W hat the hell are you two smiling about?” Sarah asks as we climb out of the car. She’s waiting on the stone front steps of the museum that her father rented out, looking kind of pissed.
“Nothing,” Harlin says, putting his arm around me. “It just took me forever to get dressed.”
She stares at him and then at me. “Gross. If that’s code for you two just did it in the car, please spare me.”
“Not the car,” Harlin says with a shrug.
“Whatever.” She looks me over and nods approvingly. “You look fantastic,” she adds. “I really have good taste.”
“You do,” I agree. “What’s the charity again?” Looking around the brick front, I see no reference to the cause, but there are lights swooping back and forth over the building, making sure everyone attending feels important.
“Owls, I think,” she says, turning to walk inside. “No.” She pauses. “The homeless.”
Harlin laughs. “I can see how you got those two confused.”
As we climb the steps I smile to myself and clutch Harlin’s arm. I feel a million miles away from my problems, which is exactly how far from them I want to be.
When we enter the lobby, I’m blown away. Roses and red velvet drape everything: the lobby desk, the restroom signs, even the nude statue that usually greets us. The sweeping marble staircase has bouquets winding up the railing and the entire room smells like flowers. Personally I think the zillion dollars of art is enough atmosphere, but apparently the rich don’t.
“I’m guessing there won’t be a band,” Harlin says.
“There is so,” Sarah defended. “Like half the symphony is here.”
“Not really the kind of band I was hoping for.”
“Oh, sorry, Harlin,” she says. “The Killers were already booked. Maybe next time.”
“Sort of cranky today, Sarah.” Harlin adjusts his tie and I’m sure he’s uncomfortable in it. “Didn’t you take your meds?”
“Naw.” She waves him off sarcastically. “I figured I wouldn’t get all crazy and jump in the fountain later if I did. And what fun is a million-dollar event if I don’t disappoint my family?” She’s joking but there’s a ring of truth in her voice, and the fun of the moment fades. We all feel it.
Sarah clears her throat. “Charlotte?” she asks. “Will you come with me to get a drink?”
“Sure.” I’m puzzled since I see the people in tuxedos walking around with trays of drinks, but I don’t argue. I give Harlin a quick kiss and follow Sarah, who’s already walking away.
I catch up with her and take her elbow. “You okay?” I ask.
“No. Not really.” We make our way through the crowd until we’re at the kitchen doors, servers rushing past us with trays of canapés.
“I’m pretty sure we can get our drinks at the bar, Sarah,” I say. But she keeps going until she pushes out the back door.
We step outside onto the loading dock and Sarah starts to pace. “I wanted to be alone.”
I look around. “Mission accomplished. But if you’re trying to put together an art heist, count me out.”
She glares at me. “Not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“No, really. It’s not,” she says. Her heels clack on the concrete as she walks back and forth in front of me. “The nuns called a little while ago.”
Chills run over me and I wrap my arms around myself. Sarah is staring at the ground as she continues to pace. Now I feel guilty for the art heist joke. “What did they say?”
She pauses, and then turns to me abruptly. “That I’m setting a bad example for the underclassmen. Seems Seth told the nuns I was starting rumors about him. That I was ‘desperate’ for attention, so I was trying to ruin his reputation.”
“He didn’t!”
“Oh yes. He even said that he was concerned about my mental stability. They let my father know that little tidbit too.”
“Wait. Douchebag Seth, who told everyone about you, went to the nuns and said you were spreading lies about him. Why would he do that? I don’t—”
“When I met him at lunch he asked me to clear up the rumor about his inadequate size.” She shrugs. “Which, by the way, is true. But he said his friends were making fun of him, calling him Tiny Tim.” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t believe that was the reason he wanted to meet with me. I thought he was going to apologize! He owes me a goddamn apology!
“So I refused. He called me a slut. I slapped him in the face. It was all very dramatic and awful, but I thought that was it. Apparently not. Instead he marched down to the main office and told Sister Mary Angela that I was out of control and sleeping around. And when I tried to get with him and he refused, I spread the rumor.”
