The After Girls Page 10

  “Hello?”

  “Ella?” The voice sounded friendly. Familiar. “It’s Jake.”

  “Oh, hey,” she said, her eyes flicking back to her computer screen. She felt like she’d been caught. “How do you have my number?”

  He laughed. “You do work for my aunt, you know. I have my ways.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Yeah … what’s up?”

  “I was just calling to see how you were.”

  “How I am?”

  “You fainted, remember?”

  Ella shook her head. It was like she’d taken a course in valley girl. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m feeling okay.”

  “Good enough for dinner?” he asked.

  Ella’s heart raced because for a second, she thought he was asking her on a date. Even though he couldn’t be. Because now he’d met Ben … and Ben had made it clear as day that he was her boyfriend, and …

  “Uhhh …” she stalled for time.

  “Grace, I mean — we — were all thinking that if you were feeling up to it, it might be nice for you to come over for dinner. To the house.”

  “Oh,” she said. And it all made sense then. Of course he wasn’t asking her out — what was wrong with her? He was just asking her over to the house. To Astrid’s house.

  “I mean, only if you’re feeling up to it,” Jake continued.

  “Yes,” she said, eagerly. “Yes, I am.”

  “Great,” he said. “I’ll tell Grace. She said you could come over around seven.”

  “Okay,” Ella said. “That sounds good.”

  “Oh, and Ella,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I really do hope you’re feeling better.”

  “I am,” she said.

  “Good,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “See you tonight,” she echoed, and she hung up the phone and set it down on her bed. She felt better. Truly. She was going over to Astrid’s house. She was going to be there again, she was going to see what it was like, and she was going to finally get to spend some time with Grace.

  But it didn’t last.

  In seconds her phone was ringing again. Ella picked it up and her heart stopped, because there she was — staring right at her. She heard herself scream, saw the phone drop from her hands. One smiling face and six little letters.

  Astrid.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The sky was clear when Sydney got to the cabin, and the caution tape was gone. It looked like the Falling Rock police had actually come through for a change. It was better this way. Not so scary. With the cloudy blue sky above it, it almost looked quaint. Almost.

  Sydney stepped up to the creaky old porch, stomping hard to get the clay off of her combat boots. The ground was damp today because it had rained last night — she hoped to God it wouldn’t rain again.

  The door was shut — tight. It was funny how the police had done it that way, as if it actually mattered at this place. Sydney slowly placed her hand on the doorknob and turned. She knew that it wouldn’t be locked.

  She stepped inside, and the faint scent of oranges hit her — it smelled like her house after her mom had cleaned. The books and yearbooks were no longer scattered across the floor. Neither were the blankets. Sydney walked up to the old armoire and opened it — there they were, neatly stacked, probably just as they had been when A had come here herself. Perhaps she should give the FRPD more credit than she had in the past. Altogether, the place looked better now, more like it used to. Less like death.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out. It was Max.

  Hang tonite?

  Sydney rolled her eyes. What the hell did he want anyway? They hadn’t even talked since she’d drunkenly demanded to be taken home. And now he wanted to “hang.” She would have called Ella for advice, but the girl was in post-faint mode, and she didn’t want to bother her. Plus, she knew what Ella would say. “You are too good for Max. Tell him you’re busy and you’ll see him at practice.”

  But she couldn’t help staring at the center of the room where the three of them all used to sit — where they used to talk about these things. What would Astrid have said? Would she have tossed her hair over her shoulder and echoed Ella? Maybe.

  Or would she have looked at Sydney with those eyes that always seemed to know everything about you, everything you truly felt, and would she have said that it was okay. That we all couldn’t be perfect. That she knew what it was like to feel lonely.

  Sydney startled because it came so fast she could almost see it, this memory, playing out in her mind. It was one of those nights that they’d all met here, just a couple months ago, when the weather had finally gotten nice as Falling Rock welcomed spring. It was before some party — she couldn’t remember whose.

