In My Dreams I Hold a Knife by Ashley Winstead

Chapter 4

Now

At night Duquette was a dark kingdom, lit by old-fashioned lamps that cast circular glows, like halos in a Byzantine painting. The cab dropped me at the edge of campus, outside the Founder’s Arch. As I walked under the imposing white stone, carved with the school promise—We will change you, body and soul—I thought of how it had impressed even my father, on his first and only trip to campus.

When I passed to the other side, the air changed. I could hear, distantly, the sound of music and voices. I took off down the path, listening for it against the clack-clack of my heels on the stone, the thump-thump of my heart.

My flight had arrived late, giving me only enough time to rush to my hotel room and presenting me with the perfect excuse to beg off on Caro’s invitation to get ready together. I knew I’d have to see her—there was no getting around it, she was my best friend. But tonight I would talk to as many people as possible, dance away, flit to different crowds. I had a plan, and it had many purposes.

In front of me, in the center of Eliot Lawn, rose the white tent. I could see them now, hundreds of my classmates in dress clothes, the tent spilling over with dark suit jackets and black cocktail dresses. Music swelled from a string quartet in the corner. I took a deep breath, smoothed my dress over my hips, and walked in.

At first, no one noticed me as I wove toward the bar. But then, the first head turned, caught by the plunge of my neckline, the delicate snow-white straps over my shoulders that gave way to nothing but the smooth plane of my back. I’d spent two months’ mortgage on this dress, and it was worth it. More heads followed the first, and then they were turning everywhere I walked, the girl in white cutting through a sea of black. They whispered, scanning me head to foot. But it didn’t matter what they said, only that they were talking. The adrenaline had me buzzing, making my hands tremble as I finally touched the bar.

It was working.

Just as I lifted a glass of wine to my mouth, Caro materialized at my side. “Jessica!”

I almost spilled wine down my dress. “Christ!”

She wrapped herself around me, hugging tight. How had she found me so fast? I supposed my dress had turned me into something of a beacon.

She pulled back, examining me at arm’s length. “Look at you. I love this so much. You’re like a sexpot angel or something.” Out of habit, she reached for the cross around her neck, though she hadn’t worn it in ten years.

Caro. My truest friend. The one who’d never left my side, who loved me as much today as the day we graduated. The guilt threatened to overwhelm me.

“I’m so happy to see you,” I said, swallowing my feelings. “You look great, as always.” She hadn’t aged a day since we’d met. Like everyone else, she wore a tasteful black dress, but since she was Caro, small and dark and beautiful, she pulled it off better. The sameness of her made it hard to avoid the only thing that had changed—the sparkling diamond on her hand. I cut my eyes to the crowd.

“Who’s here?”

“Oh, everyone,” she said dreamily.

Not Heather, whispered a voice, but I cut it off. Searching for Heather’s face in a crowd was a habit I’d put to rest years ago. I couldn’t start again now.

“I’m so happy with the turnout,” Caro said. “This whole weekend was Eric’s vision, you know.”

I froze. “Eric?”

“Eric Shelby. Remember? He works at Duquette now. We were on the Homecoming planning committee together.” Vaguely, I recalled something about Caro volunteering to send reminder emails to the Class of ’09. It must have been from one of her many text messages, half of which I’d deleted without opening, out of sheer fear she’d tell me she and Coop were pregnant, or they’d gone ahead and eloped. “Eric grew into such a sweetheart.” Before I could say anything else, Caro grabbed my arm and started to pull. “Come on, we should find the rest of the gang.”

No, no, no.

I dug my heels in. “Is that Elizabeth Barley and Vanessa Reed?” I waved with feigned excitement at the girls, standing a few yards away. It seemed to work, because they rushed over.

“Oh my god,” Elizabeth gushed, hugging me. “You’re blond now? You never dressed like this in college. You’re so pretty.”

“Thanks.” I hugged her back, collecting and savoring each of her words. Elizabeth and Vanessa belonged to one of the lower-tier sororities, rungs below Caro and me on Duquette’s social ladder. You were supposed to act like you weren’t aware of those sorts of things. But even now, ten years later, I could feel us slipping into our old places, obeying the order.

“Aren’t you a consultant in New York? I swear my cousin sent me some society paper a year ago with you in it. You were dating some big shot.” Vanessa spoke casually, but I could hear the edge of longing in her voice, a recognition that I had something she didn’t. “You’re, like, absolutely killing it.”

I preened. “You’re too nice. Yes, I’m a partner at Coldwell.”

“Youngest female partner ever in the New York branch,” Caro said helpfully, and Elizabeth and Vanessa oohed.

This was my apotheosis. Everything was going exactly to plan.

“And Caro,” Elizabeth said, turning from me. “Let’s see the ring!”

My stomach dropped. Caro laughed and held up her hand, wiggling her fingers.

“It’s so pretty,” Vanessa said, examining the gem. “I still can’t believe you’re marrying Brandon Cooper. I would have put money on him never marrying.”

“Totally,” Elizabeth agreed. “Every girl in school was in love with him. It’s that bad boy thing, you know? He was, like, such a James Dean. With his motorcycle and his leather jacket.”

