Sloth

“Forget it.” Harper stood up, wincing a bit as she put weight on her left leg. “You’re right, we can shop another time. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Where are you going?” Miranda jumped up from her seat. “I’ll come with you.”

“I’ve got some stuff to do,” Harper said, already walking away. “You should stick around here.”

Once again, it wasn’t a request. It was an order.

“Where are you taking me?” the redhead giggled as Kane Geary led her, blindfolded, down the empty hallway.

“That’s for me to know”-he kissed the back of her neck, then ran his fingers lightly down her spine, relishing the burst of shivers it caused-”and you to find out. Come on”-Sarah? Stella? Susan?-”babe. Time to make your dreams come true.”

He pulled her along faster, but she tugged back, slowing them down. “I can’t see anything,” she reminded him, squeezing his hand. “I’m going to trip.”

“I’d never let you fall,” he assured her. “Don’t you trust me?”

She laughed. “I’m not that stupid.”

Kane begged to differ. But not out loud.

“How about you take off the blindfold and just tell me where you’re taking me?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Kane shook his head. “I’ve got a better idea.” He hoisted her over his shoulder. Once she stopped wriggling and giggling, she lay pressed against him, her arms wrapped around his waist and her lips nuzzling the small of his back.

“All the blood’s rushing to my head, Kane,” she complained, “so you’d better hurry.”

But he stopped.

A month ago, Kaia’s locker had been transformed into a makeshift shrine, with a rainbow of cards and angel pictures adorning the front, above an ever-growing pile of flowers and teddy bears. There were notes, bracelets, magazine cutouts, candles-an endless supply of sentimental crap-but no photos. None of the mourners had any pictures of Kaia; none of them even knew her.

Even Kane had no pictures. Back in the fall, he, Kaia, and Harper had staged an illicit photo shoot, a faux hookup between Harper and Kane captured on film-and later doctored to make it appear that Beth was the one in his arms. Kane still had the original images stored away for a rainy day; but Kaia had stayed behind the lens. And Kane’s mental picture was blurry. He remembered the way she’d felt, the one night they spent together-he remembered her lips, her skin, her sighs. But the room had been dark, and she’d been gone by morning.

For the first few days, there had been a strange zone of silence around her locker-you dropped your voice when you passed by, or you avoided it altogether. But then it faded into the background, just one of those things you barely noticed as you hurried down the hall.

Even Kane, who noticed everything, had successfully blocked it out after a few days of cringing and sneering. He’d almost forgotten it was there.

And now it really wasn’t.

The collage of cards and pictures had disappeared, with only a few stray, peeling strips of tape to remember them by. The pile of junk was gone-only a single teddy bear and a couple of votive candles remained, and as Kane watched, they too were swept up by the janitor, deposited in a large bin, and wheeled away

Now it was just any other locker. Reduce, reuse, recycle.

“Kane, what is it?” the redhead asked, tickling his side. “Are we here? Wherever we are?”

“No, we’re not here,” he said, still staring at the locker. “We’re nowhere.”

It’s just a locker, he told himself. She doesn’t need it anymore.

He put the redhead back on her feet, tipped her blindfolded head toward his, and gave her a long kiss. Then he put his arm around her shoulder and guided her away from the locker, down the hall, toward the empty boiler room, where he’d prepared his standard romantic spread.

“We’re two of a kind,” Kaia had once told him. Meaning: icy, detached, heartless. Winners, who didn’t need anyone else’s approval to be happy, who sought out what they wanted and took it. Who didn’t look back.

Wouldn’t it be a fitting tribute to prove her right?

Chapter 2

Adam was waiting on his front stoop when the car pulled into the driveway.

At first, he didn’t move, just watched as Mrs. Grace climbed out of the rusty Volvo, then scurried around to the passenger’s side to help her daughter.

Harper shrugged her off.

If you didn’t know her, she would have looked perfectly normal, Adam mused. Aside from a few fading scratches on her face and neck, and a long scar on her left arm, she looked totally fine. The same. And from a distance, you couldn’t even see that much; he’d only noticed the scar this afternoon at the rally, sitting behind her, close enough to see the thin white line arcing across her unusually pale skin, close enough for her to see him-and turn away.

From this distance, all he could see was her wild hair curling around her face, and the syncopated rhythm of her walk-not the familiar stride of superiority, as if she were a wealthy landowner touring her property, but a more tentative, irregular gait, small nervous steps that favored her right leg.

He called out; she didn’t stop. But she was moving slowly enough that he could catch her.

“Adam, what a pleasant surprise,” Amanda Grace said, favoring him with her unintentionally condescending smile-at least, he’d always assumed it was unintentional. Amanda Grace had always been nothing but kind to the boy next door, and probably had no idea how obvious her disdain for his mother or his circumstances truly was.

By any objective standard, her family was worse off than his-after all, his mother was the top Realtor in town, while the Graces ran a dry cleaners that even in good years barely broke even. But Adam and his trailer park refugee mother had poor white trash written all over them-and his mother’s not-so-circumspect bed-hopping didn’t help matters-while the Graces had their name.

It was pretty much all they had, aside from the stately but dilapidated home left over from boom times, but in the town of Grace, California, surrounded by Grace Library, Grace Hospital, Grace Retirement Village, their name was enough.

“Would you like to come inside, Adam?” she asked, putting a hand on Harpers shoulder; Harper squirmed away. “I’m sure you could use a home-cooked meal.”

“I’m sure he’s got other plans,” Harper said, her glare making it clear to Adam that if he didn’t, he’d better make some.

“In that case, I’ll give you two a chance to talk. Don’t stay out too long, hon,” she cautioned Harper as she stepped inside the house. “You need your rest.”

“I’m fine, Mother.”

Adam tasted victory. He was sure Harper had been about to duck inside as well-but now that her mother had cautioned her, Adam knew she’d stay out as long as possible. Even if it meant talking to him.

“What do you want?” she asked, and again, if you didn’t know her, you’d think her voice perfectly pleasant. But Adam knew her-had grown up with her, briefly dated her, been betrayed by her, was finished with her-or so he’d thought, until he realized what “finished” could mean.

“Just wanted to see how you’re doing,” he said. “You haven’t been returning my phone calls, and this afternoon we… didn’t get a chance to talk.” Because she’d kept her back to him the whole time and had left as quickly as she could.

“How sweet,” she said coolly. “Thank you for asking. I’m fine, as you can see. So…?”

“So?” he repeated hopefully, after a long pause.

“So is there anything else?”

“Oh.” Adam looked down at his scuffed sneakers. “I thought we could hang out,” he suggested. “We could go get some coffee, or just, you know, go out back. On the rock.”