  Sydney had come in and the candles were already lit and the blanket was out, but Astrid was sitting there, just staring out into space. Her journal was open and she gripped a pen in one hand, as if she’d been writing. She slammed it shut as soon as she saw Sydney.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Sydney said, tossing her bag in the corner and pulling out a bottle of wine. “I found this tucked in the back of my mom’s cabinet — she won’t miss it for awhile at least. She’ll probably just think that George took it to one of his nerdy pretentious math parties.”

  Astrid didn’t laugh.

  “You okay?” Sydney asked, sitting down next to her and fiddling with the corkscrew.

  “I don’t know,” Astrid said. “I feel weird.”

  “What do you mean?” Sydney asked. “Like you’re sick?”

  Astrid looked up at her then, and she half smiled, but it wasn’t one of those nice smiles. It was a smile that said, There’s something I’m not saying. “No,” she said. “I don’t think I’m sick.”

  Sydney narrowed her eyes at her friend. “You have another fight with your mom?”

  Astrid shook her head. She tucked her journal into her bag. Sometimes Sydney wondered what it said. “My mom only fights with me when …” her voice trailed off.

  “When what?” Sydney asked.

  Astrid just shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “A,” Sydney said. “I know. Sometimes I swear my mom’s crazy. I mean, she just fell for George in like five minutes and sometimes she’s nice to me and sometimes she’s such a bitch and she just looks at me like I’m like not even her daughter. Everyone’s parents are a little nutso.”

  Astrid nodded, but Sydney could see that her eyes were starting to water.

  “Hey,” she said, putting her hand on Astrid’s shoulder. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”

  “Sometimes I just feel alone,” Astrid said. Slowly. “Completely alone.”

  “You have me,” Sydney said, but she couldn’t say more because then Ella was walking through the door, and Astrid was quickly wiping her eyes and saying “hey” like nothing in the world was wrong.

  And Sydney let it slide, like she always did. She always figured that Astrid would talk to her when she felt ready. When she really needed to. Of course, she’d been completely, terribly wrong.

  What would she have said if Ella hadn’t come in? Hell, what would she have said if Sydney had asked? If she had grabbed her, shaken her, gotten the wild truth out of her.

  No one would miss me if I was gone.

  Sydney could have reasoned with her, held her. Helped her. Astrid’s death was shocking, yeah, but in hindsight, was it really even a surprise? Sydney could have saved her. She’d had more than one chance.

  Sydney slammed the door behind her and rushed to the wall, tearing one of the photos down. It ripped in two, half of it sticking to the wall, half of Astrid’s face in her hand.

  Why the hell had it been so hard to just ask?

  She had to change this place. Take the chills out of it. Make it so it wouldn’t be The Place That Astrid Died. So her aunt wouldn’t write about it in her next edition of town haunts. And the only way she knew how to do that was to erase their marks on it — to make it
like they’d never been here at all. Maybe she couldn’t cry and she couldn’t faint and she couldn’t grieve like Ella could. Maybe no matter what happened, no matter how many days and weeks and years passed, she would always know that it was her fault — that, God help her — she’d all but killed her friend. But at least she could do this.

  She stared at the torn photo and her heart broke all over again. She wanted to change this place, not destroy it. She carefully peeled off another photo, slowly, so it wouldn’t rip. It was one of Astrid, sitting in a tire swing that used to hang in Sydney’s yard, before the tree fell in a storm. She flipped it over and removed the scotch tape from each corner, crunching it into a wad.

  She couldn’t fix it, she couldn’t make it so this place wasn’t awful, so it wasn’t the place that A had chosen to die, and hell, she sure couldn’t save Astrid — or even herself — but she could make it a little better at least. She could make this just a run-down cabin in a mountain town. Not a grave. They could divide the photos between them — they could even put them in a box or a book or something that they shared. It’d be better than having them stuck here.

