Now, I can’t exactly transfer money to Heather’s account from mine and Skye’s; I doubt Skye would notice, but still, it’s too risky to keep a paper trail. So I’ll opt for another route. If I space out my withdrawals, if I take out just $1,750 every week, that means I can manually deposit $3,500 into Heather’s Chase account twice a month. That’s more than double what I was bringing in at PK Adamson, and it’ll be plenty to tide Heather over until the real money hits.
Even if at some point Skye does notice the withdrawals, I can say it’s wedding related. I can say it’s money I used to buy her a wedding present, and that I’d paid in cash to ensure a surprise. But trust me, she’s not going to notice. With the magnitude of our account balance and all the wildly extravagant transactions being made in advance of the wedding and honeymoon, Skye would have to be looking for something to notice an extra seven grand a month.
Off to the bank now. Wish me luck.
APRIL 12, 2019
Dear Dr. K,
In the words of Beyoncé, I’m feeling myself.
I was just at Chase, where I successfully deposited the first biweekly payment of $3,500 for Heather. I immediately texted her to let her know that after a few hiccups with my UAE bank, the money had finally gone through and that there would be lots more where it came from. When she replied a few moments later with a single heart emoji, my own heart skipped a beat.
After all she’s been through, Heather deserves this, Dr. K. She’s the love of my life and the mother of my children, and something about providing for my family makes me feel almost whole again, makes me know the insanity of the past seven months is well worth it. Life hasn’t been fair to our family, so why should we be fair to life? That’s how I see it. You can argue that this outlook fuels the problem, that the most important thing in this world is having integrity, but I’ll tell you something, Dr. K—I’m doing what I’m doing with integrity, with my heart behind my every step.
Chapter Twenty-One
Heather
JUNE 1990
Peter was wrapping up his project, and he and Libby and the kids were slated to leave Langs Valley at the end of June. For me, their departure was a ticking time bomb, and I wanted nothing more than to zip Gus and me inside one of Libby’s oversize suitcases. The prospect of getting through senior year in Langs Valley without Burke or Libby was a daunting nightmare. But as Libby reminded me, a year is short in the scheme of things; all I had to do was keep my head down, continue to ace my classes, and nail my college applications. After that, the world would be my oyster.
My second-semester grades had come in even better than first semester’s. A’s in physics, pre-calculus, and U.S. history and A-minuses in English and Spanish. To top it off, I’d gotten into three APs for the first semester of senior year. Freshman and sophomore years I’d never gotten anything above a B. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you stop partying and lose all your friends.
In addition to my near-perfect grades, I’d also gotten my first round of SAT scores back and had scored in the ninetieth percentile. I’d triple-checked the envelope to make sure the results had been sent to the correct person. Libby said my score was so good that I didn’t even need to take the test again, unless I wanted to aim even higher.
I was overjoyed and slightly shocked, but I knew I deserved every bit of what I was getting. Aside from babysitting duties and hanging out with Libby, I’d done nothing but study for the past seven months. I’d spent countless Saturday nights poring over my SAT prep book while Burke and Kyla and all my other ex-friends smoked crack and took Ecstasy and rolled their brains out. I was going to go to college, and they weren’t.
One evening after leaving Libby’s, I dropped Gus at the Carsons’ and drove to the A&P to pick up some groceries. It was past eight o’clock when I got to the grocery store, the light still long and soft. June was always my favorite time of year, partly because of the longer days and late sunsets, but also because my birthday fell on the seventeenth. I don’t know why I liked my birthday so much—my parents never gave me presents as a kid, and I don’t remember ever having a party. I guess I’d always loved that there was this one day—of all the calendar days in the whole year—that was just for me.
As I wrangled a shopping cart free from the stack, Burke walked out of the A&P. He nearly stumbled right into me, and we made eye contact that lasted a beat too long for either of us to pretend we hadn’t seen the other.
It was easy enough for us to avoid each other at school. We didn’t have any classes together, and whenever I did see him, he was always surrounded by his pack of buddies. A few times I caught him staring at me across the cafeteria or during an assembly, but he never approached me, not after my radio silence in response to the heartfelt letters he’d sent in January.
I kept my hands on the handle of the shopping cart—a buffer between us—and studied Burke, the way he stood tall with his weight on one foot, plastic grocery bag slung under his elbow. He wore broken-in jeans and a worn Boston Red Sox T-shirt that I’d yanked over his head too many times to count. For a moment I forgot that we hadn’t spoken in almost six months and I nearly blurted out the news about my SAT scores. Burke had been more than my boyfriend—he’d been my best friend, my go-to confidant.
But then I remembered that everything was different now, and I held my tongue. Burke shifted his weight to the other leg and gave me that adorably awkward grin where he blew air into his cheeks—the grin that meant he was uncomfortable. The part of me that just wanted to grab his face and kiss him was quickly bubbling to the surface.
“Hi,” I said finally.
“Hey, Bones. You look great.” His voice sounded soft and the same, and it was so good to hear it that I knew I was going to cry.
“So do you, Burke.” He did look great. He always looked great, except when he was high out of his mind, which I had to remind myself was an awful lot. But sober, Burke made my knees weak. He had that lean, strong build I knew every inch of, those shocking blue eyes, and that thick head of glossy black hair. He looked as handsome as ever, and I couldn’t imagine how many girls had raced to jump into his bed since we broke up. My stomach curdled at the thought.
“How are things?” he asked.
“Things are okay. I—I’m sorry we haven’t talked.” I felt my voice crack and knew I had to get out of there before the tears broke loose. “Let’s try to catch up sometime this summer?”
“I’d love that. Have you been—”
“I’m sorry but I’ve got to get these groceries, Burke,” I blurted. “It’s late and I haven’t made Gus’s dinner yet.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His smile was sad, but those telltale dimples still formed on either cheek. “Hey, tell the Gus man I said hi, will ya? Tell him I miss him.”
“I’ll tell him.” I bit my bottom lip, tightening my grip on the handle of the cart and heading toward the store’s entrance.
“Hey, Bones,” he called behind me, and I couldn’t stand how much I loved that he still called me that. I forced myself to turn. “If I don’t see ya beforehand, I hope you have a really happy birthday.”