

So I walked out into the sunshine with my two closest friends, feeling completely detached from them. They didn’t know what was really going on inside of me. Didn’t know what I was capable of, what I had done. And they never would.

Even with them flanking me, comforting me, I had never felt so alone.

Outside on the bluff, the pastor finished his speech, and Cheyenne’s parents stepped forward to lift the gold urn from the white lace cloth on which it had been sitting during the service. They walked out onto the bluff with the container between them, walked out almost to the breakers, to where the water collided with the earth. Mrs. Kane said something to her ex-husband. He replied with a nod. Then he opened the urn and a huge cloud of black ash poured out, whipped up by the wind.

Behind me someone wailed. Rose dissolved into tears. I felt something inside of me start to shake. Like my ribs were crumbling around my heart. I clutched Josh’s hand, and he immediately put his arm around me and held me tightly to his side. Whatever was trying to batter its way out of me, I held my breath and held it in.

On the bluff Mr. Martin dropped to his knees. The urn fell away and rolled until it hit Mrs. Kane’s feet. Several people—family
members, it seemed—moved forward to help. The rest of us watched the last of Cheyenne’s ashes as they were scattered by the wind.