“Why would they believe him? That’s ridiculous!”
She pauses. “Remember Brandon One-Brain-Cell Whaler? Well, he vouched for him. Said he did it with me in the locker room. He was so repentant that they didn’t even suspend him.”
“That lying bastard! I should have kneed him—hard—when I bumped into him in class. He’s so dead.”
Sarah glances up and a few tears leak from her eyes. “The closest I’ve ever gotten to doing it with Brandon was in seventh grade when I told him his breath smelled like Cool Ranch Doritos. He never touched me. I never let him touch me—”
Sarah breaks into sobs and I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight.
“My father’s pulling me out of St. Vincent’s. He says I’ve humiliated him.”
“What?” First of all, I’m furious that the nuns would believe anything Seth or Brandon said, especially without evidence. And then to tell her father? It’s so completely wrong I want to scream.
Sarah pulls back to look at me. “I guess you really aren’t psychic, huh?” she says in a small voice.
And my heart breaks seeing how much pain she’s in.
“I promise you I would never have let this happen if I were.”
She nods. “That’s too bad.” She smiles sadly and I hug her again, resenting the Need. Hating the light. I should have been with her today, not with Sister Dorothy.
Sarah sniffles and rests her head on my shoulder. “The stupid thing is, I liked Seth. And more than anything, I’m . . . hurt. Why wasn’t I good enough for him? How could he do this to me?”
“Oh, please. You are a million times better than that cruel bastard. He’s like, bottom of the barrel, scum of the earth. And you’re mostly nice. Like more than eighty percent of the time.” I straighten her up and fix one of the curls that has come loose from her barrette. “And besides, you’re way too hot for him anyway.”
She laughs, wiping at her cheeks. “You know just what to say.” Sarah dabs her finger under her eye to wipe off the mascara that’s started to run. “I’m going to be a freaky homeschooled kid now.”
“No, you won’t,” I say, taking her purse from her arm and going through it to find her compact. “And besides, homeschooled kids are not freaky.”
“They have no fashion sense.”
“Urban legend. Look at me, I have no fashion sense and I attend the esteemed St. Vincent’s Academy for Troubled Youths.”
Sarah laughs and takes the compact from my hands as I hold it out. She groans when she catches sight of her reflection.
“Now,” I say. “Pull yourself together. I can’t do this stuffy event without you. You have unshakable confidence and that makes you the stronger one in this friendship, so act like it.”
Her smile fades. “No,” she says softly. “You’re the rock, Charlotte. You’ve held me together all these years. Still do.”
“And I always will.” As I say it, I want to make it true. I want to get rid of the Need and be her friend for life. I’m going to try.
Sarah pats powder under her eyes before returning the compact to her bag. When she’s done, I reach out my hand to her. “Ready for that drink now?”
“Oh, I’m going to have, like, six.”
“Not in front of Daddy,” I warn with a mocking pout. “He’s probably already cranky.”
Sarah loops her arm through mine. “He’s pissed all right. Asked me if I was going to embarrass him tonight.”
“You should have told him yes.”
“I told him I’d already done all I could this week. But I’d try harder for the next event.”
I don’t laugh because I know that her father had probably said plenty to her tonight. I can still remember when we were in tenth grade and he caught us drinking in Sarah’s room during a sleepover. He was furious. Told her that she disgusted him. That she’d end up a drunk just like her mother’s father.
She was fourteen. But instead of crying about it, Sarah finished off the bottle of rum and I held her hair while she puked all night in her bathroom. She said he didn’t love her. And I’m not sure I’d argue.
When we come back into the huge main room, Sarah excuses herself to the bar. “I’m going to see if my boobs can get me served. Then I’m going to get the bartender’s number. If my father asks, you haven’t seen me.”
“You’ve got it,” I answer automatically. I look for Harlin and find him in the corridor holding two glasses of wine while waiting by a nude, white marble female statue—looking like he’s really concentrating on it. Especially the top half.
“Double-fisting drinks tonight?” I ask as I approach.