  The process wasn’t a quick one. There were hundreds of photos to take down, and even though Sydney tried to pull them off without looking, without remembering, she still had to move slowly so they wouldn’t tear.

  Sydney’s fingers were sticky, and she was almost done when she felt a cool rush, when she realized that she could hear the crickets and cicadas echo louder than they had before. When she turned she saw that the door had creaked open.

  The gust came through before she had a chance to close the door. It swept through the room, rushing through the open slats on the back wall. This place seemed ready to fall apart any minute. On the way through it ruffled her pile of photos, scattering them across the floor.

  She ran forward and slammed the door, and as she did, she heard a clap of thunder and the early patters of a rainstorm.

  “Shit,” she said, running to the window. The sky was gray and the rain was already starting to come down. Thunder crackled again. In moments, the rain would be everywhere, surrounding the cabin on four sides, pelting against the windows, turning the clay to mud.

  “Damn it,” she said, because she knew if she didn’t leave now, she’d be soaked. She looked at the photos scattered across the floor, trying to avoid Astrid’s eyes staring back at her from almost every one. Ella would have brought a box or a binder, but she hadn’t, and if she tried to take them with her, they’d get soaked, too. She’d just have to get them later. So she grabbed her bag and rushed out the door, closing it tight behind her so that the photos wouldn’t get wet.

  Maybe if she ran fast enough she could beat the storm.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Somehow, Ella had managed to pull herself together for dinner. She hadn’t answered the phone call — by the time she’d gotten the nerve, the ringing had stopped. She wanted to call back, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. So she’d shut her computer with shaking hands, tucked it under her bed. Turned off her phone. Tried to pretend that things were somehow okay.

  There had to be some explanation, after all. Maybe she was seeing things. Maybe she was imagining things. Did people do that? Did people actually go nuts because someone close to them died?

  But she knew that she’d imagined nothing. She knew what she’d seen. Her scream had been real. The terror, the pain she felt right now, was just as much so.

  So she’d showered. She’d watched bad TV. She’d told her mom that no, she didn’t want to go shopping for her dorm bedding. School seemed so far away. A completely other world. Eventually, seven would come. And it did.

  Ella’s mom dropped her off at Astrid’s right on time. She hadn’t been there since that most horrible day. It was small but quaint, with creaky floors and plenty of crannies to play hide and seek. Astrid used to claim that the place was haunted. It certainly had seen better days — the paint peeled on the edges, and the posts of the front porch were rotted in parts — but that had always been part of its appeal. It was like a fairytale cottage, their favorite spot to meet besides the cabin. Now, it’s once-charming façade just looked sad and lonely.

  “Just call me when you want me to come get you,” her mom said.

  She’d have to turn on her phone for that. She didn’t want to. “I’m sure Jake can drive me home.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Just let me know if you need me.” Then she put her hand on Ella’s shoulder. “You feeling better, baby? I know you had a rough day.”

  “Yeah,” Ella said, lying, and she gave her mom a hug and stepped out of the car.

  “See you later,” she said, and then she ran up the drive, straight to the door. Most of the rain had stopped by now, but it was still drizzling and the sky was super gray. Behind the house, the mountains were so dark that Ella could barely make them out; they looked like black splotches against the drab sky.

  Claire answered the door, almost as if she belonged there. Which she didn’t. She so didn’t. She was so proper and pulled-together. She wasn’t like Grace at all. It was hard to believe that they were even sisters. She pushed open the screen door, and Ella stepped inside.

  “Hi Ella,” she said, wrapping her in a quick, sterile hug. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Of course.”

  Jake poked his head out of the kitchen and waved. “Come in,” he said. And so she followed Claire to the kitchen, and she couldn’t help it, she turned her head as they passed the hall that led to Astrid’s room, and she felt almost sick as she thought of the message, the dream, the phone call — everything.

