Smoke & Mirrors by Skye Jordan

7

Isabel

Ifinally feel like I’m caught up on my sleep. The rain outside is just short of snow, making a slushy mess and creating perfect cleaning weather.

I’ve done all I can in my room—picked up and installed two-inch wood blinds, captured the mouse family, and rehomed them in the neighboring woods, placed traps in my room, then caulked every possible hole they, or others, could return through. I’ve also cleaned the place to within an inch of its life and added a shower curtain.

It has turned out to be a very livable space, but then, I’m not exactly picky. In my ten years in New York, I’ve never been able to afford a place of my own; I’ve always had to share with rodent and critter roommates. Oh, and human ones too.

I’m finishing up a light clean in Logan’s apartment with thoughts of grabbing fast food for dinner and curling under a blanket to work in my sketchbook—a little brainstorm on the next steps in my life, some more sketching the motel’s room configuration. I can’t seem to keep my mind from coming up with potential changes that will add value to the motel. But then, I’ve spent nearly half of my life creating settings that are irresistible to buyers. Here, I’m setting a stage to sell an experience instead of a product.

I rinse the mop and replace it in a utility closet. For a guy, he’s pretty clean.

A phone rings, and I freeze, puzzled. It’s not the cell in my pocket. I turn toward the sound and scan the room. “He has a landline? Didn’t those go out with the eighties?”

But then I remember him telling me about power outages and how I get spotty cell reception here, so I guess it makes sense.

I finish up my work while the phone rings and I’m about to walk out the door when an answering machine picks up. An answering machine. It’s like the Dark Ages around here.

“Hey, Logan, it’s me.”

The female voice makes me turn and step back into the apartment. He says he’s not hooking up in his place, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hooking up, period. And I’m…curious.

“I tried your cell, the firehouse, and the bar,” she says. “You must be on a call.”

There’s something about her voice that sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.

“I’m between shows in San Francisco and came up to visit a few girlfriends in Portland. Thought I’d swing by to see you.”

Between shows?

The information and the voice connect, and my stomach chills. Maya. Logan’s sister and my BFF once upon a time. I wasn’t prepared for this. Don’t think I’d ever be prepared for this.

“But my rental got a flat,” she continues, “and the roadside service is backed up because of the weather. I’m about twenty minutes away. Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’ll only be a couple of hours, and the heater is working. Hopefully, I’ll see you before you get this message. Have Tucker make up the sofa for me. Oh, and I’ve got some juicy gossip about a high school friend of ours. Love you.”

The line disconnects.

“Oh my God. No, no, no.” My heartbeat kicks up, and panic crawls along my spine. “Shit.”

My mind is spinning. I so didn’t see this coming. Maya lives in New York. She’s got an apartment I’d kill for. She’s the well-respected fashion designer I always wanted to be. She’s successful and beautiful and smart and talented—despite my majorly selfish act all those years ago.

I close my eyes and press my hand to my forehead. “Why am I such a fuckup?”

As if I needed confirmation, Aiden calls. I send it to voicemail and pace the apartment, trying to think of all the ramifications of Maya coming while I’m here.

I stop at the window and watch the slush build into snow. “I think karma just delivered a long overdue gut punch.”

I can’t let her just sit out there in this weather. And it wouldn’t hurt to learn what she knows about me and my fabricated world before she spills it to Logan. To everyone. Self-loathing is one thing. Being exposed as an epic failure and a liar after ten years of study and work…

My shoulders drop. It was inevitable. I just hadn’t thought it would happen so soon. Wasn’t prepared to deal with the most regretted mistake of my life in front of everyone who means something to me.

I take a deep breath, go to the landline, and call her back.

“There you are,” she answers, obviously thinking it’s Logan. “I was sure you were on some awful call—”

“Hi.” Silence stretches for the length of time it takes for me to suck in a breath so I can continue. “I’ll come help you with the tire.”

“Who is this?”

“It’s awful weather, and it’s dangerous for you to be on the side of the road like that in the dark. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Bye.”

I disconnect before I have to answer that question, because if she knew it was me, she probably would tell me not to come. And I wouldn’t blame her.

Instead of digging in my car for my snow gear, I borrow a pair of Logan’s snow boots and grab a parka. The drive isn’t long, but it’s messy and dark. Even if she still hates me—which would be totally justified—I’d still go to help her out.

I’ve followed her life on social media, watched her succeed and climb the industry ladder. It’s alleviated my guilt to some degree, but I don’t think I’ll ever get completely over the regret of betraying her.

I catch sight of her SUV on the opposite side of the road, on the shoulder, emergency lights flashing, and my stomach jumps into my throat. Confrontation really isn’t my thing, but with us both in town, both sisters to best friends, I have to do it sometime.