“James Dean?” Vanessa squealed. “What are you, ninety?”

Elizabeth laughed. “All I know is I had the biggest crush on him. There were always those rumors he was dating a million girls, but I never actually saw him with anyone. You’re lucky, Caroline.”

“Actually—” Vanessa’s voice lowered. “I think those rumors got started because of what he did, remember? He was always in and out of people’s rooms ’cause he sold—”

“Hey!” I said quickly, watching Caro’s frown grow. “Remember that girl whose sex tape leaked? What’s she doing now?”

Caro’s eyes widened at me, disbelieving. Again, I swatted away guilt, satisfied at the distraction.

Vanessa looked puzzled. “The one a year below us who transferred? I heard she’s a kindergarten teach—”

“Oh my god,” Elizabeth breathed, her gaze catching on something across the room. “Look, it’s Courtney Kennedy.”

Whether it was natural human instinct or the power of her name, I didn’t know, but we all spun to follow Elizabeth’s gaze. Sure enough, there she was, standing in the corner of the tent surrounded by other Chi Os. Seeing her in real life after so long was like spotting a celebrity in the wild—a little shock to the system.

Courtney wore a tight, blood-red dress, dark eyeliner, and bright lips. The memory flashed back: freshman year, before I had any friends, watching her stumble back to her room, clinging to Heather’s arm and laughing hysterically. The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen—still, to this day. Always the belle of the ball.

“Courtney Minter,” Vanessa corrected, then snapped “What?” when Elizabeth elbowed her. Vanessa realized and looked at me in horror. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I spaced. This must be so weird for you.”

A tidal wave of emotions—pain at seeing Courtney, still so perfect, and fury that Vanessa’s and Elizabeth’s delicious envy was quickly turning to pity. I downed my wine. “Don’t apologize. Mint and I broke up years ago. Seriously. I’m over it.”

No one said anything for a second, and then Elizabeth spoke in a rush. “It’s just that he’s so perfect and you guys dated all through college. I mean, you were a Duquette staple. It was so inspiring to see the two of you together. It gave the rest of us hope, you know? That unlikely pairings can happen. Now he’s with Courtney and it’s just so…obvious.”

My stomach dropped. Gave the rest of us hope?

I could feel rage welling, an urge to knock the vodka tonic from Elizabeth’s hand.

“Jess and Courtney are actually really good friends,” Caro said in a bright singsong voice, lacing her arm through mine. “We’re going to talk to her now, in fact. Have a good night!” She walked away quickly, tugging me after her.

Elizabeth’s comment sent me straight back to high school. Freshman year, when we were all obsessed with rankings, making lists of teachers, movies, sports teams, and finally, the boys had the nerve to rank the girls. For days, we heard whispers about who was the hottest. We speculated at lunch, voicing support for every girl publicly and making our own more cutthroat calculations privately. I knew I wouldn’t be ranked first, though I longed to be. At fourteen, I’d already learned you rarely got your exact heart’s desire. But I figured I’d be in the top five, maybe top three. I was tall, true, which wasn’t yet a virtue, but when I slid my eyes around the classroom, taking measure, I felt sure: I am one of the best-looking girls here.

The list was passed around near the end of biology, when poor Mrs. Sikes was engaged in the Sisyphean effort of trying to teach us cellular mitosis. Michael, the leader of the boys, slipped Madison a single piece of folded paper. Madison pretended not to care, but finally looked. A wide smile curved her mouth, and my heart plummeted. She was number one. I’d suspected it might be her—Madison and her dumb, perfect corkscrew curls. Apparently, for all my talk about being satisfied with second or third place, I’d still harbored secret hopes.

The note wound its way around the tables until finally it reached me. With trembling fingers, I unfolded it and read. Madison was first, Whitney second? My heart beat faster. Renata third—Renata? I pored down the rest of the list, scanning only for my name. My heart skipped at number twelve, but it was only Jessica C. Where was I? I came to the bottom of the list, where poor Marybeth was number twenty-five, a horrible cruelty because of her acne. Then the horrifying truth hit me. I wasn’t even on the list. Forget one of the top girls—I didn’t even merit mention.

I really was a nobody. Nothing but background noise, filler, and I’d been blind to it. That day, I swore: never again.

But Elizabeth’s comment made me feel like I’d been a nobody all four years of college and hadn’t realized. Is that what people truly thought of me?

“What trolls,” Caro muttered, when we were past hearing range. “Sharks, hunting for blood.”

Something about Caro’s face, so serious and angry, spilled sunlight through the dark places in my mind. I wrapped my arm around her and squeezed. “You really are the greatest friend.”

“Well, keep that in mind, because I actually am walking us over to Courtney.”

“What? No!” I tried to disentangle.

“Too bad, we’re here—this will be good for you. Hi, Courtney!” Caro plastered a giant smile over her face. I glanced around. We really were here: in the tenth circle of hell, with the Chi Os.

Courtney stopped talking to the girl beside her, eyes laser-focusing on me. A satisfied smile stretched her mouth. With her ridiculous chest-to-waist ratio and glossy hair, she looked like a living, breathing Barbie doll. Who’d just been handed the one thing she wanted most in the world.

