Gluttony

Chapter 12

Saying good-bye didn’t take as long as she’d expected.

It was a short list, which only reminded her of how little she was leaving behind.

Beth’s fingers didn’t even tremble as she dialed in the numbers that would take her straight to voice mail. She couldn’t face anyone, but she still needed to say she was sorry, one last time.

“It’s Harper. Do your best, and if you’re lucky, I might call you back.”

Beep.

“Harper… this is Beth.” She took a deep, shuddery breath. “Please don’t hang up before you listen to this. I know you’ll never understand what I did, and I know you hate me, so I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just want you to know I’m sorry. More than I can ever say. I-” Her voice caught, and she gripped the phone tighter, fixing her gaze on the horizon and forcing herself to stay calm, make it through. “Just take care of Adam. I-I’m glad he’ll have you.”

One down. Two to go.

Adam’s was easier, somehow, maybe because she was only saying what she’d said so many times before. Or maybe because she hadn’t hurt him as badly, and didn’t owe him as much.

“Hey, it’s Adam, you missed me now, but I’ll catch you later.”

She sighed a little at the sound of his voice, the light Southern accent infusing each word with the hint of a warm smile. “I’m sorry for all the things we said to each other,” she told him, wondering when he would hear her words. “And for all the time we wasted being angry. Maybe if I hadn’t been so angry, things would have… a lot would have been different. We were really good, Ad, and I just want you to know, whatever happened, I still love you. Not like, you know, the way we were, but I’ll always-” She stopped. Always didn’t mean much. Not anymore. “I just hope you don’t forget the way things used to be. Before. And Adam… thank you. For tonight and… just for being… you.”

Then she waited. For ten minutes, then twenty. Hoping that it would get easier. But when it didn’t, she knew she couldn’t wait any longer. Reed had gotten a new cell phone the month before, but rarely remembered to turn it on. “Why bother?” he’d always asked Beth. “The only person I want to talk to is already here.” She didn’t want to just leave him a message; she wanted to talk to him. Not because she thought she’d be able to change anything-she was past that kind of stupid hope-but just because she wanted to hear his voice again. Even if he was angry, even if he told her again how much he hated her, she wanted to hear him say her name.

He didn’t answer.

“You know who it is and you know what you want. Speak.”

But Beth didn’t know what she wanted. “Reed. Reed…” Saying his name was all it took, and she burst into tears. She pressed a hand over the receiver, hoping to muffle her sobs, and quickly choked them back, forcing herself to talk. “It’s beautiful here,” she said in a thin, tight voice, trying to work up to saying something that actually mattered. “It makes me think of you. It makes me think… I’m not sorry, not about us. I shouldn’t have lied, and I shouldn’t have-I did a terrible thing. I know you hate me. I know you can never forgive me. You shouldn’t. I hate myself for what I did to you. But… I love you. And I know what I have to do now.” She shut her eyes against the lights and tried to picture his face-but all she could see was Kaia. “I can’t stand what I did to you, to-” She hiccupped through her tears and had to pause to catch her breath. “What I did to all of you. Not anymore. I’m sorry. For Kaia, and for us. For everything. Just try to remember that-and maybe someday you’ll even believe it.”

She hung up the phone before she realized that she’d forgotten to say the most important thing of all, maybe because saying it out loud would make it true, and she wasn’t ready for that yet. She needed more time. Not much, just a few more minutes of breathing deeply and staring up at the sky and holding on.

A few more minutes, and she would be ready to say good-bye.

Miranda felt sick. The food still churning in her stomach, she could feel the fat moving in, unpacking, making itself at home. She needed to do something about it. But before she could, her phone rang. And, glancing down at the caller ID, she discovered what sick really meant.

“Stevens, we need to talk,” he said as soon she picked up the phone, giving her an extra couple of seconds to decide what to say. It wasn’t enough.

“Kane… I…” Her face blazed red just thinking about him and what he’d overheard. There was no way she could face him.

“Meet me back at the hotel, by the pool,” he ordered.

There was no way she could disobey.

“Half an hour? You’ll be there?” he pressed.

