The After Girls (13 page)

The process wasn’t a quick one. There were hundreds of photos to take down, and even though Sydney tried to pull them off without looking, without remembering, she still had to move slowly so they wouldn’t tear.

Sydney’s fingers were sticky, and she was almost done when she felt a cool rush, when she realized that she could hear the crickets and cicadas echo louder than they had before. When she turned she saw that the door had creaked open.

The gust came through before she had a chance to close the door. It swept through the room, rushing through the open slats on the back wall. This place seemed ready to fall apart any minute. On the way through it ruffled her pile of photos, scattering them across the floor.

She ran forward and slammed the door, and as she did, she heard a clap of thunder and the early patters of a rainstorm.

“Shit,” she said, running to the window. The sky was gray and the rain was already starting to come down. Thunder crackled again. In moments, the rain would be everywhere, surrounding the cabin on four sides, pelting against the windows, turning the clay to mud.

“Damn it,” she said, because she knew if she didn’t leave now, she’d be soaked. She looked at the photos scattered across the floor, trying to avoid Astrid’s eyes staring back at her from almost every one. Ella would have brought a box or a binder, but she hadn’t, and if she tried to take them with her, they’d get soaked, too. She’d just have to get them later. So she grabbed her bag and rushed out the door, closing it tight behind her so that the photos wouldn’t get wet.

Maybe if she ran fast enough she could beat the storm.

Somehow, Ella had managed to pull herself together for dinner. She hadn’t answered the phone call — by the time she’d gotten the nerve, the ringing had stopped. She wanted to call back, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. So she’d shut her computer with shaking hands, tucked it under her bed. Turned off her phone. Tried to pretend that things were somehow okay.

There had to be some explanation, after all. Maybe she was seeing things. Maybe she was imagining things. Did people do that? Did people actually go nuts because someone close to them died?

But she knew that she’d imagined nothing. She knew what she’d seen. Her scream had been real. The terror, the pain she felt right now, was just as much so.

So she’d showered. She’d watched bad TV. She’d told her mom that no, she didn’t want to go shopping for her dorm bedding. School seemed so far away. A completely other world. Eventually, seven would come. And it did.

Ella’s mom dropped her off at Astrid’s right on time. She hadn’t been there since that most horrible day. It was small but quaint, with creaky floors and plenty of crannies to play hide and seek. Astrid used to claim that the place was haunted. It certainly had seen better days — the paint peeled on the edges, and the posts of the front porch were rotted in parts — but that had always been part of its appeal. It was like a fairytale cottage, their favorite spot to meet besides the cabin. Now, it’s once-charming façade just looked sad and lonely.

“Just call me when you want me to come get you,” her mom said.

She’d have to turn on her phone for that. She didn’t want to. “I’m sure Jake can drive me home.”

“Okay,” she said. “Just let me know if you need me.” Then she put her hand on Ella’s shoulder. “You feeling better, baby? I know you had a rough day.”

“Yeah,” Ella said, lying, and she gave her mom a hug and stepped out of the car.

“See you later,” she said, and then she ran up the drive, straight to the door. Most of the rain had stopped by now, but it was still drizzling and the sky was super gray. Behind the house, the mountains were so dark that Ella could barely make them out; they looked like black splotches against the drab sky.

Claire answered the door, almost as if she belonged there. Which she didn’t. She so didn’t. She was so proper and pulled-together. She wasn’t like Grace at all. It was hard to believe that they were even sisters. She pushed open the screen door, and Ella stepped inside.

“Hi Ella,” she said, wrapping her in a quick, sterile hug. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.”

Jake poked his head out of the kitchen and waved. “Come in,” he said. And so she followed Claire to the kitchen, and she couldn’t help it, she turned her head as they passed the hall that led to Astrid’s room, and she felt almost sick as she thought of the message, the dream, the phone call — everything.

Grace was there, one hand on the counter, bracing herself, and one slowly stirring a pot. She turned her head slowly. “Hi Ella,” she said, and she sounded tired. Then she just went back to stirring. She didn’t say anything else. No,
How are you? I’m glad you came.
No hug. No nothing. But she stirred that pot as if her life depended on it.

