The Good Girls (8 page)

THURSDAY AFTERNOON, PARKER PICKED AT
the nubby upholstery of a chair in Elliot Fielder's waiting room. Her feet bounced and tapped nervously on the floor. She still couldn't believe she was here—how desperate was she that the only person she could turn to was the therapist who'd pretty much stalked her?

On Tuesday, after Fielder had told her about her dad, he'd begged to come pick her up. But Parker had changed her mind: She didn't want to talk to him right then. And so she'd caught a bus back into Beacon, bummed around for a few hours, and met up with Julie, resolving never to talk to Fielder again.

But she was still struggling to process everything about her dad's death. She couldn't believe he was
gone.
Really, truly gone. Somehow, she'd expected to feel a different reaction. Joy, maybe, even euphoria. Instead, all she felt
was numb—followed by the most pounding headache she'd ever suffered through. And even more annoyingly, she'd started reliving all sorts of awful memories of her dad—his abusive Greatest Hits, if you will. She needed a way to kick him out of her head once and for all.

Which was why she'd ended up back here.

Her phone chirped from the pocket of her hoodie, and Parker jumped. Her skin was clammy with cold sweat. She fumbled for her phone with jittery fingers. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Julie's voice was worried and tense.

“I'm fine,” Parker insisted. She tried to sound steady.

“Why weren't you at the service?”

“What service?”

Julie exhaled. “For Granger.”

“
You
were there?” Parker was in no shape for a funeral. But she couldn't believe
Julie
had shown her face. It wasn't like Julie was out making social rounds after the mass email about her hoarder mom.

“Yeah,” Julie answered. “I mean, I hid out, basically, but I went. And you should have been there, too. It doesn't look good that you've just skipped.”

“Who cares?” Parker said. They weren't even suspects anymore.

“
I cared!
” Julie snapped. “I wanted you there! Parker, we really need to stick together. After everything that's happened—”

Fielder's receptionist appeared in the doorway with an exceedingly sweet look on her face. “Parker Duvall? He's ready for you.”

Parker covered the mouthpiece with her hand and nodded at the woman. She didn't want Julie to know she was at Fielder's office. Julie would kill her.

“Sorry, I have to go,” Parker whispered into the phone.

“But—” Julie began. “Where
are
you?”

“I'll see you later, okay?”

Parker tapped off the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket. She rose and followed the receptionist into Fielder's large, airy office. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, sitting at his desk, jotting notes on a pad. His lean runner's frame was totally relaxed as he worked. He seemed so harmless and innocent. Not like a stalker at all.

She wanted so badly to trust him again. But how could she get over what he'd done—or how angry he'd been when he'd caught her at his computer?

Fielder's head snapped up, and a smile crossed his face. “Parker! It's so great to see you.” He ran a hand through his tousled hair. “I'm just so relieved—so happy—that you're here.” He gestured at the chair across from his. “Please, sit.”

Parker hesitated. Maybe this was a bad idea. She fought the urge to bolt past him, past the lady out front, through the office door and into the street.

Fielder held her gaze, as if he understood what she was
thinking. “It's okay, Parker,” he said gently. “It's safe here. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just here to listen.”

Parker sat down, but she leaned forward in the chair, ready to leap up at any moment. She stuffed her hands in her hoodie pockets and waited for him to speak.

“I owe you an apology,” Fielder began. “And I'm truly sorry for scaring you. For following you.”

Parker nodded. “You should be.”

“I wasn't stalking you. It's just that—you said you had memory gaps. I was just—God, this sounds crazy when I say it out loud—I was just trying to fill in the blanks for you. With pictures.”

Parker squinted. “Uh, that sounds like stalking to me.”

Fielder pressed his palms over his eyes. “I know. But I'm telling you the truth. I wasn't trying to do anything . . . inappropriate.” He paused for a moment, as if deciding whether to continue, then took a breath. “Look, Parker, I have a confession to make. Technically, I shouldn't tell you this as your therapist, but my mother had a lot of . . . problems when I was growing up.” He stopped again, swallowed. “She was an amazing, brilliant woman, but she had a lot of memory gaps, too. Like yours. I wasn't able to help her, and then . . . then it was too late.”

He shut his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they were filled with tears that threatened to spill over onto his cheeks. Parker was astonished. “You remind
me of her,” he said quietly. “The strong and amazing parts of her. And I guess I just want to do for you what I wasn't able to do for her. But I crossed the line, and I realize that. I'm sorry. So, so sorry.”