She nodded.

“Well?”

She suddenly realized he couldn’t see her through the phone. Thank God. “Yeah. Half an hour.” She hung up and, nibbling at the edge of her thumbnail, wondered what would happen next. The options:

He wanted to let her down gently. Which would be humiliating, excruciating.

He wanted to pretend nothing had happened. Which might be better-or even worse.

He wanted to tell her he was madly in love with her, and now that he knew she felt the same way, they could-

She forced herself to stop. She’d promised herself no more lame daydreaming. And it was nearly morning-she was too tired to lie to herself anymore. Kane Geary didn’t lurk around in corners, afraid of his feelings, pathetically waiting for a sign.

No, that’s me, she thought wryly. When Kane saw what he wanted, he took it.

And he’d already chosen to leave Miranda on the shelf.

She considered ditching him, just sneaking back up to the room and finally getting some sleep. But she never considered it very seriously-doom-and-gloom expectations or not, she needed to know what he wanted. And she needed to prove to herself that she could handle it.

He got there first; maybe he’d already been there when he called. He was sitting on the edge of the pool, his jeans rolled up and his feet dangling in the water. He had his back to her, and Miranda assumed he hadn’t seen her come in-but after she’d stood in the entranceway for several long minutes, he called out her name.

“Come here.” he urged. “I won’t bite.”

She slipped her sandals off and sat down next to him, cringing as the unheated water lapped over her toes.

“You just have to get used to it,” he told her. “Then it feels good.”

“I guess I can get used to anything.”

There was about half a foot of space between them, except at their fingertips. Her right hand and his left hand were both pressed flat on the damp cement, less than half an inch apart.

Miranda put her hands in her lap and tried not to pick at her nails.

Silence.

“So,” Kane finally said, staring straight out at the water. “Our friends are pretty fucked up, huh?”

Miranda’s tension spurted out of her in a loud snort. Very attractive, she told herself irritably. Lovely.

“Yeah.” Miranda kicked her feet lightly in the water. “I just can’t believe Beth…”

Kane tipped his head back, as if to look up at the stars, but they were covered by a reddish haze. “I should have figured it out. Maybe I should have seen it coming.”

“If anyone should have, I should have,” Miranda countered. “I knew how angry she was about what Harper-”

“What we did to her,” Kane corrected her.

Miranda barely heard. “But I should never have said that to Harper. I thought it would help, but… she was so upset and miserable, and I had to go and tell her it was all her fault.”

“You didn’t tell her that.”

“Yeah, but I might as well have. It’s what she heard. And it’s no wonder she said all those-” Miranda kicked herself. She’d steered the conversation exactly where she didn’t want it to go.

“You told her the truth,” Kane insisted. “Beth wouldn’t have… done what she did if…”

Miranda shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean I had to say it.”

“I gave her the drugs,” Kane said suddenly, in a very quiet voice. She spun to look at him, and he met her gaze.

“What?”

“I gave her the drugs,” he repeated, more steadily. “As a present. I thought… it doesn’t matter what I thought. I didn’t expect her to keep them. Or use them. But I gave them to her. And I helped ruin her life. Hell, I started the whole thing. Which I guess makes me to blame too.”

Miranda didn’t know what to say.

“Doesn’t it?” he asked, his voice rising.

She shook her head, then caught herself. “Yes.”

He nodded once and let his head hang low with his chin resting against his chest and his shoulders slumped. It was a pose she’d never seen his body make before, so it took her a moment to identify it: defeat. Miranda lifted her hand and, with painful slowness, reached out for his shoulder. But she stopped, just before she touched him, her fingers trembling. She put her arm down, and they sat in silence.

Something jerked him out of a fitful sleep, but by the time he sat up in bed, whatever it was-the noise, the movement, something-was gone. Reed looked around, bleary-eyed and confused. The blinds were mostly drawn, but a thin band of darkness beneath the cheap cotton suggested that morning hadn’t yet arrived. His lips were dry and cracked, head foggy, and a sour taste filled his mouth. And the bed was strange, unfamiliar, as was the room…

Oh.