This is turning out to be the opposite of the fresh start I need.

I pull up behind her, leave my headlights on so we can see what we’re doing, and turn on my emergency lights as well. It’s still sleeting, but not as heavily as it was when I left the motel.

“This is going to suck so hard,” I mutter before getting out.

Maya opens the driver’s-side door and stands from the car. “Hi, thanks for coming.”

She approaches me, pulling her long down jacket around her. I instantly recognize it as a Brunello Cucinelli taffeta down puffer coat retailing for seven grand. I don’t doubt her boots are a three-thousand-dollar pair of Loro Pianas.

Those expensive boots stop five feet away, and when I meet Maya’s gaze, hers is shocked. Damn, she’s even more beautiful than she was as a kid, and she was always a showstopper. Her features have refined over the years. She’s got Logan’s jet-black hair and green eyes, but hers are a quieter shade, leaning toward hazel. Part of me was sure she’d get to New York and become a model instead of a fashion designer. She has the looks, the height, the body, the savvy. She may have come from hell on earth, but she’s always looked like an angel fallen from heaven. A lot of people have underestimated her based on her beauty. I always enjoyed watching her set them straight.

“Isabel?”

“Hey. Can you pop the trunk so I can get the spare out?”

She doesn’t seem to notice the freezing rain. “What are you doing here? Logan didn’t say—”

“That’s because I just got here. The day before yesterday, in fact.” I take a couple more steps and put my hand on the trunk. “Open it, please. It’s freezing out here.”

She pulls the key from her pocket, presses a button, and the trunk pops open. Inside, there are suitcases, and I have to pull those out to get to the spare.

“Isabel, what are you doing here?” Maya asks again.

“Last time I looked, it’s still a free country. Get back in the car.”

“Not until you tell me why you’re here. And why you were answering Logan’s phone.”

“You’re still as stubborn as ever.” I’d forgotten about that. In my memories, all I saw was the best friend and all our good times together. “I’m taking a break between seasons, and Logan’s letting me stay in one of the rooms at the motel.”

She leans in to grab a suitcase, but I slide my hand beneath the handle. “Good God, stop. Getting that Cucinelli dirty would be a crime, and it’s not happening on my watch.” I hoist her luggage from the car and drop it to the asphalt with a huff of laughter and a shake of my head. “I see you still travel light.”

Maya laughs, creating a crack in the ice between us. A wave of emotion hits me out of nowhere. I loved her so much, for so long. Then I went and fucked it all up. I’ve never had a friend like her since. Which serves me right.

“You couldn’t get a flat tire on a beautiful fall night, huh?” I say. “Had to do it in this mess?”

“I definitely should have consulted the weather service before getting a flat.”

“Now we’re on the same page.”

I lift the trunk liner, take out the lug wrench and the jack, then hoist the spare from the trunk. My fingers are already numb, and I’m wishing I’d grabbed gloves. I take everything to the other side of the car, grateful I don’t have to do this in the roadway.

Maya follows, standing beside me. “Can I help?”

“Not in a ten-thousand-dollar outfit you can’t.”

“Fifteen, actually. I’m also wearing a silk Saint Laurent blouse and leathers, not to mention a Gucci bra and panties set.”

“You still suck at math. That would add up to about twenty grand.”

“I got the Cucinelli on sale.”

I laugh—hard—my hands braced on the edge of the open trunk. The stupid conversation, the icy rain, seeing her after ten long years, it cracks something inside me that’s both bitter and sweet.

I’m soaked to the bone, and more than just my fingers have gone numb. My hair is wet, and icy water streams into my face. I place the end of the jack over each lug nut and use my heel to loosen them all before lying down on the frozen pavement to set the jack. It all feels like it takes forever because I can’t feel anything with my numb fingers, making me clumsy.

“If I get frostbite,” I tell her, “you’ll have to watch me get my fingers and toes amputated.”

“I’ll sue you for emotional trauma.”

I smile, remembering how she loved any sarcastic phrase involving an attorney—“So sue me” or “Don’t make me lawyer up” or “I take the fifth” or “I bill by the minute.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I say, “by all means, let’s bring the sharks into this.”

Maya laughs.

In high school, Maya toyed with the idea of becoming a lawyer, even though she loved fashion. She believed that being a lawyer would bring her the respect and recognition she craved and end the bullying she despised. Eventually, she came around to the idea that there was nothing wrong with doing something she loved instead of something that would bring her money and revenge. And once she came over to the dark side, we made plans. So many silly, unrealistic, high-school-type plans.

We would get into the same college and room together in the dorms. Then move out together into an apartment. We’d go on double dates, join the same sorority, work as a team on all our school projects. We would each be the maid of honor for the other and godparents for each other’s kids.