Parker's chest throbbed, and she realized she was holding her breath. She exhaled sharply. No one besides Julie ever talked to her like this anymore. She had felt invisible for so long. But she mattered to Fielder—that was clear. And that felt good.

“What was she like?” she asked quietly. “Your mom, I mean.”

Fielder seemed surprised. He squinted, as if he were seeing his mother again in his memory. “She was sweet, loving. Really fun. She had her issues,” he chuckled. “But she was a great mom. She could make even the most boring things, like homework and grocery shopping, into a game. And she was so, so smart. The smartest person I've ever known.” He smiled wistfully.

“Then what would happen? How would she just . . . lose time?”

His face darkened. “She would go out for an errand, and then we wouldn't hear from her for a day or so. Sometimes more.” He stared at his lap. “I would hold my breath, wondering each time if this would be the time she didn't come back. But eventually, she would walk in the front door. She could never tell us where she'd been, because she couldn't
remember—and she seemed frustrated by the questions. So eventually my dad and I stopped asking. We were just happy she came back at all.”

Parker hugged a throw pillow from the couch. That sounded a lot like her experience. “Did she ever get help?”

“No. Things were different back then. And she was so strong—she never complained or told us how scared she was. When I got a little older, I tried to talk to my dad and our doctor about it, but we didn't know what to do. And then, one day, she didn't come home.”

They were silent as Parker absorbed his words. “Did you ever find her?” He nodded. “Where?” she pressed, suddenly desperate to know.

Fielder flinched. “It doesn't matter. The point is . . .” He trailed off. “I'm sorry, Parker. This has nothing to do with you. We should be discussing
your
problems right now.”

“No, I'm glad you told me.” Parker leaned forward, staring into Fielder's eyes.

Fielder shook his head. “You know what? I'm glad I told you, too.” He coughed awkwardly. “So maybe this means you'll start coming back for more regular sessions?”

His steady gaze sent a jolt through her, and she looked away quickly. The glint in his eye felt familiar, but she had trouble putting her finger on what it meant. Then, it hit her: It was the way guys used to look at her when she walked through a party. His face had that lit-up, hopeful
look even the school's hottest football players got when she agreed to go on a date with them.
Attraction
.

It was something she used to feel so routinely that she'd always taken it for granted. But then she thought of how terrible her face looked, how damaged and broken she was. There was nothing about New Parker he could be attracted to. She was disgusting.

And yet . . . could he have somehow seen the old Parker, nestled deep inside? Because she knew that somewhere, deep down, that Parker was still in there. And maybe, with help, New Parker could let her out.

She took a breath, meeting his gaze once more. “Yes,” she decided. “I'll come back.”

A FEW HOURS LATER, JULIE
let Carson take her hand as they walked across the parking lot downtown. She couldn't believe they were doing this, right out here in front of . . . well, everyone. And more than that, she still couldn't believe he
wanted
to.

People passed them on either side. Julie didn't recognize anyone from school yet, but she knew they would be here—it was Thursday night, prime hanging-out-downtown time. Then a familiar girl slipped around the corner. She had a navy Marc by Marc Jacobs satchel that Julie recognized, because Julie had the same one.

Ashley?
Julie's heart started to bang in her chest, and her palms felt clammy. She pulled her hand away.

“What is it?” Carson turned to look at her.

Julie flinched. “Nothing. Sorry. I just thought I saw someone over there.”

Carson eyed her for a moment, then shrugged and gestured to an American Apparel store. “Want to go inside?”

“No!” Julie said it a little more forcefully than was normal. But everyone at Beacon High shopped at American Apparel. Surely someone she knew was in there.

Carson was looking at her even more strangely now. She swallowed hard and tried to regain her composure. “American Apparel is so
mainstream
,” she said in a flip voice. “I have a secret place I like around the corner. It's so hip that the workers look down on the customers. If you don't have cool facial hair or tattoos or, like, read the right indie blogs, they'll roll their eyes.”

Carson raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure
I'm
cool enough to go?”

She smiled in spite of her nerves. “You, Carson Wells, are the coolest of the cool.”

“Even without creative facial hair?”

“Please
don't
get creative facial hair,” Julie giggled.

Then Carson leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. Julie peeked around to see if anyone was watching, but all the passersby were minding their own business.
Of course they are,
she told herself. She needed to just relax. She could do that, right?