He lay back against the uneven mattress and shut his eyes, as if that could block out the reality he was beginning to remember. He was in Vegas. With Beth. But Beth had-

You’re a fool, Kaia’s voice told him scornfully. You fell for it. You fell for her-after me?

He wanted to hate Beth: for Kaia’s sake, and for his own. But lying there m the dark, it didn’t seem possible. And he hated himself for his failure.

Something began to buzz, and he felt a steady vibration against his hip. His phone, alerting him to a message-its ringing must have woken him up. He flipped it open, and even the dim light of the screen was blinding in the total darkness. There was one voice mail, and as he listened to it, he realized his hand was shaking.

He wanted to hang up in the middle; he wanted to hang up as soon as he heard her voice. But he listened to the whole thing. And he couldn’t help but remember: Kaia had left him a voice mail too, once. She had begged his forgiveness. And she had died before he could deliver.

He could picture Beth’s face, her lips trembling, tears magnifying her eyes to look like pure blue reflecting pools. She just wanted him to try to understand.

“I can’t,” he whispered, snapping the phone shut. “I just cant.”

“Hey… it’s the middle of the night,” a girl’s voice complained. “Go back to sleep.” Star la rolled toward him and draped an arm across his bare chest. She pressed her lips against the nape of his neck, and he felt her tongue darting back and forth, as if tapping out a private message in Morse code. He resisted the urge to push her away.

What did I do? he asked himself silently. But it was a rhetorical question. He remembered everything.

“Sorry I woke you,” he murmured, holding himself very still.

“Everything okay?”

He grunted a yes.

“Well, since we’re both awake…” She began playing with the dark curls of hair on his chest and then, slowly, her fingers began walking their way south. “Want to play?”

Though he didn’t want to touch her, he grabbed her hand and tucked it against his chest. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”

“Mmmm, sounds good.” She yawned, then nuzzled into his back; moments later her breathing had settled into a deep and steady rhythm. He dropped her hand and lay quietly with his eyes wide open, staring at nothing. There was something about Beth’s message. Something wrong.

I know what I have to do.

Try to remember.

It wasn’t his problem anymore; she wasn’t his problem anymore. Reed closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, counting the seconds. Then breathed out. One. Two. Three. In. One. Two. Three. Out…

Sleep would come eventually, he told himself. And if it didn’t, there was always the fail-safe option, a small plastic bag with just enough left to help him zone out and forget.

But the voice mail kept replaying itself in his head. Not Beth’s-Kaia’s.

When he’d gotten Kaia’s message, he had thought about calling her back-but decided against it. He would forgive her, he’d already decided. But he wasn’t ready to talk to her, not yet. And there had been no hurry.

He’d just assumed they had plenty of time.

When Kane finally lifted his head again, she couldn’t read his expression. His eyes were half closed, and his face impassive, hidden in shadow. He rested his hand on her knee and a warm heat radiated out from the point of contact up and down her leg. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For telling the truth. Like always.”

“Kane, I-”

“Stevens, I-”

They laughed, and Miranda gestured that he should speak first.

“I got you something.” He pulled a small white, scrunched-up paper bag out of his pocket. “For your birthday. Since you’re having such an awesome celebratory weekend so far.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like it’s your fault. It all just happened.”

“I am the one who ruined your date,” he pointed out.

“Is that a note of apology I hear in your voice?” she joked, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. “Do I have a fever? Because I think I’m hallucinating.”

“Shut up and open it,” he said, shoving the bag into her hands.

“Lovely wrapping job.” She needed the sarcasm. It kept all the real emotions away. Miranda delicately peeled open the mouth of the bag and reached inside, pulling out a necklace of cheap, chunky plastic beads, painted in bright colors and attached to a label marked AUTHENTIC NATIVE AMERICAN JEWELRY. It was about as authentic as an aluminum Christmas tree-and just as tacky. “It’s… uh… nice. Thank you?”

“I saw it and thought of you,” he said proudly. “I knew you’d love it.”