God, we had so many dreams.

I don’t realize silence has fallen between us until Maya speaks again. “So, how are you?”

“I’m just peachy.” I get the jack into place, roll to my knees, and start cranking the jack to lift the car. “Nothing says ‘good times’ like a workout on the side of the road in icy rain.”

My back and shoulders hurt from all the cleaning I did today, and now they’re burning.

“So, what are you doing nowadays?” Maya asks.

That’s a broad question I don’t know how to answer. Running, hiding, scrounging for money, coming back to the closest thing I have to a home to lick my wounds, all come to mind, but I decide not to answer. This is supposed to be a fresh start after all.

“Logan told me you’re still in New York,” Maya says. “I’m there too. Where are you working?”

Damn. I’m back on the tightrope and piranhas have joined the fun.

“Rutherford,” I say. It’s only one job among many, but I’m not in the mood to extrapolate.

“Didn’t they merge with Concord Holdings last year?”

“They did. Maya, get in the car. You’re shivering.”

“If you’re out here, I’m out here.”

That hits me like a punch to the throat. Tears rush my eyes so fast, I can’t hold them back. Luckily, my face is already wet. I’m reminded of how completely we had each other’s backs all through high school. How did I ever let her go?

“I was designing for Bellencourt when Klein bought them out,” she says. “It got messy, so I moved to Holland.” She says it as if it isn’t one major fucking achievement. Not just working for Bellencourt, Klein, and Holland, but the ability to switch companies, holding her status as a designer. Only the top—tippy, tippy-top—designers have that luxury. I did well in school, graduated in the top ten percent of my class, but I evidently didn’t have the “it factor” and could never get picked up as a designer.

I, of course, already know about Maya’s life—or as much as I can glean from social media. And we all know how “realistic” social media is. I follow her life as a sort of penance. Stupid and selfish, but her success makes me feel less guilty for taking her scholarship. And I’ve paid the price. Maya has the glamorous life we dreamed about as kids. She travels all over the world to consult with other designers, chat with buyers from top-tier department stores and high-end boutiques, search for fabrics, attend fashion shows and photo shoots.

Maya is the real deal.

She also doesn’t seem to realize my social media is more smoke and mirrors than reality. Who am I kidding? She’s probably never even thought about checking on my social media. A successful designer living the jet-set life hardly has time to reminisce about high school bullshit.

And that’s good for me, because that means the juicy gossip she mentioned on the message to Logan probably isn’t about me. Which means Maya won’t be exposing my lies to everyone who matters—Tucker, Cole, and Logan. At least not now.

But now that we’ve seen each other again, now that I’m back on her radar, my fake life is in jeopardy, because I know just how many contacts she has. A few directed questions and Maya could uncover my lies and blow my life apart. And I’m ashamed to say she’d be justified. I feel the truth tugging at the threads of the falsely woven tapestry that appears to be my life, when the reality isn’t even close.

This meetup makes it clear that whether I stay here a week or the rest of my life, I’m going to have to come clean at some point. Dammit, I just wanted to leave all that bullshit behind.

“How did you learn to change a tire?” Maya asks. “I didn’t realize it’s something I never learned until this tire popped. And I feel pretty stupid standing on the side of the road like a damsel in distress.”

“You’ve never had a fiber of damsel in you. I didn’t know how to do it either until I had one. YouTube is very helpful.”

“Only if you have internet.”

“Fair point.” There are a lot of dead spots in the mountains.

I need to talk to her about the elephant between us. We didn’t both come from New York to end up here, on the side of the road, in freezing rain to change a freak flat tire by accident.

By leaving New York with no intention of going back, I took the first step toward ending all the bullshit in my life.

Up until about five years ago, I believed that when you take initiative toward a goal, the universe jumps in to lend support. Only, for the last five years, I’ve made effort after effort after effort, and I keep ending up in the gutter.

Evidently, the universe does not like me much. Can’t say I like myself very much either.

“Come on, Maya, get in the car and turn on the heater. Your teeth are chattering.”

“How much longer?”

“Not long.”

“I’ll wait.”

“God, you’re stubborn.”

“Right back at you.”

I don’t know how long this whole process takes, only that over half of my body is numb by the time I wrench the flat tire into the trunk, then replace her luggage. I shut the hatch, and for a long moment, Maya and I just stare at each other. We’re both drenched, rain running down our faces.

“Can we talk—” I start.

“Why don’t you get in and—”

We speak at the same time. Maya nods, acknowledging we want the same thing, and points to her SUV. She starts the engine and fiddles with the knobs as I settle in the passenger’s seat and put my hands in front of the air vents pumping out warmth.

For a few long moments, neither of us says anything. I consider asking if she wants to get coffee, but I think it’s better to just get this over with.

