12

EVERYONE ELSE IN THE GYM seemed happy to be here. A celebratory mood filled the room, the site of so many school plays, choir concerts, awards assemblies.

A new mural covered the left wall, an impressionistic blur of athletic figures representing football, basketball, track and cross-country, tennis —and yes, even volleyball —all against a backdrop of Pikes Peak. Up front, photos splashed across a video screen. A high school moment frozen in time paired with a current image of the same person. Some faces I only recognized because of the name written across the bottom of the picture.

Zachary Gaines appeared on the screen, all of seventeen or eighteen, long-legged and lanky, coming around the curve during a cross-country meet, sweat matting his hair to his forehead, the barest hint of a smile curving his lips. And then a second photo of Zach today, a profile shot of him. Older. Weary. Worn.

A few more faces flashed by and then . . . one painfully familiar. Pepper, frozen in midair, arms raised as she blocked the opposing team’s ball. No other photo. Just Pepper, forever sixteen.

That photo had been taken during our last high school volleyball season, Pepper and I rotating in and out of the game, but my sister was the one who racked up blocks and who was surrounded by news reporters afterward.

“Do you like the photo I selected of Pepper?” My former high school volleyball coach knelt beside my chair.

“That’s when we won state.” I forced myself to pin on the obligatory so-thrilled-to-be-here smile. “Pepper would be glad you chose that one, Coach.”

“Coach? After all these years?” She leaned in to give me a hug. “Just call me Sydney.”

“You’ll always be Coach to me.” I easily looked past the way the last decade had added a few lines around Sydney’s eyes and saw the vivacious twentysomething woman who had influenced both Pepper and me in so many ways. “Love your blonde hair.”

“Just having some fun.” Sydney leaned back on her heels. “Thanks for being here.”

“As if I could tell the woman who made me do wall sits and circuit training no.”

“That was a long time ago.” Her voice turned serious. “How are you?”

“Doing great.”

“I know this is hard for you. I appreciate you being here.”

“Like I said, can’t say no to my high school coach.” It was best to keep things light. “So I checked out your club online. Your eighteens team made it to nationals last year!”

“Yep. I was so proud of those girls. They earned that.” Sydney’s smile lit up her eyes. “Club Brio. My life is still all about volleyball —and now my husband and kids, of course. Let me know if you ever want to coach . . .”

Her words caused me to lean away, even as I tried to laugh them off. She couldn’t be serious. I wasn’t that girl anymore. I’d left those dreams behind years ago. Had no right to them. “I don’t think so. Festivities keeps me busy enough, and I haven’t been on a volleyball court since . . . since high school.” Nash slipped his hand into mine, his presence a welcome diversion. “Sydney, this is Nash, my boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you.” Sydney shook hands with Nash. “I left my husband home with the kids. Easier that way.”

“Any future volleyball players in the family?” I had no problem talking about volleyball, so long as the topic wasn’t focused on me.

“Of course. Dale —that’s my husband —played soccer, so he’s hoping for soccer players. Either way, we’re a sports family.” Sydney rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt. “You ready for the presentation?”

“Absolutely. A couple of minutes is all you wanted, right?”

“Right. Just come up front when I do, okay?”

“Will do.”

As Sydney left, Zach Gaines glanced my way from where he patrolled the edge of the gym like some sort of self-appointed security guard. Was the guy going to pace around the room until it was time for him to accept his award? Did he think staring at me would get me to change my mind?

“Who were you talking to?” Johanna’s sharp whisper jerked my attention away from Zach and back to my family. Were they all staring at me, waiting for an answer?

“You mean Coach Sydney?”

Johanna almost looked as if she wanted to roll her eyes at me. “No. The guy.”

“Just someone I . . . someone Pepper and I knew in high school. He’s another honoree today.”

“He looks familiar. Do I know him?”

“Johanna, you graduated from high school years before we did. No, you don’t know him.”

I could only hope my reply prevented my sister from making the connection between Zach and the Gaines family and the spring break party ten years ago. The news coverage had been brief. My parents’ overwhelming grief back then had kept them from placing blame on anyone. Pepper’s death was a tragic accident —no one was to blame. Honoring her tonight might be enough to distract them from the past and present colliding, causing them to recognize Zach.

I ended the conversation by twisting away from her, leaning across Nash, and focusing on Jillian. “How are you feeling?”

It was wrong to use Jillian as a diversionary tactic against Johanna —especially when she was only a couple of weeks postsurgery. And Jillian was probably tired of people asking how she felt. Her pale face and slow movements indicated her tiredness and pain. But Jillian being Jillian, she wouldn’t admit it.

“I’m fine. A little sore, but the surgeon warned me about that.”

“You could have stayed home. Everyone would have understood —”

“I’m fine, Payton. Besides, all I’m doing is sitting here. Once it’s over, Geoff’s taking me home. I wanted to be here.” She leaned back into Geoff’s embrace. “I know you’ll do a good job up there.”

And now Jillian was encouraging me, not even aware that I’d been using her, even if it had only been in a small way. It seemed I was destined to fail, over and over, at my relationships with my sisters.