Miranda knew she probably shouldn’t take it as an insult; but, looking down at the garish piece of pseudo-jewelry, it was hard not to. “It was very… sweet of you to get me something, Kane. You shouldn’t have. I mean, you really shouldn’t have.”

Kane burst into laughter. “Stop looking so appalled, Stevens. I know it’s gruesome. It’s not like I’m expecting you to like it.”

“Oh, thank God.” She waved it through the air, giggling as the beads clanked loudly together; wear this and she’d become a human maraca. “But then… what’s it for?”

“I found it in the gift shop,” he explained. “And it reminded me of-”

“The gift shop at the Rising Sun,” she cut in. Where they’d spent twenty minutes mocking the jewelry. Kane had strung the ugliest necklace they could find around her neck-and then they’d kissed. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I can’t believe you forgot.”

Miranda didn’t want him to know that she remembered every second of that day, that she could show him every point on her skin his hands and lips had touched.

“We picked out a necklace,” Kane reminded her, “and I put it around your neck-” He took the garish chain of beads out of her hands and latched it around her neck, pausing as his fingers fumbled with the clasp and brushed against her skin. “Like this. And then we stared at each other.” His forearms rested on her shoulders, locking her in. She could see her reflection in his eyes. “Like this. And you got all awkward and sarcastic…”

“That’s me,” she joked, trying to smile, “ruining things like always.”

“And I wouldn’t let you.” He moved closer, never taking his eyes off of hers. “I told you how beautiful your lips are-”

“No, you didn’t.”

“So you do remember,” he crowed, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I just know I wouldn’t have gone for a lame line like that,” Miranda countered.

“Girls love my lines,” he said, close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips, close enough that she couldn’t see his mouth moving because his enormous, dark brown eyes filled her field of vision.

“I’m different,” she reminded him.

“I know. That’s why, instead, I just-” And the distance between them disappeared as he kissed her. Everything disappeared other than his lips, and the touch of his skin as she stroked her hand across his cheek. His teeth, nibbling at her earlobe. Her tongue, lightly grazing his neck. His breathing, heavy and fast, her quiet gasp as his warm hand slipped beneath her shirt and pressed against the skin of her lower back.

And then reality came rushing back, and she pushed him away.

Right into the pool.

“Oh, no!” She jumped to her feet as he flailed about, finally finding his footing and standing up in the waist-deep water, drenched. “I can’t believe I just did that, I’m so sorry, I-”

“It’s fine,” he assured her, holding out his hand. “Help me up?”

She should have seen it coming. She’d seen enough movies. But she still took his hand-and, like clockwork, he pulled her in after him. The cold water slapped her in the face, spun her upside down, and when she found the surface, shivering and gasping, she was alert again, aware enough to stay away.

“Now you want to tell me why we’re both in the pool?” Kane requested, wading toward her. She backed away.

“You pulled me in!”

“You pushed me first.”

“Good point.”

Kane sliced through the water and, before she could get away, wrapped his arms around her.

“Let go,” she said, and it sounded less like an order than a question.

“You’re shivering,” he pointed out.

“And you’re soaking wet, so I don’t see how that’s helping.”

“Why did you push me away?” he asked, his lips at her ear.

Miranda didn’t say anything.

“I thought we were having fun,” he prodded. “Weren’t you having fun?”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her face. Her chin dug into his shoulder; he’d get the idea.

“So why push me away?”

“You know why” she said quietly. He was right, she was shivering-but not because of the cold.

“No.”

“Yes you do! Please don’t make me say it.”

“Miranda, I don’t…?”

“You heard Harper.” She tried to slide out of his embrace, but he wouldn’t let her. He only let go a little, so he could see her face. That was worse. “You know why I…” Miranda just wanted to look away, to be away, but the best she could do was squeeze her eyes shut so she didn’t have to see him looking at her. “I can’t do casual. Not with you. It’s too hard.”

“And what if I don’t want casual?”

She didn’t want to understand his meaning, because it was too dangerous. If she was wrong…

“Open your eyes, Miranda.”

She shook her head.

“Open them, or I’m kissing you again,” he threatened.

She opened her eyes.