  Grace was there, one hand on the counter, bracing herself, and one slowly stirring a pot. She turned her head slowly. “Hi Ella,” she said, and she sounded tired. Then she just went back to stirring. She didn’t say anything else. No, How are you? I’m glad you came. No hug. No nothing. But she stirred that pot as if her life depended on it.

  Jake led Ella to the table.

  “Can I help you?” she said to Grace as she passed her, but Grace didn’t turn, and Claire took over. “We’ve got everything under control,” Claire said. “You all just sit down.” She touched her sister’s shoulder and, almost on cue, Grace stopped her stirring, dropping the spoon deep into the pot. It made a splash, but she didn’t say anything. She just turned the way that Claire had pointed her. Almost like a zombie. Where was the woman that Ella had grown up with? Who was this person here? It was like someone else altogether.

  Claire fished the spoon from deep down in the pot, Ella took her seat, and Jake sat down next to her. From her usual place, she could see into the big living room, the couches, where she and Astrid and Sydney had stayed up late watching movies, the bookshelf, where they’d read aloud the more scandalous scenes from Lady Chatterley’s Lover, but Ella’s eyes stopped on the desk — the beautiful antique wooden desk where they’d played office and written their papers — the one whose key Astrid always wore around her neck (Ella had always wished that her mom’s furniture had come with equally cool jewelry) — but something about it looked different. And in an instant she realized. It was a roll-top, and it had been pulled shut. In all the years she’d known Grace and Astrid, the desk had never been shut before.

  But Ella didn’t have time to think about it, because her eyes locked on Grace, who was taking her seat now, but she wasn’t taking her seat at all. She was taking the wrong seat.

  She was taking Astrid’s.

  Grace sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world. But it didn’t feel natural to Ella. It felt wrong. Like Astrid was somehow being replaced. Forgotten.

  “You okay?” Jake asked, nudging her with his elbow.

  She turned to him, realizing that she must have been staring. She nodded and plastered on a smile. “I’m fine.”

  Claire brought their bowls over two at a time. It was chicken and dumplings. Astrid’s favorite. Great. As if this day couldn’t get any worse. Ella stared down at the salty broth in fro
nt of her, but she’d completely lost her appetite.

  “Can I have some wine?” Grace asked when Claire set her bowl in front of her.

  “Sure,” Claire said, although she looked hesitant. She poured a glass and brought it over to the table. Ella noticed that Grace’s lips were already kind of purple.

  Jake dug in, slurping loudly. “This is great,” he said, and he smiled that Astrid smile. The corners of his lips turned right up at the edge.

  “Thanks,” Claire said, and she began to help herself.

  Grace took a gulp of wine, and then a big spoonful of soup.

  Ella just stared at the bowl in front of her. Maybe it was the message or the phone call or the fact that she was back in Astrid’s house, her favorite meal in front of her, or maybe it was that desk shut tight or Astrid’s mom, sitting in her daughter’s chair, but Ella just couldn’t bring herself to eat.

  “Too hot?” Grace asked. She was looking straight at Ella.

  Ella shook her head, looking down at the soup. “No, I just haven’t had this in a long time.”

  “I thought you liked it,” she said.

  “I do,” Ella said, her eyes meeting Grace’s. “Not as much as Astrid did, though.”

  Grace’s eyes narrowed, and she just took another sip of wine. “Sometimes it was the only thing I could get that girl to eat,” she said. “She always was so picky. Nothing I did was ever good enough for her.”

  Ella’s eyes narrowed. She’d never heard Grace talk about Astrid like that. What did she mean that nothing she did was good enough? Astrid loved Grace. They were so close they were like sisters. Maybe Grace wouldn’t let her cut her hair, and maybe she made her wear sunscreen, but they were still friends. Weren’t they?

  “I didn’t think she was picky,” Ella said.

  “Well you weren’t her mother,” Grace said, lifting the wine glass to her lips.

  “Grace,” Claire said. “Let’s just eat. Please.”

  Grace looked at her sister and must have decided that she had a point, because she took a sip of her wine like everything was alright.