Jake led Ella to the table.

“Can I help you?” she said to Grace as she passed her, but Grace didn’t turn, and Claire took over. “We’ve got everything under control,” Claire said. “You all just sit down.” She touched her sister’s shoulder and, almost on cue, Grace stopped her stirring, dropping the spoon deep into the pot. It made a splash, but she didn’t say anything. She just turned the way that Claire had pointed her. Almost like a zombie. Where was the woman that Ella had grown up with? Who was this person here? It was like someone else altogether.

Claire fished the spoon from deep down in the pot, Ella took her seat, and Jake sat down next to her. From her usual place, she could see into the big living room, the couches, where she and Astrid and Sydney had stayed up late watching movies, the bookshelf, where they’d read aloud the more scandalous scenes from
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
, but Ella’s eyes stopped on the desk — the beautiful antique wooden desk where they’d played office and written their papers — the one whose key Astrid always wore around her neck (Ella had always wished that
her
mom’s furniture had come with equally cool jewelry) — but something about it looked different. And in an instant she realized. It was a roll-top, and it had been pulled shut. In all the years she’d known Grace and Astrid, the desk had never been shut before.

But Ella didn’t have time to think about it, because her eyes locked on Grace, who was taking her seat now, but she wasn’t taking
her
seat at all. She was taking the wrong seat.

She was taking Astrid’s.

Grace sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world. But it didn’t feel natural to Ella. It felt wrong. Like Astrid was somehow being replaced. Forgotten.

“You okay?” Jake asked, nudging her with his elbow.

She turned to him, realizing that she must have been staring. She nodded and plastered on a smile. “I’m fine.”

Claire brought their bowls over two at a time. It was chicken and dumplings. Astrid’s favorite.
Great
. As if this day couldn’t get any worse. Ella stared down at the salty broth in front of her, but she’d completely lost her appetite.

“Can I have some wine?” Grace asked when Claire set her bowl in front of her.

“Sure,” Claire said, although she looked hesitant. She poured a glass and brought it over to the table. Ella noticed that Grace’s lips were already kind of purple.

Jake dug in, slurping loudly. “This is great,” he said, and he smiled that Astrid smile. The corners of his lips turned right up at the edge.

“Thanks,” Claire said, and she began to help herself.

Grace took a gulp of wine, and then a big spoonful of soup.

Ella just stared at the bowl in front of her. Maybe it was the message or the phone call or the fact that she was back in Astrid’s house, her favorite meal in front of her, or maybe it was that desk shut tight or Astrid’s mom, sitting in her daughter’s chair, but Ella just couldn’t bring herself to eat.

“Too hot?” Grace asked. She was looking straight at Ella.

Ella shook her head, looking down at the soup. “No, I just haven’t had this in a long time.”

“I thought you liked it,” she said.

“I do,” Ella said, her eyes meeting Grace’s. “Not as much as Astrid did, though.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed, and she just took another sip of wine. “Sometimes it was the only thing I could get that girl to eat,” she said. “She always was so picky. Nothing I did was ever good enough for her.”

Ella’s eyes narrowed. She’d never heard Grace talk about Astrid like that. What did she mean that nothing she did was good enough? Astrid loved Grace. They were so close they were like sisters. Maybe Grace wouldn’t let her cut her hair, and maybe she made her wear sunscreen, but they were still friends. Weren’t they?

“I didn’t think she was picky,” Ella said.

“Well you weren’t her mother,” Grace said, lifting the wine glass to her lips.

“
Grace
,” Claire said. “Let’s just eat. Please.”

Grace looked at her sister and must have decided that she had a point, because she took a sip of her wine like everything was alright.

But it wasn’t alright. It wasn’t alright at all. Astrid was gone, and her mother, her very own mother, was actually sitting here criticizing her. “Excuse me,” Ella said, pushing her chair back. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

She could feel everyone’s eyes locked on her as she walked through the kitchen and ducked, out of sight, into the hall. She just needed to be alone. Just for a few minutes.

I miss you, too
. The words flashed into her head, unnerving her.

