A Need So Beautiful (15 page)

“I remember,” she says. “But what if—”

“No,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “You can’t go talk to him.”

“Why? Did you foresee something?” She looks hopeful.

“No. But I know he’s a jerk.”

She looks disappointed, but then shrugs. “You’re right. He is. But I still think he likes me, and now that I’ve put him in his place, he’s ready to apologize and we can move on.”

“He’s an asshole.”

Her face begins to darken and for a second I think she might cry. But instead, she just twitches her mouth. “You may be right,” she says. “But it’s all I’ve got.” And then she walks away, leaving me alone in the middle of the hallway.

I’m just about to go double up on tater tots when a burning sensation prickles my skin. I blink slowly, the world around me fraying at the edges. Not now.

I try to turn to the cafeteria, but pain spikes through my joints. Eventually I give in and start walking toward the back of the building.

I stare at the doors where light filters in, thinking I’m leaving the school, but at the last second a rough wind blows through me, stopping me at a wooden doorway a few feet away.

Looking it over, I see everything but the handle lose its focus. I think . . . I’m at the teachers’ lounge. My skin tingles and my body is pushing me, but I don’t want to open the door. I don’t want to give in to the Need anymore.

But after an intense burning in my back, I reach out my hand and turn the knob. When the door opens, my sight fades. There is a glowing figure in the room, sitting at a circular table. Sister Dorothy.

If I wasn’t in so much pain, I might laugh. The Need has to help a nun? It seems ironic. But I don’t have time to think about it because I’m entering the room, the door closing behind me.

She looks over her shoulder at me, her features barely recognizable underneath the light. “Miss Cassidy? What are you doing in here?”

Her voice is high-pitched and alarmed, like I’ve broken one of the commandments of St. Vincent’s:
Thou shalt not enter the teachers’ lounge
. But then her life flashes before my eyes.

Suddenly, I am Dorothy Beaker. I’m in Italy backpacking with my best friend, Marjorie. We are twenty and we came to see the Vatican. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the Pope. We’re waiting in the courtyard and I’m so excited. I feel like God is smiling on me.

The scene changes and Marjorie is crying as we sit in the small room at the hostel. She’s pregnant. She never told me that she was having sex, and I’m offended. I’m offended that she would disgrace her religion. I tell her so. I’m breaking her heart because I am her only friend and I’m ashamed of her.

It’s a year later. I’m back in Washington, living at my parents’ house as I prepare for the order and there’s a knock at my door. I’m annoyed. I want to keep reading but I go anyway. No one else is home.

When I open it, Marjorie is there. Her face is puffy from crying and her body looks softer, curvier after her pregnancy. She asks for my forgiveness. I tell her I’m not the one to forgive her.

I listen impatiently as she tells me how she gave her baby to the church, that she wanted to keep it but her parents wouldn’t let her. She had no one. She didn’t even have me.

Now she’s desperate to find the baby. She asks for my help. She gets on her knees and begs for it.

In the teachers’ lounge, I flick my eyes to Sister Dorothy. She’s fifty-eight and small, a shadow of the woman she used to be. She stares at me, asking me questions and looking like she’s going to go for the phone. But I can’t hear her. I just hear Marjorie’s sobs.

“Help me find her!” she cries.

But I am Dorothy and I tell her no. That she wasn’t meant to have that baby. That the baby is better off with someone else. I am cruel.

As Dorothy, I resent Marjorie. She gave up both her religion and me when she sinned. So why now should I help her? She was supposed to be going into the convent with me. But now she can’t.

Which is why as she cries, I shut the door and leave her.

“Sister Dorothy,” I say finally, startling her. “I know what happened to Marjorie’s baby.”

The light around her blazes, like an overwhelming emotion just struck her. Her gray eyes turn glassy as she stares at me.

“You know Marjorie?” she murmurs, not disbelieving.

“It was a girl. Her name is Catherine.” I smile a little, seeing images of the child growing up, quick snapshots of her life. She was happy.

“Heaven above,” Sister Dorothy whimpers and makes the sign of the cross. She starts to pray quietly, her hands clasped in front of her.

“She has a husband and two little boys. Marjorie’s grandchildren. She’s always wanted to know her mother. But Marjorie passed away a few years ago. They never found each other.”

