Wynn in Doubt (6 page)

“Thanks.” She flicks the hair from her shoulder and looks around, as though she’s already bored with me. “Oh my God, it’s been, like, forever since I’ve seen you.” Her smile is affected, like a waitress who gets stuck with a table full of kids and old people.

“Yeah, it’s been a while. I think last time was during break our junior year of college.” I remember it clearly. I’d gone to the store to pick up groceries for dinner, and ran into her. She was working in the cafeteria near the salad bar. We caught up over two bowls of chocolate mousse. Some fell onto her white polo shirt, and she joked that it looked like she’d shit upward. We laughed so hard we nearly fell out of our chairs. It had been fun, nice. “It was at Dominick’s, wasn’t it?”

She laughs uncomfortably, pushing away the sound with her hand. “Was it? God, it was so long ago. I can’t even remember.”

“Yeah, we sat in the food court area, and your manager gave me free chicken wings because his sister had gone to Loyola.”

She stiffens. “Oh.” The word barely makes it past her lips.

I play with the strap of my purse and look for signs of Tabby and Dex. They disappeared the moment Luke’s hand left my back. I grin at my old friend, confused and unhappy with the way the conversation is going. “So, do you guys have any kids?”

Jenny relaxes considerably. “No, not yet. We wanted to wait a few years. Luke’s been so busy setting up the
firm.
” She puts a lot of weight on the word. “And I’m doing so much charity work right now, it’s become, like, a full-time job.”

The Jenny I knew wanted to earn a chair with the New York Philharmonic. I want to ask her what happened, if she got sidetracked, like I did, somewhere on the way to adulthood, but I hold back. This isn’t the Jenny I knew. “Wow, that’s . . . Which charities?”

“Oh, you know.” Her manicured fingers flitter before her. “Homelessness, literacy campaigns, clothing drives . . . I’m on a million committees at the moment. What’re you up to?”

Why? Why couldn’t she return the favor and simply not ask? Why does everyone suddenly have an interest in what I’ve been doing with my life? For some reason, I don’t think my “illustrious” career as a bar-back at Lucky’s will be up to
Jen’s
standards. I stretch the truth a little. “I’m going to be teaching at North soon, actually. A social studies position.”

She places a hand on my arm and squeals with excitement. “Oh my God, no way! That’s amazing! How cool would it be to go back to school?”

My laugh comes out in a stutter. High school isn’t high on my list of do-overs, and I can’t imagine it would be any different for her. If I was a nerd, Jenny Burton was sitting with scepter and crown on a velvet-covered throne atop the biggest float in the dork parade. “Really? You’d want to go back?”

She rolls her eyes. Her eyelashes are heavy and fake, the seam glued down beneath a row of shiny rhinestones. “Well, not as we were then; as we are now!”

I stare back at her, speechless.

“No, really, think about it. With all we know? We could be so popular.”

Her clear desire to go back and be someone else saddens me. I loved my friend. We danced in her parents’ basement to bad pop songs and made up a secret language so the cool kids wouldn’t know we were making fun of them. We were outcasts, but we had each other. Her desire to erase all of that makes me feel small and alone and ashamed. Because I wish I could be someone else, too. When I smile I avoid her eyes. I don’t want her to see the falseness of it.

We stand in polite silence for a few seconds, then she cranes her neck to look behind me. She squeals and grabs my shoulder with a clawlike grip. “Oh my God. Have you seen Clista and Jessica yet?” Her lips curl in excitement.

I assume she’s talking about Clista Kurtz and Jessica Albini. They were North’s resident mean girls when we were in school. In fact, I distinctly remember them gluing tampons to the front of Jenny’s locker sophomore year. “Uh, no, I haven’t.”

“They just walked in. You’re going to die when you see how big Jessica’s gotten.”

Relief washes over me. Finally, the friend I remember. “Did she get fat?” I whisper conspiratorially as I look at the guests spread around us. “You always thought she had a fat face, remember?”

Her mouth drops into a frown. “I never said that.”

“Yeah, we decided that’s why she never wore turtlenecks.” I laugh, but it goes unanswered. Her silence unnerves me. I look up and see that her face is pinched, unhappy. “What?”

“She’s pregnant. With twins.”

I shake my head slowly, heat erupting from every pore.

“She was maid of honor at my wedding.”

An involuntary giggle escapes. “What? Oh no.” I place a sweaty hand on her arm. “I was totally kidding.” Panicked, I keep talking, trying to undo the damage. “I’m so excited for her. Twins! Wouldn’t it be great if they were Siamese?”

Her mouth drops open.

“Identical! I mean, identical twins. Not Siamese twins; that would be weird.”

Stop talking.

