Dad indulged himself, opting to buy a Corvette and a new pickup truck. My beat-up Corolla looks out of place in the garage next to them, but I don’t mind keeping it. And even though the money is obviously real, I worry it’ll vanish as fast as it materialized. Especially with how Dad is spending it.
Gambling got him the money, and if I had to wager, I’d say that will be the way he’ll lose it too. Particularly since he’s been at the casino the last two nights. But at least there’s some money set aside for my brother, so it’ll be there for him either way, and Zachary will have a head start regardless of what else transpires.
When Dad handed me the paperwork to show the funds set aside for Zachary, there was a brief second where I thought maybe he was going to change. But not enough to allow myself to feel optimistic. And as much as I want to enjoy the situationnow, I still feel dead inside. All I can think about is how much my mom is the person who actually deserves to be here. She’d finally be able to take a breath, relax, and enjoy her life for a few moments without burden.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door that I already know is Anthony. The man has a very distinct pattern of knocking. When I open the door, he motions to the plastic-covered clothes in his hand. “Your uniforms arrived from the dry cleaners. You’re all set for your first day of school, Ms. Walker.” He doesn’t offer them but holds them and waits until I stand to the side to enter and hang them my closet.
“Thank you. And please call me Ivy.” Like I’ve mentioned a thousand times.
“My pleasure, Ivy,” he responds, but I’m not sure the name thing will stick.
It felt bizarre to have a man around my father’s age address me so formally. Plus, it’s still weird that he’s got everything ready for my first day of school which is two days away. Usually, I’d be running around after the start of the year and only get what was absolutely necessary—whichneverincluded uniforms. However, I’ve hardly had to do anything since the staff Dad hired—including Anthony along with two housekeepers, a personal chef, and a driver for Zachary—took care of my every need.
I’d offered to drive my brother to school, but Dad said he’ll cover it since my brother said he’d be embarrassed to arrive at the prestigious Belgrave Academy in my car. I’d take offense to it, but I’m glad Zachary has everything he needs and is beyond happy. Wish I felt the same. It’s likely I’m the only one who would prefer to be back at the apartment. And it’s not because I miss it, I just miss the familiarity. Everything here feels foreign, like the smiling face of the housekeeper who greets me as I walk down the staircase.
Once I weave through the kitchen, I hurry out the back door onto the patio. The yard isn’t huge, but it’s sizable considering we’re in Uptown. The pool is something I could’ve only fantasized of months ago. Now, it’s a reminder that even if you get something from your wildest dreams, it doesn’t always matter at the end of the day.
I head over to the sitting area alongside the pool and drop onto a lounge chair. It’s probably an hour or more later when I’m woken up by Anthony announcing, “Ms. Walker, you have a visitor.”
Everett appears behind him and slaps him on the shoulder. “No need to broadcast my arrival, dude.”
He stops beside my chair and waves over the pool. “Now you have this awesome pool in your backyard and still not swimming.”
I shrug my shoulders and tuck my knees to my chest. “Don’t feel like it.”
Everett drops onto the edge of my chair, his hand on my calf as he squeezes it. “You can only use that excuse for so long. So, tell me what you feel like doing tonight?”
“Nothing,” I reply.
“Come on, Ivy. You are sitting here all bummed out. It’s the weekend before senior year. And hell, we’re not even going to be attending the same school anymore. Why don’t you come out with me? Everyone will be there. Let’s get one last party in before you bail on us for your preppy friends.”
I’m not thrilled about switching schools, but I almost think it might be better. I can just blend in, get through the year, and be left alone. No expectations. Nobody will expect anything from me, not to cheer, swim, or be my old self. They won’t notice if I don’t want to be the person I was before the accident. “I’m going to stay home.”
“Seriously? You can’t just humor me for one night?” He leans forward, titling his head to the side as he eyes me. “Pretty please.”
When I look over at him, I want to feel something. Guilt for bailing or sadness that I might actually miss having him around, but I don’t feel anything. “I don’t want to.”
The disappointment on his face is obvious, but he just says, “Maybe next weekend.” He stays on the end of my lounger as he places a hand on my knee. “It’s not like you’re that far away. You’re still close enough to hang out.”
“Yeah.” I agree then just listen while he tells me about the plans they have tonight. I know all the names, the faces, but they seem as unfamiliar as my new life. They know me as a different person. Someone I can’t get a grip on at the moment. Will it ever get better? Will I ever feel normal again?
“Ivy, did you hear me?” Everett asks.
When I glance over to him, he repeats, “We can still go to homecoming together, right?”
“Sure.” Maybe things will be different by then. If not, I’ll just go through the motions. It’s worked for the last few weeks. I can keep doing it, right?
Everett is still talking homecoming when my attention is drawn across the yard. Past the back fence, there’s a guy standing on a balcony. His posture seems tense, and even from here, I can see he’s glaring at us.
“What’s wrong?” Everett asks then follows my line of sight to where my vision is fixated. “Ah, we have an audience. Maybe he’ll be neighborly and send over his butler with a welcome dish.”
I don’t get the vibe he’s a very friendly neighbor. And he clearly doesn’t want to hide the fact that he is observing us.
Everett seems unbothered as he turns back to me. “Well, no skinny-dipping with that voyeur over there.” He leans forward and whispers, “Unless you want to give him a show. I’m game.”
“I’m not.” Even if he’s joking, it’s not amusing to me.
I find frustration collecting in me as Everett continues chatting; but it’s not directed at my best friend. The fault lands on the dude who continues to stare, leaning against the rail of his balcony with no shame, his eyes still set in our direction. The more seconds that tick by, the more I have the urge to hold up my hand and flip the guy off. Or just yell at him to get lost. You’d think with this fancy house there would be more privacy or barriers to block intrusive neighbors.
