And When I Die, page 29
“This—is this your closet?” Ruthie asked, stunned.
“You should see my mom’s.” Shannon held up a blue jean skirt and oversized turquoise pocket T. “What about this? With a belt over the t-shirt?”
“It’s cu—”
“No, no, it’s terrible. It sucks. I can’t wear that,” Shannon said before she discarded it along with six other outfits, before settling on a pair of Paris Blues, sky blue Coca Cola rugby shirt, and silver flats.
“Totally cute, right?” Shannon said as she modeled for herself in the mirror. “Cute, but not trying too hard, cute.”
“Yeah, totally,” Ruthie said, her heart hammering, a new thought occurring to her. Would she be going to Sharla’s, too?
“Okay, I’m gonna drop you off then speed like hell to get to Sharla’s. I can’t stand it. Seriously, I’ve been trying to get Mikey Gold forever. I’m hoping he’ll ask me to junior prom.”
Ruthie’s heart dropped to her shoes, the bubble bursting. She wasn’t good enough to tag along with Shannon to hang out with the cool kids. She was just Shannon’s dirty little secret.
Shannon squealed again as she ran past Ruthie back into her room, draining her Perrier and sticking her apple in her mouth as she grabbed her purse, but not before spritzing herself with perfume from the red plastic triangle of Liz Claiborne and dusting her cheeks with powder, mumbling to herself she’d put on lipstick once she got to Sharla’s. Ruthie glumly followed Shannon downstairs, who was oblivious to her misery as she chattered on about how she’d had a crush on Mikey since freshman year, but it seemed like he always went for blondes instead of brunettes. It was finally her turn.
Shannon grabbed her keys from the bowl, muttering to herself again, this time about calling her father from Sharla’s that she’d just meet him at Strawberry Patch instead of picking her up at home.
“Okay, girl, come on, let’s go,” Shannon said, flinging open the front door, running to her car, a shattered Ruthie following suit.
Shannon had all but kicked her out of the car before peeling off to pursue Mikey Gold at Sharla’s. She’d barely even said goodbye. Ruthie had brooded about it all night and even the next day at school when she spotted Sharla and Shannon with their heads together in the hallway. There was no rehearsal that night since it was Friday, and with the play just a week away, the leads were asked to put in extra time, so Ruthie walked home those days.
The night of the play was madness and Shannon didn’t have time for her. There were too many people fluttering around her, pulling at her, wanting her attention. Even though Ruthie missed those brief snatches of time with Shannon, was depressed about being thrown over for Mikey Gold, she still wanted the play to be a huge success. Wanted Shannon to be a huge success.
And they were. Everyone loved Shannon. They threw roses at her, demanding multiple encores, their cries of happiness not possibly rivaling Ruthie’s own tears of joy at her friend’s triumph. All sins were forgiven. Her victory was so great, Ms. Grazoli invited Shannon to permanently join the drama club next year. Ruthie overheard her tell Mrs. Kendall that Shannon should seriously consider a four-week summer program at a drama camp she knew of in North Dakota.
It was a magical night.
As the fervor over the play died down and life returned to normal, it seemed as though Shannon drifted out of Ruthie’s life almost as instantaneously as she’d drifted in. With the play over, there were no more rides home and inexplicably, Shannon gave her the same fake waves and smiles she gave everyone in the hallway every morning. It was as though that lip gloss she’d given her didn’t matter, that she hadn’t offered her one of Mrs. Kendall’s Diet Cokes, hadn’t asked for her opinion about which of her five Coca Cola rugby shirts she should wear to impress Mikey Gold. Shannon’s enthusiasm for her dimmed swiftly and to Ruthie, brutally, as the school year began its inevitable race toward summer vacation, her interests seemed to lie elsewhere.
Ruthie panicked.
She couldn’t let Shannon slide through her fingers.
They were on the cusp of being real and true friends. She knew they were. Ruthie couldn’t give her up.
If she could just get her alone.
And then the plan came to her. So simple.