“Because then they’d be attached at the forehead or something, and . . .”

Shut up now!

“. . . they’d never be able to—”

Oh my God.

“Have . . . sex.”

It’s as though my mouth is an independent limb and I’m hitting myself in the face with it. Jenny yanks her arm from my grip.

“Oh, Jenny, I didn’t mean . . . I’m so sor—”

“It’s
Jen
.” She tosses glossy brown hair over her shoulder and stalks away, leaving me to remove the foot wedged firmly in my mouth.

Tabby and Dex appear beside me. He hands me a wineglass. Both are unaware of the travesty that occurred in their brief absence. I gulp down the dry red, then reach for Tabby’s glass and do the same with hers.

Dex laughs. “Thirsty?”

“Uh-huh.” I flap my hands and arms, trying to cool down. “Anyone else hot out here?”

They exchange worried glances. From across the stone patio, I see Jenny point in my direction. Older versions of Clista Kurtz and Jessica Albini—stomach swollen beneath a maroon dress—stand on either side of her. Their expressions are outraged. And justified. I need to get away.

“I think I’m going to go put my feet in the water.” I turn quickly from my sister’s questioning face.

The pool is dark, and light glitters off its surface. I walk down the long side of it, my humiliation growing with each step. This is a disaster. A nightmare. Soon everyone will know about me calling a pregnant lady fat and will think I want her children to come out attached at the head.

I kick off my shoes, unconcerned where they land, and sit on the edge of the pool. The water slips over my calves, cooling me some. I grip the rough ledge and close my eyes. It’s so unfair to grow up and still be the same person. We spend years trying to remake ourselves. College, marriage, Roth IRAs, organic produce. Deep inside, we’re all just playing at being adults. Because we’ll never be better than the people we were at six, or worse than the ones we were at sixteen.

Well, maybe not Jen.

A loud shriek of delight jolts me. I look over my shoulder. A small commotion has begun in front of the double doors leading to Luke and Jenny’s family room. Several old classmates bob and weave to get to the center of the pack.

His dark hair appears over Carrie Willoughby’s head. She must’ve been the one screaming. Her body practically levitates when he pulls her in for a hug. Between releasing her and turning to pay the same attention to Jeananna Smith, he looks at me. One second. One blink. But that’s all it ever took with Oliver.

I know it’s the wrong move. I hear the long, drawn-out
No!
in the back of my mind. I visualize a slow-moving hand trying to pull me back. But my body cares about only one thing: escaping the brutal reality of just how much I’m capable of fucking up in one evening. I slide limp from the concrete edge into the cool dark blue of Jenny Burton-Manning’s swimming pool.

five

I open my eyes and look around. The absence of sound and the pressure on my brain are really quite soothing. Arms out to either side, I float a foot above the bottom, enjoying the weightlessness. My lungs tighten. I should’ve brought a hollow reed down here with me. I could stay all night.

I scan the surface. The chlorine makes my eyes sting. No one appears to be on the ledge and no life rafts have been thrown frantically after me. It seems I dropped in unnoticed. Kicking my feet, I pull my arms down and propel myself upward. Noise. Partygoers laugh and shout, reminiscing behind me. The shallow end is only a few yards away. I begin to swim as quietly as possible, staying close to the edge to avoid detection.

“Getting out so soon? I was just about to jump in and save you.”

I swirl around in the water and look up. Oliver, one hand in his jeans pocket, grins as he walks the ledge beside me.

“I, uh, I was . . .” I rack my brain for a plausible excuse. Practicing scuba diving? Training for the Olympics? Trying to drown myself? “. . . hot.”

He’s not buying it. “Well, I’m relieved. I thought maybe you jumped fully clothed into the pool to avoid talking to me.”

Water droplets fall with soft plops next to me as I shake my head. My God, I must look like a crazy person. Hair sopping, makeup probably running in streaks down my face. Tabby’s dress floats around my legs. Treading water, I shove one hand under the surface and hold the skirt against my thighs. I laugh because I don’t know what to say.

Oliver reaches the shallow end of the zero-entry pool, removes his shoes and socks, and steps forward. The bottoms of his pants disappear as he wades into the water.

“What’re you doing?”

“Swimming.”

“But your clothes—”

“You’re right. It’s hot out here.” A few broad strokes bring him closer. “Besides, I can’t let you swim alone at night. You have any idea how dangerous that is?”

Waves lap against his shirt. He dips beneath the water once, then circles me. “I take it coming here tonight wasn’t your idea.” He wipes the water from his eyes and looks toward the party on the other side of the pool. “In a million years, I never thought Luke Manning would be successful.”

I release the dress to better paddle in place, too stunned to look at anything other than the man bobbing beside me. “It’s kind of weird, seeing everyone again.”