“Let’s try this,” he told her. He wasn’t smirking, or even smiling. “You. Me. For real. Let’s just do it.”

“But… why?” Was this some kind of pity thing? Didn’t he know how much worse that would make everything in the morning, when the dream ended and she woke up?

“Because you want to. And because… I want to.” He didn’t sound sure, but he looked it.

“It would never work.”

“Probably not. But Stevens, why not take a chance for once?”

It was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one with everything to lose.

On the other hand… what did she have to lose, she asked herself, when she had so little to start with?

She’d spent so long convincing herself that this moment would never happen, and now here it was-and she almost hadn’t recognized it. She was terrified; but that was no excuse.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he repeated, his irresistible smile finally making an appearance. “You’ll deign to give me a shot?”

It was hard for her to speak, since she was barely breathing. “I guess you lucked out. So… what now? Should we, uh, talk about what we’re going to-”

He pressed his right hand to her lips, then, lightly, traced a path across her cheek, to the tip of her ear, then down along the edge of her jaw, coming to rest with his fingers just beneath her chin. “Enough talking,” he told her. “We have a deal-now we celebrate.”

The water was still ice cold, but as he leaned down and kissed her, his soaking hair dripping down her face, his wet T-shirt sticking to her skin, she felt perfectly warm.

And though the water was only waist deep and her feet were firmly planted on the floor of the pool, she felt like she was floating.

Beth didn’t know why she answered the phone. She supposed it was a reflex, left over from her old life. She couldn’t have been hoping that there was still a chance-that someone could say something that would make a difference. Even if there was someone who could reach out to her through the phone and explain to her how to fix things, this wasn’t going to be that kind of call.

Beth had seen the number on the caller ID and she picked it up, anyway, but that didn’t mean she was ready to talk. She lifted the phone to her ear but remained silent, trying to decide whether to hang up.

“I can hear you breathing.” Harper’s voice was low and cold. It reminded Beth of someone, though at first she couldn’t figure out who. Then it came to her: Kaia. “I know you’re there. Beth. Beth. Say something.”

What do you want? It took her a moment to realize she’d only mouthed the words, and no sound had come out. She tried again. “What do you want?” It was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough.

“What do I want? What do I want?” Beth held the phone away from her ear, but could still hear Harper’s tinny laugh. “You’re the one who called me, remember? Oh no, wait, you didn’t call me, you left a message. Like a coward. Afraid to face me, Beth? Too afraid I’ll tell you what I really think of you?”

“I think I’ve got that figured out already.”

Just hang up the phone, she told herself, and you can end this for good.

“Don’t pretend you know what I think,” Harper snapped. “If you knew anything, you wouldn’t leave some stupid message whining about how sorry you are, like that’s going to change anything. You don’t get to do that.”

“What should I do, Harper?” she asked, trying to sound tough, but failing miserably. “You tell me.”

“Grow a fucking spine for once, how about that? You face me. You face me and tell me what you did-”

“I already told you.”

“You tell me again, and you tell me how sorry you are,” she sneered, “and then you listen when I tell you exactly where to stick your useless apologies. You. Face. Me.”

“I can’t.”

“Where are you?”

Beth didn’t say anything.

“Where the hell are you!” Harper screamed, the last word sliding into a shriek of rage.

Beth just wanted it to stop; she wanted everything to stop. “I’m on the roof,” she whispered. “At the hotel. On the roof.”

“Stay there,” Harper commanded in a dangerous voice. “I’m coming.”

Beth hung up.

Why? she asked herself, the panic rising. Why tell her, when it would be impossible to face her without disintegrating? Just one more stupid decision in a lifetime of them. Harper would arrive soon, and Beth knew what she would say. And it would all be true. “Coward.” “Bitch.” “Murderer.” There would be no one to calm Harper down, and no one to hold Beth and assure her-lie to her-that it would be all right. There was no one left at all. The fear and loneliness threatened to overwhelm her-and then she remembered.

It didn’t matter how angry Harper was. It didn’t matter what she wanted to say.

Because by the time she got there, it would be too late. It would be over.