It is Perry who kisses Olivia’s hand gallantly to the cheers of the student body, who takes advantage of the King-and-Queen dance to hold Olivia in his arms in the most confusing way. Perry has been as much a brother to her as Lindsey has been a sister, and suddenly, he is taller than Park, leaner; his arms are strong and warm and feel similar to his brother’s but different, too. He smells of cedar and woodsmoke, so alien in this proximity. He’s always been a handsome boy, but tonight he looks rakishly charming in his tuxedo, his too-long hair in a tight ponytail at the nape of his neck, his braces recently expunged from his bright white teeth, and his eyes, gray with the barest hint of blue around the edge of the iris, heavily lashed—staring deep into her own in ways that make her stomach twitch. When had he gotten so good-looking?
She’s never seen Perry in this light, never.
It was her fault, of course. She should have shunned the dance, escaped after Park immediately, smoothed over the ruffled feathers, abdicated, perhaps, to someone else on the court, but something about how Park handled the situation, not with good humor or even begrudgingly, but throwing a small tantrum and stalking out, does not endear him to her at this moment. Yes, it was a disappointment, but still, she’s been crowned Queen, and he could at least acknowledge this coup de gr?ce for her.
When the dance is over, Perry stops staring soulfully into her eyes, squeezes her arms, and returns to his regularly scheduled brotherly state. “He’s pretty pissed. Let’s go talk to him.”
And it is the two of them—Olivia and Perry—who seek out Park. The two of them who find Park with his hand up Alison Bank’s slinky black dress, her hair spilling out of its hundred-dollar updo and her eyes clenched in ecstasy.
The two of them who flee—Olivia first, Perry right after her, with Park stammering and calling, and Alison stamping away unfulfilled—to the parking lot, where Olivia breaks down, and is comforted by Perry, Perry the second brother, the friend, the witty jouster of puns and illicit six-packs, who tells her the affair has been going on for a month at least and holds her in his arms as she weeps.
It was inevitable that he would brush away her tears, inevitable that he would run a finger across her lower lip, inevitable that he would kiss her.
Inevitable that they would lose their virginity to each other in the back of the limousine—Olivia in a sheer, unadulterated rage fuck, Perry in something else, something deeper and quieter, but no less intense, no less strong.
Inevitable, the regret. The recriminations. The scandal. The breakup.
Inevitable that Park dumped her, and she didn’t want Perry, who was more than happy to play the chivalrous knight, being half in love with her himself, and always had been.
Inevitable that nine weeks later, pale and clammy and borderline hysterical, she was driven to Knoxville by her best friend, where no one would know or see or stop her, and had the life they’d created that night carved from her belly.
5
THE WIFE
Olivia brakes, hard, the car behind her shrieking to a stop just shy of her bumper. She waves a hand in apology and yanks the Jeep to the shoulder, the wheels skidding on the loose gravel.
Lindsey’s voice shouts through the car’s speaker. “Are you okay? I heard the brakes—”
“I’m fine. All good. Car in front of me braked at the yellow.”
She is not fine. She is not all good. She is numb. And numb she must stay, or the whole world will crumble around her.
She can’t handle Perry on top of all of this.
Perry, with his soft gray eyes and floppy blond hair. Perry, with his rangy body, hard and lean in all the right places. Perry, with his heart of gold and silly laugh and velvet lips.
Perry, Park’s brother. His twin, for God’s sake.
“I assume he called?” she hears herself ask, voice sounding calm and cool. Disinterested.
“Texted. He needs to be in New York next week. He thought he’d fly here first, before he heads up north, then back to Europe. He has a shoot in a month. He has to climb the Matterhorn. Can you believe that?”
Perry, swathed in gear, goggles on, his beard crusted in ice and snow, grinning from the top of the world, arms outstretched as if to say—I rule this place.
That image, burned into her brain from the climb when they almost lost him.
You’d think almost dying in an icy crevasse would deter him. Losing two toes, three friends, a Sherpa guide, and thousands of dollars of the best camera equipment the BBC’s money could buy would convince him to stay home, to give up the dangerous lifestyle of a nature photographer. Olivia has never understood his compulsion to fling himself heedlessly into harm’s way.
He has a shoot in a month.
Clearly it hadn’t.
The two of them, her husband and his brother, so different—in looks, in temperament, interests, attitudes. Even politics. How they’d shared a womb was beyond her. Park was so settled in comparison to Perry, who was more comfortable lying on his stomach in a mud puddle with a long-lens camera waiting to see if a leopard would come to a drinking hole than having a simple conversation. Yin and yang.
“Olivia?”
“Sorry, Lindsey. Zoned out.”
“What are you up to right now?”
“I’m on my way to a client’s house.”
“Pick me up? You can drop me at Fido’s on your way. I can grab a coffee and work from there for a while.”
“All right. See you in five.”
“Liv?”
Olivia pulls the car back onto Hillsboro, careful to make sure there is no oncoming traffic in sight. She doesn’t need to be anywhere near other drivers like this. “Yeah?”
“Are you really okay? You sound off.”
“Yeah.”
She punches the button on the wheel to cut the call before Lindsey pushes further. Non-answers don’t work with her. She’s a lawyer and she’s literal, wants every detail broken out, likes her stories told sequentially, but always forgets the punchlines of jokes just when she gets to the good part. Olivia loves her. Olivia is afraid to be alone with her now, because there’s no way they aren’t going to go there, going to dig into the past that Olivia has so carefully fortressed, especially when she shares there’s been another miscarriage.
But who else can she talk to about this…betrayal? This monstrous betrayal? Who else knows her as Lindsey does?
She makes all the lights, a miracle in this town, turns into Forest Hills, then onto Lindsey’s street, sees an icy, remote blonde with the profile of a Russian princess and calves that could cut glass standing at the intersection. She must have run down the hill.
Lindsey, wrapped in an oatmeal cashmere sweater and black tights against the early fall morning chill, sipping from an Ember travel mug. Great. Already caffeinated.
There is not enough caffeine in the world to handle this morning.
Olivia maneuvers the car to the curb, putting on her hazard lights so no one accidentally plows into them, and depresses the lock button. Lindsey opens the door with a lascivious wink.
“Hey, lady. Wanna date?”
Olivia can’t help the smile. She has always been astounded by Lindsey’s bawdiness. You’d think after all these years…but no. Olivia will always be the girl who blushes at the inappropriate remark. It’s who she is.