Ruthie would win Shannon back.
All it took was a phone call to Mrs. Kendall.
72
AVA
Ava checked her phone for the tenth time, making sure it was set up correctly as she took another sip of wine. She’d already done the run-through numerous times before she left the house, but she was nervous about accidentally swiping the wrong thing and screwing it all up. She’d managed to snag one of the more secluded tables at The Gallery, a quiet nook dominated by a mix of oversized and miniature paintings adorning the olive-green walls. The soft clink of forks and knives accompanied the muted peals of laughter that rang out from the tables of friends, families, and couples scattered throughout the rest of the space, as servers maneuvered around the strategically placed art exhibits, trays of drinks in their hands.
She looked up to see Erica making her way over and she waved, her heart thumping as she drew closer.
“How are you?” Ava asked as Erica leaned in for a hug before sitting opposite her.
“I’ve been better,” Erica said, hooking her bag onto the back of the chair. “I guess I’m still shaken up about Lauren.”
“What happened, exactly?”
Erica sighed and relayed Lauren’s accusations and Whitney’s sugar daddy scheme. It all made Ava’s head spin. Is that what teenage girls did now?
“God, and the social media, the tweeting.” Erica shook her head. “Teenage girls can be so vicious.”
“What are you going to do?” Ava asked, taking another sip of her wine, her eyes flicking down to her phone on the table in front of her.
“Oh, Jay is out for blood. He said if Lauren keeps up this vendetta, he’ll drag her name through the mud.”
“Well, maybe the police will make an arrest soon,” Ava said, rubbing her formerly shattered wrist. “Then we could all sleep easier.”
“Yes. It would be good if we could all just move on.” Erica smiled brightly, an indication she wanted to change the subject. “So … how are things with you?”
Ava took a deep breath. The exact opening she’d hoped for.
“Good. Just getting ready for my brother’s wedding this summer.”
“Oh, right, yes. I met the fiancée. What was her name again?”
“Melody.” Ava bit her bottom lip, searching Erica’s face for any hint of recognition or even worry.
“That’s right. Melody.” Erica held up her glass. “Let’s make a toast to your brother.”
“Oh, thank you. We’re all so excited. Melody’s fantastic.” Ava chuckled as she clinked glasses with Erica. “Of course, we’re not excited about a wedding in Texas in July.” Ava held her breath, looking for a flicker or shadow from Erica.
Nothing.
Erica laughed. “Can’t say I blame you. Why are they getting married in Texas, anyway?”
“That’s where Melody’s from. Houston, actually.”
A complete blank. Not even a twitch.
“Gosh, I don’t know how people live somewhere so hot. I couldn’t do it,” Erica said. “Give me the seasons.”
“I’m looking forward to getting to know Melody’s family better. She keeps raving about her sister, April, so I can’t wait to meet her.”
Melody had said April and Ruthie were friends. Surely that would elicit a wide-eyed blink, a faltering of some kind.
Still nothing.
“I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time, despite the heat.” She took a sip of her wine. “Make sure to wear lots of sunscreen. And drink lots of water.”
Ava laughed and nodded. “I’m also trying to figure out a time to visit my mom back in Minneapolis before the wedding.”
“Oh, you’re from there, right?”
“Yup, born and raised. I went to Minnesota State then got a job in Minneapolis, then got transferred down here a million years ago. I don’t get back home nearly enough.” Ava paused. “What about you? How often do you get home?”
Erica smiled ruefully. “Oh, I haven’t been back home in a long time. You know my parents died in a fire right before I graduated from high school.”
“That’s right. I’m sorry. I forgot about that.” Ava took a sip of wine. “What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“They said it was faulty wiring or something like that. I was having a sleepover at a girlfriend’s house. It was awful, her mom waking me up in the middle of the night to tell me.” Erica shuddered. “Anyway, as I said, haven’t been back since.”
“And that was in Ohio, right?”
“Small little town outside of Cleveland. No place you would have heard of.”
“Is the rest of your family still there?”