They walked to the corner and turned toward the smaller streets just off the main drag. Julie's favorite boutique, Tara's Consignment, was ahead. It was where she bought most of her clothes; designer cast-offs at a fraction of the price, all
she could afford on her lifeguard salary. As she took in the
Gone with the Wind
display in the windows—the owner was obsessed with the movie—she thought back to the last time she'd been shopping at Tara's. She'd bought Parker a studded bracelet. Not that Parker had even worn it.

Parker.
Things still felt off between them. They hadn't really talked about what happened to Parker's dad—or the coincidence of him dying not long after Julie had named him in class. Even though Julie still wasn't sure anyone overheard them, she had to admit it was a strange coincidence. She wished she knew what had happened to the notes Granger had taken on the yellow legal pad, documenting what they'd said. She'd sworn she'd taken the pad, but when she'd riffled through her things, it wasn't there.

On top of that, Parker was disappearing more and more often lately, and it seemed like she couldn't remember where she'd been. And whenever Julie asked, Parker got weird and cagey, like she was hiding something.

“
Julie.
” Carson's voice pierced her thoughts. They were standing in front of Tara's now. A few kids with Technicolor-dyed hair who Julie didn't recognize edged past them to go inside.

“Sorry,” she said brightly, smiling. “What did you say?”

Carson placed his hands on his hips. “Are you
sure
everything's okay?”

Julie sighed. This was exactly why she'd never had a
boyfriend—she knew she'd never be able to hide her feelings. She wanted to be totally transparent for Carson, she really did. But it wasn't easy.

“I was just thinking about my friend,” she admitted. “Parker—I don't know if you've met her yet. She's kind of a loner. I'm worried about her is all. There was a death in her family recently, and I think it's messing with her head.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in close. “You're such a good person, Julie,” he said, running a hand through her hair. “So caring. So selfless. And you're so beautiful. You know that, right?”

Julie felt her skin flush. “Thanks . . .”

Carson pulled her back toward him and kissed her firmly. Julie kissed him back, losing herself in the kiss. Finally, her head buzzing, she pulled away and led him into the store. She bobbed and weaved a little as she walked, practically drunk from the kiss.

“This place is amazing,” Carson exclaimed as they walked inside, his accent floating over the racks of tweedy coats, fedoras, and last-year's Barney's best sellers. A guy at the counter gave them a withering glare. Julie nudged Carson to look up. The sales guy was covered in black tattoos, had a curly mustache and a weird, pointy beard, and was reading a manga comic.

“
Nailed it,
” Carson whispered, and they both burst into laughter.

Then Carson took a right down a long aisle of Halloween costumes—and not cheesy ones either, but period pieces: full-out, Southern belle hoop skirts, lacy, dramatic
Brides of Dracula
getups, Sherlock Holmes blazers and trousers, vibrant jockey silks, and realistic-looking Civil War uniforms. Julie followed, amazed that Halloween was so close—how was the year moving so quickly? Carson wandered over to a tall rack of full-length gowns and held out a deep plum dress with a high-low hem to Julie. She stepped closer and ran her hands across the strapless bodice, letting her fingers caress the smooth silk overlay. It was red carpet worthy. The stitching was spectacular, and the cut was exquisite—the gown was delicate but structured, obviously the work of a master designer.

“Try it on,” Carson said. “It'll look incredible on you.”

“Okay,” Julie giggled, stopping in front of a round display teeming with men's suits. “But only if you try this one on.” She held out a royal blue three-piece suit of plush velvet. “And this.” She plucked a bowler hat from atop the rack, stood up on her tiptoes, and plopped it onto his head.

“Deal.” He grinned at her and headed for one of the two curtained stalls.

Julie slipped into the other one and dragged the thick curtain across, pinching it at the corners to block out any prying eyes. She kicked off her skinny jeans and boatneck cashmere T-shirt, both of which were bought at this very
store a few months ago. The thought of Carson—no more than a foot away, on the other side of the flimsy wall separating their two dressing rooms—made her shiver. She could hear the
whoosh
of his jeans dropping to the floor, and the rustle of his sweater as he lifted it over his head. He was practically naked, and so close. Julie quickly stepped into the dress and reached behind her for the zipper, but she couldn't pull it up.

She stepped out of the fitting room and stood outside Carson's curtain, waiting for him to come out. “Ahem,” she said, clearing her throat with mock impatience. “I'm the girl here, and I'm ready way faster than you are.”

