“Please just come back to Landon.”
“Sunday,” I promised.
With thirty minutes to spare before Robbie arrived on Saturday evening, I examined my reflection in the full-length mirror on my bedroom closet. The closet contained rows of designer outfits and I recognized that if I was to appear at a gala such as tonight’s, an event commanding something like a thousand dollars a plate, suitable attire was required. And so I’d bathed, applied make-up, and fastened diamond studs in my ears. After consulting with Lanny, who would be appalled if our outfits clashed, I chose a simple floor-length gown, so deep a purple it almost appeared black. One of my arms was left bare and I asked Dad to help me with the clasp of a simple tennis bracelet I found on my dresser.
“You look lovely, honey,” he said, kissing my temple with paternal pride.
“Are you sure you want to leave your hair down?” Lanny inquired, scanning me from hairline to hem with a critical eye. She was impeccable in a smoky lavender frock with a plunging, crystal-encrusted neckline. Her dark hair was arranged atop her head, likely in part to feature her glittery diamond-and-amethyst chandeliers. I wanted to ask her if she knew her husband spent a fair amount of his work week engaging in illicit sex with another woman.
Dad, you unbelievable asshole, I thought, avoiding his eye as he held Lanny’s coat.
Robbie arrived, clad in black tie, somber as a preacher’s son but masking it with an air of forced gaiety. The doorman hailed a separate taxi for Robbie and me; Dad and Lanny promised to see us there as we climbed inside for the brief drive to the event center.
“You look nice. Way better than the other night.” Robbie sat facing me with one knee bent on the seat.
“You look nice, too. I’m glad you’re here.” And I truly was, even if I appeared distracted, staring out the window at the city flashing past, the beaming blur of lights and cars. Rain clattered on the roof of the cab and created smeary trails along the windows. It had become increasingly difficult to prevent thoughts of home – my real home, my trailer in the Jalesville foothills – from entering my head. I wanted Case more with each passing second, until I feared I might rip right out of my skin, burst apart with the strength of my need for him.
“Tish, you wanna have sex quick? I need some relief from this tension.” Robbie managed a small, crooked grin when my head snapped his way; he’d succeeded in catching my full attention.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I muttered, lowering my voice to add, “You have to start using your head, Benson. And not the smaller of the two.” I held his gaze, praying he would listen. “You’re my friend and I care about you very much. Promise me you’ll remember everything that’s happened here, in this time. Remember our conversations and stay away from Christina Turnbull at all costs. I don’t want to lose you again, do you hear me?”
Robbie took my hand and squeezed, momentarily lowering his forehead to our joined fingers. “I hear you. And I promise. You’re the only real friend I have.”
We arrived to the usual bustle and mild mania of well-attended social events, checking our coats and offering greetings left and right. The dissembling occurring all around inspired in me an unpleasant, dreamlike sensation; a slow-motion reel of expensive fabric and flashing jewels, insincerity spilling from shiny lips. Laughter, compliments, and silver trays of champagne flutes all floated through the air.
Robbie and I stuck close; for one thing, I relied on him to guide me through potential missteps. The Tish he knew had worked at Turnbull and Hinckley with him since college and would therefore know the names – not to mention – faces of our colleagues. I held his left elbow as we navigated the crowd, taller than him in my heels; the ballroom adjacent to the wide grand entrance was decked out for intimate dining, the floor scattered with dozens of linen-topped foursomes. Tiny white lights flickered along the length of the bar.
“There’s Derrick,” Robbie murmured, with a discreet tilt of his head. Two seconds later he broke out his most flirtatious smile as a gaggle of twenty-something women approached from the right, fondling drinks and designer clutches.
“I’ll find you before dinner,” I promised in an undertone, leaving him at their mercy.
“Don’t approach him,” he murmured in response.
I had no intention of seeking out Derrick’s company, though I was not blind; his gaze followed me with ill-disguised scrutiny. I nabbed a drink from a server simply to possess a prop, something to keep me from fidgeting, and slipped casually to the far edge of things, near the foot of the majestic open staircase that dropped from the second floor. I positioned myself just behind the gleaming wooden banister, where I could observe without being obtrusive, literally in the shadows. Derrick stood the length of the room away and necessity forced him to abandon watching me; he pasted on a smile to engage in requisite small talk.
My pulse was erratic as I waited for Fallon to appear – but there continued to be no sign of the slender, fair-haired man I recalled from Robbie’s funeral. I watched Ron and Christina Turnbull enter and hot anxiety slithered over my skin. Without realizing it, I ducked farther behind the banister at the sight of them, the champagne flute slipping in my sweaty grasp. Dad and Lanny were next to arrive, Dad with his ‘game face’ front and center. A pang of guilty discomfort struck; this was one of those times my father seemed like a stranger, in no way connected to the man I once idolized. Standing there watching him schmooze his way around the crowd, I missed Blythe with a sudden, painful intensity, my kind and patient stepdad. Blythe, whose presence in this life had