“Caro! And Jessica—so good to see you. It’s been so long since the wedding.” She kissed Caro’s cheek, then mine, while I stood stiff. The Chi Os gave us a wide berth.

“Speaking of, sorry I had to leave early,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m not sure if Mint told you, but I had to catch a plane to Paris with my boyfriend at the time. Chris Beshear of the Manhattan Beshears—you might know him.”

Courtney tilted her head. “I heard you’re single again. What a shame. Paris is the perfect place to get engaged. Sorry it didn’t work out for you.”

Caro looked like she was trying desperately to figure out some way to cut in, but her mind couldn’t work fast enough.

“Oh,” I said, with faux surprise. “You like Paris? I assumed your taste was a little more down to earth. Like, you know, American fast-food chains. You and Mint did first hook up in a Wendy’s bathroom, right?”

A Chi O next to us gasped. Courtney reddened. It was one of my trump cards, and I wished I hadn’t used it so early, but she was just too much in person, not a flaw on her, not a slip in her delivery. I knew a few of her dirty secrets, though, including where she and Mint first hooked up, wasted after a night out. I knew because Mint had confessed it to me in person, tears in his eyes.

Just as Courtney opened her mouth, someone walked into my line of sight. I turned and found the source of everything.

Mark Minter. The man I was supposed to marry.

“Jess.” He gave me the same appraising look he always did, the one that made me stand at attention, wanting to measure up right. He leaned in and put a cool hand on my naked back, pressing me into a hug. My skin tingled with goose bumps.

“Mint, you asshole, took you long enough to show up.” Caro grinned at him.

“Hi, Tiny.” He gripped her in a hug. “Good to see you, too.” I watched them embrace, using the excuse to study him. He’d aged. He was still the most handsome boy—man, I supposed—in the room, but the chiseled lines of his face had softened with age. It was a little less of a shock to look at him.

A booming voice cut in. “Is that Caroline Rodriguez and Jessica Miller? No, it can’t be, because they would have searched the whole party for me the instant they got here, desperate to see their best friend Frankie.”

Frankie strode up from the bar with two whiskeys and handed one to Mint, then grabbed Caro in a bear hug. Of course—wherever Mint was, Frankie was no more than a step behind. He still wore his hair shaved like in college, but now his suits fit perfectly, even though his shoulders had somehow grown broader. The suits had gotten a lot nicer, too.

Frankie dropped Caro and hugged me. “Look at you. Damn, Miller, bringing the heat. Minty, aren’t you sad you—” Frankie stopped and swallowed. Courtney’s eyebrows were currently located north of her hairline. “Sorry, old habits. Anyway, look at this reunion! God, it’s good to see you guys.”

One of the Chi Os lingering at the edge of our conversation giggled. “Frankie, I promised my husband I’d get a picture with you. He’s a huge Saints fan. Is that okay?” Her eyes dropped demurely, like simply holding his gaze was an honor.

Frankie shoved his drink at Caro, who accepted it automatically, and rushed over. “I’d never leave a fan hanging. Want to make it a video? What’s the lucky guy’s name?”

I rolled my eyes and caught Mint’s gaze halfway through. Out of habit, we grinned at each other. “Something tells me being an NFL star has gone to Frankie’s head,” he said.

“Really? I was thinking, wow, Frankie hasn’t changed since college.”

Mint laughed. Courtney slid her arm through his and side-eyed me.

“What I want to know,” Caro said, “is what Frankie’s dad is up to. Remember how that man lived and breathed Frankie’s football career? He must be living his best life.”

Mint groaned. “Everything you’re thinking, triple it. Frankie’s dad moved from Hawaii to live in his pool house. He pretty much follows Frankie everywhere, even on the road. It’s not living vicariously—he’s literally living Frankie’s life.”

“Well, that’s because Frankie got the life his dad always wanted, right? Way back when his dad was a football star, before he got injured?” Caro shook her head. “Parents, man. They can be so unintentionally creepy.”

“It’s like Freud said,” a dark voice cut in. “You have to kill your father before you’re free.” A pause. “Or was that a rap song?”

I froze. The voice triggered every nerve in my body, sparking them to life. I turned slowly, fighting a pull as irresistible as gravity. Maybe, just maybe, if I didn’t look, I could remain safe. Safety had to be better than what lay at the end of this turn, nothing but him, flesh and blood, and the short distance between us.

I stopped turning. And looked.

They all thought I mourned Mint. That the sight of him and Courtney together would set me off. Yes, Mint had hurt me, but he wasn’t the person who’d cut me so deeply the wound would never heal. Mint wasn’t the face I saw at night when I tossed and turned. Mint wasn’t the person I’d betrayed so profoundly that the weight of it had seeped into everything—my dreams, the words I spoke, the very cadence of my steps, as if I walked everywhere carrying an extra heaviness. Mint wasn’t the cause of what I now realized was a decade-long panic attack, unfolding in excruciatingly slow motion.

No. That man stood in front of me now, looking at me with wild abandon, grass-green eyes dangerous as ever.

Coop.