“It’s for you. Figured you’d come back empty-handed.” He looks back casually and passes me the glass before motioning to the statue. “Do you think her nipples are disproportionately large?”
I step next to him, both of us staring over the naked woman in front of us. “Maybe a little,” I say seriously. “But I think it’s open to interpretation.”
“Most good art is.” Harlin lifts his glass for a sip and then turns to me, his eyes a little glassy. I wonder if he had two drinks in his hand before these. “How’s Sarah?”
“Bad.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Not unless you want to go track down some high school boys to beat up.”
He seems to consider it. “Ask me again in an hour.”
I look around the room, taking it all in. The art. The people. I’m living and everyone is seeing me. Harlin sees me. I turn to him. “Do you remember that time we went for donuts in Vancouver?” I swallow hard, suddenly scared of what he’ll say.
He smiles softly. “You mean when you dragged me to get donuts in Vancouver at three in the morning to prove they weren’t better than VooDoo’s?”
“Yeah. That time.”
“Of course. You were wearing my T-shirt and when we got back, Jeremy nearly had a coronary because he thought we’d been out drinking.”
“And you told him to relax. It was only decaf.” I giggle and suddenly, I feel light. He remembers. Even the smallest detail, he remembers.
I’m not going to become a Forgotten. I’m beating it. I smile and sip from my glass, leaning into Harlin.
He finishes off his wine before reaching over to take my mostly full glass. He downs it and then puts them both on the tray of a passing server before grabbing another one for himself. I narrow my eyes at him. “What?” he says. “You can’t handle your alcohol. And besides, they’re free.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to have twenty.”
“Sorry, Charlotte,” he says loudly enough to get a few stares from the people around us. “It’s too noisy. I can’t hear a thing you’re saying.”
“Oh my God, shut up.”
“Now,” he says, squeezing my fingers playfully, “let’s go find more naked things to stare at!”
Harlin reaches in his pocket to peek at his phone, and then slides it back in. I look sideways at him. “Who is it?”
“No one,” he says, glancing over the room and avoiding my eyes.
I tsk and reach into his pocket to take out his phone. He doesn’t try to stop me and when I check it, I see he has six missed calls. “Harlin?” I ask.
“My mom,” he answers, so I don’t bother scrolling. “Next weekend would have been my dad’s fiftieth birthday and she wants to have a remembrance. I told her I can remember him just fine, but she’s going all out.” He looks over and his face is pained. “She’s having a birthday party and making his favorite dinner. It’s sick.”
I lower my eyes and put his phone back in his pocket and in the same movement wrap myself around him in a hug. He’s not really hugging me back, but I don’t care. I get on my tiptoes toward his ear.
“I’m sorry.”
He holds me then, putting his chin on my shoulder. I hate that his mom forces these things on him, but I also hate how Harlin’s handling it. It’s like he pretends it never happened. If I could use the Need I’m sure it would tell him to deal with his grief. But I can’t force the Need to work. It only forces me.
I close my eyes, my fingers tickling the back of his neck. “We should talk about it,” I whisper.
“We’re at a charity ball,” he whispers. “Not really the bare-your-soul type of environment, do you think?” He moves his head so his lips graze my neck. “And all these breasts seem to be staring at me no matter where I am in the room. They’re following me.”
“Idiot.” I laugh, and pull back enough to look at him. I grab his jacket and kiss him, not really able to help myself. We’re making out, respectfully (it is a charity event), when someone clears his throat.
Harlin and I turn, still attached at the lips, and see a serious-looking man in a tux standing there. Sarah’s father.
“Nice to see you, Charlotte,” he says, his voice deep and intimidating. I doubt he means it, and he doesn’t even acknowledge Harlin.
“Hi.” I dart my eyes around for Sarah, but she’s nowhere in sight. She might still be at the bar.
“Have you seen my daughter?”
“Daughter?” I’m the worst liar ever. I stare at Sarah’s tall, imposing father and try to smile. “She’s getting us a table?”