“No, you know it was just me and my parents. I was an only child and both of my parents were, too, so, basically, Jay’s family is my family.”
“Ah.” Ava pursed her lips. “And he’s from Naperville.”
“That’s right. I got a ton of in-laws and nephews and nieces and everything in between in exchange for marrying into the Mitchell family.” She laughed. “Just imagine a whole family of Jays. Each one louder than the next.”
“I’ll bet your holidays are insane.”
“Are you kidding? I should own stock in an earplug company. It’s only taken twenty years to get used to it.”
“That’s great you’ve got Jay’s family.” Ava cocked her head. “Still, that must make you sad. About your own family. That they never got to meet Jay or the girls.”
“Sure. Of course. I can’t change it though.” She shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“Hmm.” Ava nodded. “Of course. So, did you go to school here? Is that how you wound up in Chicago?”
“I went to a small design academy in Ohio and after I got out, got a job with an ad agency here and quickly realized I didn’t like working for anyone, so after about a year, I decided to go freelance.”
Ava’s nerves hummed. She needed to get on with part one of her mission. She cleared her throat and picked up her phone, swiping and tapping until she got the screen she wanted. “Sorry, Kyle’s texting me. He’s supposed to take Carly out for pizza tonight.”
“Speaking of, I need to figure out what I’m going to pick up for everyone tonight.”
Ava angled her phone and continued hitting her screen until she was satisfied she had what she needed. She set the phone down and tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear.
One down, one to go.
“You know,” she said. “I don’t think I know how you and Jay met.”
“Actually, he was a client. My third one to be exact.”
“No kidding.”
Erica chuckled as she signaled their server she wanted another glass of wine. Ava surveyed her own glass. She could drink, no question about it, but her nerves were so taut, she was terrified of overdoing it. Of course, it would look suspicious if she didn’t chug-a-lug. She decided to risk it and tapped her own glass, determining she would sip it slowly.
“It was his first company and he needed someone to design some signage for a conference. I thought he was the nicest, sweetest guy I’d ever met and then he asked if he could take me to dinner and six months later, we got married.”
“God, it took me years to get Kyle off the pot. We met in college and I thought a ring was going to be my graduation gift. It was three more years before he finally popped the question.” Ava licked her lips, ready to go for broke. “I used to joke with my girlfriends the real reason I wanted to marry him was so I could take his name, since it was so much better than mine.”
“Why, what was your maiden name?”
“Zajaczkowski. I mean people were always mangling it. Zakowski, Zowsky, Sacajawea … you name it.”
“Yikes,” Erica said, giggling. “I mean, it is kind of a mouthful.”
“Actually, growing up, people always called me Zach, you know, as a nickname. Even today, every time I go home, it’s always, ‘Hey, Zach, what’s up?’ ‘How’s life, Zach?’” Ava laughed her fake-sincere laugh. “What about you? Was Mitchell a trade-up?”
“Oh, I was lucky. My maiden name was Dane, so Mitchell was fine. I considered keeping it Dane or hyphenating, but it was important to Jay, so I became Mitchell.”
Giddiness flooded through Ava and she fought to keep her smile from being too broad.
A name. She had a name.
“Erica Dane. That’s beautiful. Sounds like a movie star.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet. Thank you.” Erica smiled. “Like I said, lucky.”
The two women chattered on for another hour, Ava’s itch to get home so she could search out Erica Dane growing with each nonsensical word that came out of her mouth.
Still, she had a role to play.
“Listen, like I was saying, Kyle’s taking Carly out for pizza tonight. Should we grab some apps to share?”
“Ah, I wish I could. I need to pick up dinner.”
“Next time, then,” Ava said, relief warming through her at not having to be subjected to Erica one minute more.
“Definitely.” Erica looked at her watch. “In fact, I should get going.”
“Oh, go ahead. I’m just going to finish my wine and head out myself. And I’ll take care of the check.”
“I’ll get it the next time.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“This was fun,” Erica said, getting out of her chair to hug and dual kiss Ava. “We should do this more often.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll text you to set up something,” Erica said.