“You didn’t go to the reunion?” He turns light-gray eyes on me.

I shake my head.

“Why not?”

That question has a lot of answers. I lower my chin, letting the water slide over my lips. It smells like childhood. “I guess because it sort of feels like high school never ended.”

He’s quiet, contemplative. “I’ve always liked that about you.”

Despite the refreshing temperature in the pool, my body heats up. “What?”

“You give real answers. No empty pleasantries or superficial responses. You say what you’re thinking. I’ve found that to be a rare thing.”

I’m increasingly speechless around him, so I just smile at the compliment.

“Sorry about the other night.” The good humor on his face disappears. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I just meant, I don’t know. You always looked like you had everything figured out back then.”

“Me?” I ask, stunned. “I’m the least figured-out person on the planet.”

“Well, you’re not alone there.” He juts his chin toward the people behind us. “Perception is nine-tenths of everything. People believe what you want them to. Most of these guys are just as lost as you or me.”

He’s trying so hard to make things right. The least I can do is give him a bit more honesty. “Lost would be an understatement. To get lost, you’d need to be going somewhere, and I never even got behind the wheel.”

“And why is that?”

I tread away from him. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

I churn against the water, lifting my eyes to meet his.

Oliver swims over and places a hand on the ledge. I copy the movement, facing him. “Let me ask you a question,” he says.

I hold my breath, watching him watch me.

“Who did you want to be when we were in high school?”

Water slaps against the cement wall. When I was seventeen, I would have given anything for him to look at me the way he is now, focused and interested in whatever it is I have to say. But now that it’s happening, I’m unsure of myself. “I guess I wanted to get into a good school so I could find a good job—”

“No. Those are things you wanted to do. I’m asking who you wanted to
be
.”

“I don’t understand.”

He pulls himself closer and rests his bicep on the ledge. “That night, in the parking lot . . .”

The night you kissed me.

“. . . I came out after you because I was . . .” He looks down, shy. “I was so taken by what you said to me in the auditorium.”

It was the night of the senior talent show, two days before graduation. The night eternalized in the Torture Picture. He captivated the entire school with his talent. Singing not like the eighteen-year-old boy that he was, but the talented musician he was destined to become. I can still picture the look of pure intensity on his face. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. No one could. I sat in my seat long after everyone else had wandered off. Replayed his song over and over in my mind. He came to sit beside me.

“I asked what you were thinking about, and you said, ‘An adventure.’ Just like that. I think it took me a couple of seconds to recover. I’d never heard anyone say something so . . . honest before. It shocked me. And then you got embarrassed and ran, and I had to follow you because”—his fingers brush damp hair from my cheek—“I needed to know more.”

“Ran” is an understatement. I practically trampled the vice principal and the history sub in my effort to leave the embarrassment of my words behind. When he’d sat next to me, I’d thought I was still daydreaming, still seeing the Oliver I saw whenever I closed my eyes. I can’t remember what I’d been thinking, exactly, but I know it must have been about being away from the dullness of my life. So I opened my mouth and said the words, and then he touched my hand. That’s when I realized it wasn’t a dream. And it terrified me.

I got all the way to my car before he caught up, out of breath and shaking his head.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait.”

The keys dug into my palm, and I began to tremble. He ran his hands down my arms, drawing me to him. I closed my eyes, afraid that if I opened them, I’d find I really was lost in a dream. But his breath was warm on my cheek. I raised my head out of instinct, shaking in his embrace. And he kissed me. Just once and for no more than three or four seconds. Every cell in my body shook from the joy of it. Oliver Reeves kissed me.

Ten years later and I’m still trembling. I take a shaky breath. “Are you disappointed? Now that you’ve seen how my life’s worked out?”

The corners of his lips rise, teasing me. “You planning on drowning yourself tonight?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” I want to laugh, but I’m too nervous.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I got here when I did.” Oliver’s hand is cool and wet beneath my chin. I raise my eyes slowly, more scared than I’ve been in years. “There’s still time for your adventure, Wynn.”

The water in my eyes has nothing to do with the pool. “It’s not that easy anymore.”

“What’s not that easy?”

“Just taking off. We’re not kids anymore.”

His thumb runs along my jaw. “No, we’re not. And you’re no longer held back by age or inexperience.” He moves closer. My dress and his T-shirt float toward each other, then touch. “So I’ll ask again. Who do you want to
be
?”

His lips are close to mine. “I don’t know.”

“Try.”

“I . . .” His eyes are so clear. Can he see through me? “I want to be someone who’s not afraid.”

His mouth moves almost imperceptibly toward mine. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

The wooden click-clack of shoes on travertine jolts me. Oliver pushes back just in time.