She walked as steadily as she could, and her heart sped when she reached Astrid’s door. It was shut tight.
Do Not Enter. There’s Nothing For You Here
. She took a deep breath and kept going. Jake had told her that the door always stayed shut.

Ella closed the bathroom door behind her. She leaned down to the sink and splashed water on her face. Her head felt like it was spinning, and she hadn’t had a drop to drink. Her stomach felt heavy, even though she’d eaten nothing. As she dried her face off, she saw it: a trickle of blood on her thumb around the cuticle. She must have been picking at it all day. It was an anxious tic of hers. One that she’d kicked a few years ago. One that apparently was back.

Ella opened the medicine cabinet in search of a Band-Aid. There was a stack of them there, and she opened one, wrapped it around her thumb. She should have shut it back right away, but she didn’t.

There were bottles, tons of them. Some of them were empty. Some of them were full. Clear orange ones, white labels. Big words.

Just like the one she’d seen in the cabin.

Most of the words didn’t mean anything to her. They were medicine words: Mirtazapine. Fluoxetine.

But one jumped out at her. Klonopin.

She recognized the harshness of the big K in the front. Even the way its name sounded was off — wrong.

She grabbed the bottle, and it rattled in her hand. The name GRACE ALLEN was printed in tiny, neat letters on top.

Strangely enough, she had never questioned how Astrid got those pills. There were too many whys to focus on how.

But now she knew it clear as day. She had gotten them from her mother.

She forced the bottle back onto its place on the shelf. She didn’t want to touch it anymore. But she stared at the orange containers.

Had these really always been here? Surely she’d opened this cabinet before. Had she never been looking? Had she never been aware?

How much had Astrid tried to tell her that she’d refused to listen to?

Ella slammed the cabinet shut and dried off the rest of the water on her face.

She stumbled out of the bathroom, and she found herself standing in front of Astrid’s door.

I miss you, too
.

What if she were trying to tell her something now? What if Astrid wanted her to go inside?

Ella’s heart beat faster and the hairs on her arms raised — goose pimples — she turned the knob slowly and opened the door, wincing at its quiet moan, and took the first step.

The space was largely unchanged. The bed was unmade, as if Astrid had just slept in it. Her graduation gown was draped across a chair. The cap lay at its feet, the tassel splayed out as if to say, “Yes, she threw me. She really did.”

There were other clothes on the floor. Floral sundresses. Long hippie skirts. A “going-out top,” a black sparkly halter that Astrid only wore to parties. One that Ella had even borrowed once herself, one of the few times she’d drunk liquor. She’d thrown up before ten and had spent the rest of the night crying about how she’d ruined Astrid’s sparkle shirt.

Every piece had a story, a memory. Little reminders of good times and bad, but mostly good, so good that it broke Ella’s heart that there wasn’t a body — a living body — to fill these anymore.

Ella walked closer to the bed. The night stand was littered with a bowl that Ella had given her once and a movie ticket to this horrible action flick that they’d seen in 3-D. A used water glass sat next to it, printed ever-so-lightly with lip gloss. God, had that been there all this time, just sitting there?

And the bed. The bed was maybe the worst. It looked like it hadn’t ever been touched again since that most horrible of days. It lay open, undone, as if Astrid had just hopped out. Just dashed out into the world. Out into the last bit of sunshine she’d ever see.

Ella’s eyes stopped at the pillow. It sat there, depressed, as if saving a space for Astrid’s head —
should it really still be that way, now?
— and Ella couldn’t help herself. She closed her eyes and leaned down. She buried her face in the pillow, and she breathed in deep. She wanted to smell her friend, the scent of her coconut shampoo, the cheap stuff that came in the 99-cent bottle, and it was there, smelling all sweet and tropical like summer vacation, like Astrid, and the pillow was warm, and the fragrance so strong, like her friend had just been there, only moments ago …

Ella whipped her head up. She jumped back. Why oh why, why on earth was the smell so strong? Why did it all feel so real, so … here? Why had she gotten a call from her friend, just today? What did it all mean?

Her head felt light, just like it had at the café. The room was starting to spin.