Brett glared at him in return. “What? Are we not allowed to talk about it ever? He’s not even here.”
Weston paused for a beat. “Amanda was Donovan’s girlfriend. She died in a car accident a year ago. Around this time of year. Coming back to school after Thanksgiving, actually.”
The air left my lungs. “Oh my god! What happened?”
“Another driver didn’t check his blind spot. He drove into her lane and pushed her into oncoming traffic. They said she died instantly. She was closer to campus when it happened, so it was Donovan who had to identify her body.”
“That’s awful. I feel awful.” It was the kind of thing I’d say after hearing any sort of tragic tale, but I really meant it right now in a way I usually didn’t. In a way I couldn’t explain.
“They were the real deal, too,” Weston went on. “He wanted the house, the kids, the whole nine yards. He’d planned to ask her to marry him for Christmas. I think he might have even bought her the ring.”
She had to be the blonde in the picture on his mantle. He’d seen me looking at it just before he’d turned cold.
“Is that why he’s so…?” I searched for the word I was looking for. What was it exactly that Donovan was? Distant? Cut-off? Alone?
Weston seemed to get what I meant. “He wasn’t ever what I’d call friendly before that, but he’s harder now. Sharper too. In some ways I think he’s become a better businessman, if that makes sense.”
“I think it does. It’s like when you lose one sense and so your others become more acute.” I had my mother’s death to draw on as experience, but it was my assault that I was thinking of now. How had I changed since then? Was I harder or sharper or more business savvy?
And what about the thoughts I had at night now, the dirty thoughts with Donovan?
“Yeah. Like that,” Weston said as the waiter set down the check.
I reached for my bag, but Weston shook his head. “No, I’ve got this.” He dimpled at me as he handed his card off.
“Thank you. That’s really nice.” It came off halfhearted, though, because I was still thinking about Donovan. I was pained by his pain, for whatever foolish reason. He certainly hadn’t shown any concern for mine. But more interestingly, I was fascinated by his pain. I could imagine how he carried it, where he stuffed the details of his misery. Inside this bottle of scotch. Under that heartless remark. Behind this wall of indifference.
He knew the secret I hid behind smiles and nods, and now I knew the agony he hid behind ice and steel.
Maybe we were finally even.
“Well,” I said, forcing my attention back to Weston, “you sound like you’ve been a good friend to him.”
“Because I give him notes as he lectures in class?” His tone was sarcastic, but I heard the hint of helplessness underneath. He really didn’t know how to help his friend, his brother.
It wasn’t like I had the answers, but at least I could reaffirm him. “Exactly because of that.”
He looked up from the credit card slip he’d just signed and studied me. “Sabrina, I think you did the right thing coming to Harvard. I’m sure your dad will do just fine with your sister. He seems to have done a great job with you.”
I chuckled dismissively. “You don’t even know me.”
“Sure I do. I know that you’re strong. That you’re resilient. That you’re smart—probably smarter than both Brett and me. You’re obviously beautiful.” He reached over to tug my ponytail. “And I know that you’re coming to my party on Saturday with me.”
The butterflies were back, though they were flying now as though they had pebbles for wings. This was everything I’d wanted, everything I’d hoped for. A date with Weston King. And all the murky, confusing feelings going on inside right now were probably just related to going to The Keep for the first time since Theo.
Yeah, that had to be it.
So. Smile. Nod. “I guess you do know me after all.”
But how could he when I was only just starting to figure me out for myself?
Chapter 5
Audrey: Dad won’t make stuffing if you aren’t here.
Me: Then make the stuffing yourself.
I moved my eyes from the chat box in the corner of my computer screen back to the Excel spreadsheet I was working on for Statistics. It was early Thursday afternoon, two days before Weston’s party, one day after he’d invited me to go with him, and I was still vacillating between so many emotions about it that all I felt now was anxious. My sister’s efforts to try and get me to buy a last minute flight home for Thanksgiving were not helping.
Another message popped up.
Audrey: But I don’t know hoowwww!!!!
Like a true teenager, my sister was as dramatic in her chats as she was in any conversation.
Me: You’re 13. Stove Top is cinch.
Audrey: But who’s going to put olives on their fingers and make olive monsters with me?
A notification showed up on the top of my laptop saying I had a new item in the Academic Portal.
Me: Put olives on Bambi.
Okay, Bambi was the dog. But seriously. I had homework to do. And homework to follow up on.
I clicked over to the Academic Portal and found that the new addition was to my Intro to Business Ethics folder. My corporate strategy and ethics awareness assignment that Donovan had said would be up this week. I opened up the scores and grades document and waited for it to load.
Audrey: Very funny. Come hommmmmeeee!!!!
Me: Aren’t you in class right now or something?
I hit return and then froze. There, on my screen where my A should be there was a big fat F.
No way.
Not possible.
I’d never gotten an F in my life.
I opened up the remarks for details. Student’s conclusions disregard the corporation’s economic responsibilities to its stockholders. Student speaks of moral high ground with poetic sentiment without considering how suggested actions will be funded. The student does not have a firm grasp of the concept of corporate strategy.
Goddamn, Donovan.
All I could see was red. I understood the concept of corporate strategy. It was Donovan who couldn’t understand the concept of an opposing opinion.
And this wasn’t just my pride hurt. This counted for more than half the class grade. I wouldn’t be able to get higher than a D if this wasn’t changed and my scholarship required a B average.
No. Whatever beef Donovan had with me, he couldn’t fuck with my grades.
Within a couple of minutes I’d looked up Velasquez’s office hours and found that he should be available for another hour. The weather was great for November—there hadn’t been any recent snow. I could make it if I hurried. If he looked over it, I was certain he’d see that my paper deserved to be re-graded and that Donovan was a fucking asshole.
The chat window dinged again.
Audrey: It’s study period.
Me: I have to talk to you later, Audrey.
I closed my laptop and headed across campus to fight for my grade.
Thirty-five minutes later, I stood outside Velasquez’s office. I’d tried to calm myself down on the walk over so that I could present all my points rationally to my teacher, but instead, I’d just gotten more worked up. The paper had been fifteen pages long. I should have gotten a C just for turning in the required length. As for my disregard to shareholders—I’d attached a detailed financial plan. If my math had been wrong, that should account for a point or two, but not entire letter grades.