“What have I done?” Sister Dorothy whispers, her eyes squeezed shut. I step forward and put my hands over her folded ones. When she looks up her eyes gaze past me, like she’s not seeing me. Like she’s seeing something else. Something beautiful.

“Find Catherine,” I tell her. “There’s an old farmhouse just outside of Vancouver. The last name is Paltz. Tell her about her mother. Tell her about Marjorie.”

Sister Dorothy falls to her knees, sobbing, just as the light goes out around her and my sight returns. For the past thirty-six years Sister Dorothy has been repenting. Now she’ll make it right.

I swoon and nearly fall on top of her, but I catch my footing just in time. Euphoria stretches over me and I laugh out loud, feeling so damn good.

“Can I help you?” Sister Dorothy asks sharply. She’s oblivious to the tears on her cheeks as she scrambles to her feet. “You have no business being in here,” she says. “New students should report to the front office. Not the teachers’ lounge.”

I’m stunned. She’s forgotten me so quickly.

Maybe it’s okay that she can’t remember me, I think as I try to calm myself. It’s not like Mercy or Sarah or Harlin. It’s not the same. I should focus my energy on keeping
them
from forgetting.

Once I’m in the hall and the door behind me closes loudly, I try to take a deep breath. But when I reach up to scratch my nose, I see something that changes everything. There’s a big patch of skin missing from my hand.

I sit alone at a table, the sleeve of my sweater pulled down to hide my right hand. With the left I’m picking through my tater tots, filling an insatiable hunger. Our usual lunch crowd is buzzing with whispers that I know are about us—Sarah’s latest poor judgment and my in-class freak-out. But I don’t have time for petty drama today. I need to keep building memories with the people I care about, people who love me. It’s the only thing that’ll keep me real.

Sarah flops down across from me, her eyes bloodshot and the tip of her nose a little red. Her freckles dot her face now that her makeup has rubbed off. She won’t meet my eyes, and my heart sinks.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She opens up her backpack to take out a Ziploc baggie full of celery. After a minute of silence, she starts talking in a low voice. “We’re going to have fun tonight. Just us.”

“Hell yes.” I don’t feel all that energetic, but I can see Sarah’s sadness and I’m here for her. Just like I was when her grandmother passed away last year, or when her father puts her down and makes her hate herself. I want to always be here.

I try to think of something inspiring to say. “Hey, remember that time when Rod Crowell called me fat in eighth grade?”

Sarah slowly raises her eyes, meeting mine. “You were never fat.”

“I know, but he was mad that I beat him in the gym relay. Do you remember what you said to him?”

Sarah pulls her brows together, thinking hard. “No idea what you’re talking about, Charlotte.”

An empty feeling rolls over me. Normally, Sarah would remember that she kicked him in the leg so hard that his parents threatened to sue her father.

She’d remember telling me that no matter what anyone says to me, my opinion of myself is the only one that matters. She’s brilliant sometimes. She’d remember that.

“You really are my best friend,” I say quietly, reaching out to cover her hand with mine.

She laughs and pulls back. “You’re so patronizing. Of course I’m your best friend. And by the end of the day everyone’s probably going to be calling you my
girlfriend
.”

I try to smile. So what if she forgets little details of our relationship? She knows
me
and that’s what matters. We’ll just build new details. At least I’m still here with her.

I pick up a tater tot and throw it at her. “Who cares?” I say. “It’s not like we have some stellar reputations to lose. The rich BJ queen and the fashion-challenged scholarship kid? We sound like a great couple.”

“Imagine when the nuns call Daddy about that one.”

I grin. “Oh, he’ll flip. You’re supposed to marry a prince or something, right?”

She sighs. “I’d almost make out with you just to spite my father.”

“No thanks.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Charlotte.” She picks the tater out of her lap. “If you were my girlfriend, you’d have much bigger boobs.”

“Hey!”

“No worries.” She waves her hand. “I’m pretty sure I can’t compete with Harlin.”

“No,” I say. “You definitely can’t.”

“He’s good. I just know it.”

“Shut up!”

“We’re going to have fun tonight,” she says, mostly to herself. Then she goes back to crunching her celery. But I can still see that whatever went down with Seth is bothering her. She’s sad. And so am I.