“I should have done this a long time ago. It was…” Emotion rises up and tightens my throat. “It was wrong of me to take that scholarship. Selfish and mean-spirited.”

She sighs. “It’s stupid how we hold on to things that don’t matter anymore.” There’s no anger in her voice, just matter-of-fact stoicism. “But for the record, I know me losing it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have come forward and told the scholarship board Briann lied.”

I’m reminded of just how tentative that scholarship had been for Maya, hinging on the verification of hours worked at a nonprofit where Briann and I also volunteered. Briann was pissed about Maya getting the scholarship, and when the scholarship board called to verify Maya’s hours, Briann lied. It took weeks to straighten out the facts, by which time, the scholarship had been offered to me. If I hadn’t taken it, the money wouldn’t have been awarded to anyone that year.

On the one hand, no matter what happened, Maya lost out on the scholarship because of Briann’s lies, something I had nothing to do with. But on the other, a truly selfless friend would have turned down the scholarship out of loyalty. I didn’t.

She’s staring out the wet windshield, somber. “They wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Why would you say that? I had all the motive in the world not to tell them since I was second in line. That’s the very reason I would have been credible.”

Her gaze lowers to the console between us, and her smooth forehead is pulled tight enough for a vertical line to appear between her brows. She runs her fingernail along the stitching in the seat.

“That all happened so long ago, it really doesn’t matter. Besides, Briann was getting back at me for talking shit about her after she stole my boyfriend. I can’t even remember how it all got so out of hand.”

“I believe it was a series of relentless pranks.”

“Ah, yeah.” She smiles softly.

“If I remember correctly, the glue in her ChapStick container might not have been the worst prank, but it was the last straw.”

“Yeah. That was a good one.”

We go quiet, and the sleet turns to rain again, pounding on the roof.

“Anyway,” she says, serious again, “you needed to get out of Portland worse than I did.”

My stomach grows heavy. “Why do you say that?”

“That boyfriend of your mom’s, Derik something. Tucker told Logan. Logan told me.”

Shame throws a shadow across my soul. “Should have known those guys couldn’t keep their mouths shut.”

My life was never smooth, but it went to complete shit over the span of twelve hours that early June night. The night before my graduation.

I can remember the events like they happened yesterday. Maya had learned her scholarship had been revoked and offered to me. She was livid with the situation and didn’t want to see or talk to me. It was the third day we hadn’t talked, and I was hoping to patch things up at graduation.

But life had other plans. That night, when my mom was at work, waitressing the dinner shift at a local café, her boyfriend Derik came home falling-down drunk. He came on to me, and when he wouldn’t take no for an answer, I kneed him in the balls.

He was rolling around on the floor by the time Tucker came home. Derik’s mistake was to get up and try to fight Tucker. My mom came home in the middle of it all and instantly took Derik’s side. She called the police and had Tucker arrested. She also kicked me out for lying, all while Derik was saying shit to me like “This ain’t over “ and “Payback’s a bitch, just like you.”

My account to the police got Tucker released, but with nowhere to go and Derik on the warpath, Tucker thought it would be better for me to get out of town. I accepted the scholarship that wasn’t truly mine, pooled money from Tucker’s and my odd jobs, and left for New York.

I haven’t spoken to my mother since, nor do I care to.

“You know what was harder than losing the scholarship?” Maya asks. When she looks up, I shake my head. “Losing you.”

Well, fuck.My shoulders slump, and tears burn my eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me after what I’d done. I couldn’t even forgive myself. I sure didn’t think you would.”

She lifts a shoulder. “Logan also told me you two had sex before you left.”

“For Christ’s sake, why do men blab so much? It wasn’t a thing. It was just a stupid pact we made so we weren’t virgins when we went off to college.”

She looks at me. “And now?”

“Now nothing. I told you, I just got here. I’m taking some time to decide what direction I want to go next, that’s all.”

“How long will you be here?”

“Maybe a week or two.”

We fall quiet again. A car passes us, the driver honking his horn because we’re stopped on the side of the road.

“We should probably get going,” I say. “Logan’s working, so you’ve got the apartment to yourself.”

“No,” she says, melancholic, “I think I’ll head to a girlfriend’s house in Portland.”

“Are you sure? Logan would love to see you.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll be here a few weeks, I’ll come by before I leave.”

I should be relieved, but I’m just hurt. Something I can’t blame on anyone but myself.

“Sure, okay.” I pull the door handle. “It was good to see you. Congrats on getting all you wanted out of life.”

“Thanks, you too.”

I step out of the car and make my way to my driver’s door. Before I even get in, Maya has turned around and is headed back toward Portland. I get into my car and sit there for long, quiet moments while my mind floods with all the coulda, woulda, shouldas I missed out on.