“Wynn? What the hell are you doing?” Tabby squats, ladylike, before us, her eyes traveling at light speed between Oliver and me. “Why’s my dress in the pool?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes immediately forward.

“I thought it might be fun to crash Manning’s pool. Your sister spared me from looking like too much of an eccentric musician by jumping in with me.”

He turns a megawatt smile on Tabby, and luckily, she buys it. “Oh, okay. Well, Dex needs to head out. The hospital just paged him, so we need to leave really soon.” Her look indicates that transporting her sopping-wet sister in her fiancé’s new Range Rover is not something she’s looking forward to.

“I’ll give her a ride home.”

Both Tabby and I turn our attention to Oliver, floating a few feet behind me.

“I borrowed my Dad’s Olds, so we’ll be riding in style tonight,” he jokes.

I look at Tabby and plead with her not to abandon me, to remember her promise. But she smiles prettily and nods over my shoulder at him. “Great! Then I’ll just talk to you tomorrow, sister.”

Am I crazy, or does she wink as she walks away?

I paddle myself around, facing my crush, my own personal heartthrob.

“So it’s just you and me tonight,” he says.

“Seems like it.” I look over at the party. “How are we going to get out of here without everyone seeing our wet clothes?”

Oliver swims backward. “Just come with me. I know a thing or two about avoiding detection when I want.”

I follow him to the shallow end, crouching as he does. We make our way out of the pool.

“Where’re you taking me?” I whisper, a little giddy over our clandestine exit.

He smiles, a note of mischief in his eyes. “On an adventure.”

If pressed to define what separates wealthy people from the rest of us, I think I’d go with landscaping.

I wait on the other side of Luke Manning’s hedgerows, cowering in the dark of his neighbor’s yard. I’ve never been good at dealing with stress, so sometimes, like now, I label everything I feel. I guess giving these feelings names makes them seem less threatening. Fear seems the first logical emotion. Followed by terror, doubt, excitement, and, buried deep beneath them all, joy. For the first time in a really long time, I’m happy to be right where I am.

The greenery quivers and Oliver appears between two thick bushes, wet, smiling, and clutching my purse and shoes in one hand. “You really know how to fling a shoe. Took me forever to find one of them.”

He hands them to me, and I stick my pruney feet inside the shoes. “Thanks. Do you think anyone saw us?”

“Not a chance.” He wrings out the bottom of his shirt. “Luke and Joe Avila were attempting a kegstand. I predict a hospital ride in their future.” He grins, then gestures for me to follow. We arrive on a quiet residential street, the lights and sounds of the party behind us.

I look for a car, but see none on this side of the road. “Where’s your car?”

Oliver looks sheepish. “I don’t actually have one.”

“But you—”

“How else was I going to get you to come with me?” There’s something wicked in his smile.

“I thought you were taking me on an adventure?”

“I am.” He spreads his arms wide. “The best kind. The kind with no plan and no rules.”

I look away, a little afraid of his effect on me. Spontaneity and I have never been close friends.

My dress sticks uncomfortably to every inch of skin it covers. He notices. “I don’t suppose you’ve got an extra stash of clothes hidden somewhere nearby?”

I laugh and say no.

“Then we’ll just go somewhere we can dry off.” He stops. “How do you feel about breaking into the old school?”

“We can’t break into school,” I squeak, gaping at him.

“Sure we can.”

“But, but . . .” I dig for a suitable excuse. “What if we get in trouble?”

“Get in trouble?” The chip in his tooth has never been more noticeable than it is right now. “I’m a famous rock star, remember? If we get caught, I’ll just give them an autograph.”

“I don’t think that’ll work if we’re caught breaking into government property.”

“Why? You don’t think cops like music?”

“I just don’t think you’re that famous.” I slap my hand over my mouth.

Oliver turns, pretend hurt on his face. “You wound me, Wynn Jeffries.” His hand covers his heart and he staggers back in an exaggerated motion.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I just said that. It was so . . .”

“Sassy?”

I try to suppress my laughter but fail, hiding it behind my hands.

“For that, you will pay. Last one to the school has to streak naked down the hallway.” And he takes off, running ahead of me.

I pause only a moment. Then I call on muscles I haven’t used in years. When’s the last time I ran for anything other than exercise? Arms pumping, shoes smacking against the road, heart hammering in my chest . . . I feel young and free and reckless. Good feelings. I want to chase them, so I do.

Oliver slows and waits for me to catch up. Out of breath and exhilarated, we walk in companionable silence for a while. When he speaks, his voice is soft and almost wistful. “I love walking around at night. It’s so quiet. No one to bother you, no one expecting anything from you.”