Chapter 15

W
hen I get back to the apartment after school, I rush to my bedroom. I rummage through my drawers until I find a pair of black gloves. Slipping them on, I look on my bed for the journal. I need to find out more about Onika.

I stare at the rumpled comforter, confused. Where is it? I left it right here. I begin yanking off the sheets, checking under the bed. But it’s not here. It’s gone.

I spin around, looking from the side table to the dresser, but nothing. Where is it?

“Alex?” I call out. A few seconds later he appears in my doorway, a sandwich in his hand.

“You rang?” he mocks, his hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Did you see a journal on my bed?”

He laughs. “Since when do you keep a diary? I would have certainly read it by now.”

“Did you see it or not?”

“Nope.”

My heart is pounding. I hadn’t finished reading it.

“Do you think Mercy would take it?” I ask.

Alex takes a big bite of his sandwich and talks through the food. “Probably. But when I got home she was walking out with Monroe.”

I freeze. “What?”

“You know, the superhero Doctor Swift? He was here when I got home. Then he left with Mercy.”

“Why?”

“Charlotte.” He waggles his food at me. “Do you think I know? Holy hell.” Alex exhales and turns to go back down the hall toward the living room.

I stand there, thinking this over. Monroe. He must have seen the journal and taken it back. Is he mad that I stole it from him? Quickly I check my phone to see if I have any missed calls, but I don’t. Not from him or anyone else.

Just then the doorbell rings. I think it’s Monroe and swallow hard, smoothing down my hair (because that would help?) before walking toward the door.

Alex is on the couch flipping through the stations as I walk past to the door. I brace myself for a fight with Monroe, but when I open the door and see who’s standing there, a whole new feeling comes over me. Harlin.

“Hey,” he says quietly. Folded over his arm is a gray cover on a hanger, holding his suit. His face is clean-shaven. His normally shaggy hair is combed smooth, sleek. Sexy.

“Hi.”

In his other hand, Harlin’s holding a white paper bag and holds it up for me. “It’s from Frankie’s. Thought maybe you’d be hungry?”

“You read my mind.”

“I’m hungry too,” Alex says from the couch, poking his head over the side. Harlin nods at him and reaches in the bag, pulling out a wrapped burger.

“Bacon and cheese,” he calls, tossing it to him.

Alex smiles. “My man.” He unwraps it and bites into it before wandering over to the kitchen. “Mmm . . .” he adds, looking over at us. “Bacon cheeseburger is so good.”

I take the bag from Harlin and set it on the counter as Alex breezes past me, grabbing his jacket.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

He curls his lip. “God, nosy. Can I spend time with my own boyfriend? Oh, and tell Mercy I’ll be home for dinner.”

I laugh, but secretly I’m thrilled that he’s leaving. There’s no one else home. No one at all. I look back over to Harlin and see that he’s watching me. He makes no moves toward me, just leaning casually against the door. Like he has all day. It’s insanely hot. When he licks his lips, I just about die. I saunter back over toward him and wait. Alex needs to hurry up.

“Leaving now,” Alex calls, as if reading my mind. “You kids be safe.”

“See you later, man,” Harlin calls to him as he leaves. But once he’s gone, Harlin steps forward, reaches for me and pulls me into him. With his boot he kicks the door closed and brings his mouth incredibly close to mine.

“Been thinking about you all day,” he whispers, his eyes closed.

“What sort of thoughts?”

“I’ll show you.”

“I’m guessing it doesn’t involve equations or logarithms?”

“Don’t even know what those words mean. Now come here.” His mouth is warm against mine as he walks me backward and eases me onto the couch.

“I love you,” Harlin whispers in my ear. I snuggle into him, careful to keep myself covered. To hide the gold. “I was thinking about California today,” he adds, twisting strands of my hair around his finger.

I smile. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm. I’m looking at the weekend after you graduate—we could stay in Monterey for a few days, then head down to San Diego. Stay a week, maybe two.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“It will be. Who knows,” he murmurs, moving to kiss my neck. “Maybe we won’t come back.”

I close my eyes, lost in this moment. Lost in him.

But it’s amazing; when I’m with Harlin everything feels right—like pieces of a puzzle that fit together to make a picture. And in the big picture, it’s just him and me. Without the Need.