He narrows his gray eyes, and then tightens his mouth. “Is that a question or a statement?”
“Statement?” I’m so blowing this.
He exhales and nods. “Well, then. I guess I’ll see you in the banquet room.”
Harlin grins as Sarah’s father walks away. “You are so subtle, Charlotte. Are you a ninja?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m sure he didn’t find that at all suspicious.”
“Harlin!”
He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll stop,” he says. “But where is Sarah? You might want to find her before we sit down for chicken with that man. What will you say if he asks you to pass the mashed potatoes? Mashed potatoes?” Harlin finishes, imitating my voice.
I slap his arm and then pull him forward through the ball. He’s right. I should find Sarah before Daddy Dearest sends out security looking for her. Just then I see her father standing in the doorway, watching us.
Great. He’s probably CIA trained and planning to follow me. I’ll lead him right to the bar. “Stop here,” I murmur. Harlin and I pause at an abstract—meaning I can’t tell what the hell it is—painting.
Harlin is staring at the picture like he gets it, a smug smirk on his face. I study him, not caring about any other piece of art in the room. Just then I feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. His jaw tightens but he makes no move toward it.
“Are you going to answer that?” I ask.
“Do you think the artist knew this work was terrible while he was painting it?”
“No. But I’m not asking about that.”
Harlin turns to me, looking serious. “What are you asking about, then?” His eyes are narrowed like he’s daring me to talk about his mother.
“How you’re going to deal with her. You can’t just keep ignoring her phone calls.”
He smiles like it’s a silly statement and turns back to the painting. “Of course I can.”
This isn’t exactly the moment I was hoping for when I decided to come to this event. I wanted a normal night, a night where Harlin and I would be together, all dressed up and proper. But now I just want him to fix things with his mother. I’m tired of him keeping everything bottled up.
Harlin continues to stare at the painting, sipping from his wine glass. “The brush strokes on this are too wide,” he says.
“She’s grieving, Harlin. Maybe she needs you to pull her out of it.”
Harlin pauses mid-sip, and then lifts the glass to finish it off. When he’s done, he sets it on the base of a statue and looks sideways at me. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What? We haven’t even eaten yet.”
“Let’s leave for California right now and never come back.”
I’m completely caught off guard, and step toward him. “I can’t just leave,” I whisper. “What about Mercy?”
Harlin’s mouth curves into a smile and he takes my arm, resting his forehead against mine as he stares into my eyes. “Run away with me,” he breathes, smelling sweet from the wine. It’s intoxicating. “Run far away with me.”
I feel a rush of electricity and my body warms considerably.
“Where would we go?”
“Anywhere, as long as I’m with you.”
Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I close my eyes. I can feel how much he needs me, how much I need him.
“You have me forever,” he whispers. “I’m yours.”
“Mm . . .” I’ll run away if he wants. I’ll go anywhere as long as I can feel like this—so beautiful and calm. I feel alive.
“Good,” he says, leaning forward to kiss me softly. “And you only have to do one thing for me.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t talk about my mother again.”
I gasp and pull out of his arms. “Are you serious right now? You just said all that stuff to get me to stop asking about your mother?” My cheeks prickle with embarrassment, a bit of anger.
“No, baby. I meant every word,” he tries to explain, touching my hand. “You know I did.”
I yank away. “You’re an ass,” I murmur, and move over to the next painting.
I fold my arms over my chest, ignoring Harlin as he comes to stand next to me. He presses his shoulder against mine, then leans down, brushing his lips against my ear.
“I’m sorry.” He says it so softly it’s just a breath. “I love you,” he repeats over and over, putting his hand on the curve of my back. I close my eyes and lean into him, letting him put his arm around me.
I want to spend forever with him. I want that to be true. But I have to fight the Need to keep him. To stay alive.
Harlin kisses the top of my head, just as I open my eyes to stare at the painting in front of us.
There are angels in the clouds beating back red and black devils crawling out from underneath the ground. I can’t tell which side is winning, and I don’t know what it’s symbolizing. But I feel like I know more about it than I want to.