But then again, just like Jillian, I’d shown up. I’d do what needed to be done and then retreat to the safety of my home until the next time family demanded something more of me, something that pulled me from the safety of the neutral zone.

I’d followed Sydney’s instructions. Waited as the other former athletes were honored, including Zach Gaines. Waited for the brief slide show highlighting Pepper’s volleyball accomplishments —all the records she’d set. Walked up as Coach Sydney came forward with a framed number 11 volleyball jersey —just like Pepper used to wear. Stood beside her as she announced the number would be retired and the jersey hung in the gym. And then, at last, I was alone in front of everyone.

All of them waiting for me to say something about my twin sister.

I gripped the sides of the podium, swallowing against the stinging dryness in my throat. I pressed my lips together, heat coursing up my neck. I needed water. Even more, I needed the words that had escaped from my mind. To my left, someone shifted in their seat —Nash, offering me a brief nod and a smile. Although I had my doubts about him, about our relationship, he was always there for me —even when I didn’t want him to be.

“Good evening.” My voice rasped in my ears. How awful that must sound magnified through a microphone. “I’m Payton Thatcher, Pepper’s twin sister. . . .”

Wait. Sydney had already said that. Why was I repeating her?

I fought to calm my erratic breathing, opening and closing my hands to try to stop them from tingling. Had someone lowered the lights in the room?

“My family . . . my family wanted to say . . .” Again, motion in the room caught my attention. Who was walking around?

A tall, slender female paced the back of the room, her braid swishing against her back.

“Pepper . . .” The whisper of her name fell from my lips into the silence filling the room. My vision blurred and I blinked. That couldn’t be Pepper. . . . I only saw her when I was sleeping. Was this just another dream?

No. I was awake. But when I tried to talk, to say the words I’d rehearsed, my throat closed up like it had the time Pepper and I both had strep and lived on Jell-O for a week. I shoved away from the podium, bumping against Sydney so that she almost dropped the framed jersey. “I’m sorry . . . sorry . . .”

I skirted around the tables, ignoring whoever called my name —most likely Johanna —and exited the gym. The hallway was empty, another entrance to the girls’ locker room was nearby.

Where was she? If she’d come here, why hadn’t she waited for me? I was wide-awake, ready to talk. To answer any of her questions.

My heels echoed on the tile floor in the hallway, and I slipped as I pushed into the darkened locker room, the wooden door crashing against the wall. “Pepper! Pepper, where are you?”

My voice ricocheted against the rows of lockers even as I slammed my hand against a mirror, my breathing uneven. I stumbled farther into the room, then dropped to the floor and crawled to one of the shower stalls, backing into a corner. Pulling my knees up against my chest, I wrapped my arms around my legs, trying to stop my body from shaking.

“Oh, God, oh, God . . .”

The words were useless. I didn’t believe in God . . . any god. Didn’t talk to any kind of deity or higher power who supposedly listened or cared or watched me from a distance. God was only good for children’s songs and books . . . for fueling heated debate around the dinner table . . . for changing the people you thought you knew best . . .

I needed to get back to the ceremony, but I couldn’t make my arms relax. Thoughts of should and can’t collided in my head, causing me to press my body harder into the corner of the shower. The faint scent of ammonia surrounded me. At least the shower was clean. Surely someone would come looking for me. Sometime. Or maybe I could pull myself together. But when I opened my eyes, the room seemed to sway in front of me, causing me to drop my head to my knees.

“Payton? Where are you?”

Of course it would be Johanna who searched me out. I sat silent. She’d find me soon enough without any help.

Her steps echoed in the silence, growing louder as she came closer. At last the lights clicked on and the pointed tips of her black high heels appeared in front of me. “What are you doing in the shower?”

No “Are you okay?” or “How can I help you?” Johanna the Good, who probably fell asleep at night and slept in sweet, dreamless peace, stood in the opening to the shower, sounding as horrified as if she’d found me naked and soaking wet.

“I . . . I needed to get away —”

“Payton, you went completely mental out there. I didn’t know if you were going to faint or start spouting off gibberish. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Everyone saw something happen.”

“Do you expect me to go out and explain myself, Johanna? Is that why you’re here?”

“No —”

“Well, I know you’re not here because you’re worried about me.” I struggled to suck in a deep breath, my chest tight. “Let’s not pretend this is anything more than you trying to control the situation again.”

“Really, Payton? You’re attacking me when you’re the one who made Pepper’s ceremony all about you?”

I struggled to my feet, my hand slipping against the tiled wall. If I was going to fend off my sister’s attack, I needed to be upright, not tempted to curl up in a ball on the shower floor. “Right. That was my plan all along. Stage a breakdown and steal the attention —”

“And now you’re going to argue with me —”

“Did I ask you to come in here?” I pushed away from the wall, Johanna’s appearance balancing me on a teeter-totter of emotions. Reality still seemed tissue-paper thin, but Johanna’s accusations sliced through me as sharp as a razor. “No.”

I shoved past her, stumbling toward the exit.

“Where are you going?”

“As if you care.” I yanked open the door, coming to a halt when I found Nash waiting on the other side.

“Payton, what on earth happened?”

I gripped his arm. “Just take me home. Please, Nash. Just take me home.”