“Sounds good. Have a great rest of the evening.”
Erica waved and headed outside. Ava waited until she saw her car pull away from the curb, safely on her way. She picked up her phone and tapped on her camera as she swirled the last of her wine around in her glass. She scrolled through the clandestine pictures she’d snapped of Erica as she sat across from her, having made sure to turn off the flash and mute the phone beforehand so no clicks were audible.
She had pictures.
A name.
And now, it was time to unravel the mystery of Erica Dane.
73
ERICA
Erica found herself smiling as she tapped the steering wheel, warmth spreading through her at the memory of the happy hour with Ava. She didn’t even mind that the car smelled of grease and salt, courtesy of the bags of hamburgers and French fries she’d picked up for Jay and Kennedy. Jordan, predictably, hadn’t wanted anything, declaring she planned to broil a piece of salmon paired with rice and some kind of vegetable. Erica had merely shrugged, feeling, as she often did, that more mothers should commit to her non-cooking stance. She was actually a pretty good cook, having learned from her grandmother during summers spent in Louisiana, mastering fried chicken, shrimp and grits, and macaroni and cheese by the time she was twelve. She was an even better baker, her apple pie and cherry chocolate chunk cookies in particular being popular items at the holidays.
Despite her skill in the kitchen, Erica had no desire to stress herself out over the triviality of what to make for dinner every night. She’d watched her mother rush through the door every night from her days as a nurse, distraught about what to cook, fueled in part by her insecurity about her culinary abilities. Her mother was a passable cook, able to accomplish the basics, but no more. There were no gourmet tricks up her sleeve, no Julia Child moments of awe to behold. She had her staples of baked chicken, a hit-or-miss meatloaf, a reliable tuna casserole, and a middling beef stew. She could open canned soups and vegetables with the best of them and bake a potato like nobody’s business. Store-bought cake mixes lived in the pantry, always at the ready for somebody’s birthday or last-minute bake sale. Cooking every night was an obligatory imposition, something Grace Stowers was told she had to do, so she did.
Except she found no joy in the kitchen. It filled her with anxiety, these frantic attempts to please everyone, the constant worry the chicken was overdone, the rice underdone. There was the year Erica’s sister, Alice, stopped eating anything green, or when her brother would only eat meat or chicken—no potatoes, no rice, just meat or chicken. Or when her other sister, Patricia, ate a bowl of Wheaties every night for six months. Her father was always easy, eating whatever his wife put in front of him. So was she for that matter. There was her mother, though, bending over backward to avoid putting broccoli or green beans on Alice’s plate, or trying to come up with new ways to cook chicken and steak for her brother, and just plain old giving up on wacky Patricia with her cereal fetish. Even when she offered to cook for her mother so she could relax when she got home from work every night, she was politely rejected. Erica finally decided it was because she was afraid her daughter would upstage her. She would have, no doubt, but Erica wasn’t sure why it mattered.
Watching her mother panic over how to meet the nonsensical whims of weird, occasionally snotty children convinced Erica cooking dinner for your family every night was dumb. Why shouldn’t everyone get to eat whatever they wanted? So, she’d vowed, when she grew up and had a family, that’s exactly what she would do.
Jay was thrilled not to have a wife clucking over him to diet or watch his salt intake. Fast food practically every night satisfied his frat boy tendencies. And Kennedy was a slender, healthy little girl, as Erica made sure she got regular exercise and gave her fruit and veggie smoothies for breakfast alongside her cereal, lots of vitamins, plenty of water, and a salad with grilled chicken from The Lantern at least twice a week. Jordan was the only one who complained, which baffled her. She would have been thrilled if her mother had declared she could eat whatever she wanted for dinner.
Her phone pinged with a text from Ava saying she had a great time, eliciting another smile from Erica. She’d been so surprised and thrilled to hear from Ava about meeting for happy hour, the occurrence being so rare. Ask, believe, and receive.