Carson grunted behind the curtain. “If I'm not mistaken, your outfit consists of exactly one piece, while mine has many, many more.” Julie heard the metallic
phhhhttt
of a zipper and then the curtain rings scraped loudly as he flung the fabric aside. She burst out laughing at the sight of his six-foot-two-inch frame draped in head-to-toe blue velvet. His rich skin and sea-glass eyes practically glowed against the color and texture of the suit. She hadn't thought it was possible, but a comical outfit only made Carson
more
handsome.

“Are you laughing at me?” An exaggerated expression of shock was on his face. “Personally, I think I look awesome.”

Julie struggled to keep a straight face. “It's perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

But Carson wasn't listening to her response. He'd noticed her dress—or, more accurately, her body in the dress. He sucked in his breath. “Wow.”

Julie looked down at the gown, which she was holding closed with one hand. “Oh, right. A little help here?” She gestured to the zipper on the back.

“With pleasure.” Carson stepped toward her, his crisp suit making a loud crinkling noise as he walked. He spun her around and zipped up her dress. Then Julie looked in the mirror. It fit her to perfection, snug where it was supposed to be snug, the bodice giving her movie-star cleavage.

She turned around again to face him. He was gazing at her with a hungry look on his face. Julie liked the feeling of his eyes on her, but she suddenly became aware of a salesgirl's attention turning toward them. “Um, you forgot your hat,” Julie whispered to Carson.

“Oh, of course,” he whispered back. He turned and grabbed it from the dressing room and put it on. He looked delicious. “Why are we whispering?”

Julie glanced out the front window of the store to the empty street. “Paparazzi.”

“Right.” He nodded knowingly. “They'll definitely want a picture of you in that dress.”

“Um, I think they're going to be equally excited to see you in that suit. Because you look—”

But then Carson cut her off, grabbing her by the hand
and pulling her into his dressing room. In one motion, he yanked the curtain closed, spun her around, and pressed her against the mirror. Their lips met. Julie felt his body against hers and ran her hands down his back, the velvet crunching under her fingers.

“Are you guys finding everything okay?”

It was the sales guy from the front counter, and it sounded like he was right outside. Julie and Carson tore apart, exchanging wide-eyed, guilty looks.

“Yep,” Carson called out, helping Julie adjust the gown and straightening his jacket and vest. Julie turned her back to him and gestured for him to unzip her. She slipped through the curtain into the other dressing room and quickly threw on her clothes, carefully hanging the gown back on its hanger, using the delicate white ribbons stitched inside.

The sales guy was glaring at them, hand on one hip when they emerged. “You're not supposed to share a dressing room, you know.”

“Sorry!” Julie chirped.

“We were trying to save the environment,” Carson said, which didn't even make any sense. Julie covered her mouth, sure she was going to erupt into laughter.

They dashed for the door and doubled over as soon as they crossed the threshold. Julie's sides hurt, she was laughing so hard. Carson grabbed her by the hand and gave it
a squeeze. “You, Julie Redding, are a red carpet knockout. Not to mention really fun in a dressing room.”

Julie felt her cheeks redden. “Right back at ya.”

“Coffee?”

“Café Mud is right around the corner. It's my favorite.”

“Lead the way.”

They walked hand in hand and found a table on the patio under an outdoor heater. Julie ordered her usual skim latte, while Carson asked for a cappuccino with extra whip. A young couple with a chubby puppy on a leash sat at the table just next to them. Other couples and groups of friends filled the rest of the tables, and there were sounds of chatter and laughter in the air. Julie felt an unfamiliar sensation in her chest. After a moment, she realized what it was: happiness. For the first time, she truly understood what her friends had said at Ava's house the other day: They were free. They could live their lives. They needed to make the most of that.

Carson reached for her hand across the table. But then a sudden, sharp peal of nasty laughter rang out from across the street. Julie's head spun around toward its source. Clustered together in front of an ATM were three girls from school. They were looking right at her, and they were talking in quiet voices and cracking one another up.

Julie clenched her hands into fists. She peered around for Ashley, certain she was lurking there, but she was
nowhere in sight. Cringing, Julie slumped down in her aluminum chair. Maybe if she disappeared for long enough they would leave.

“Hey. It's okay,” Carson said, leaning forward. He reached for her hand, but Julie kept both of hers in her lap.

“Ha,” she said, letting out a grim laugh.

“No one is even talking about it at school, you know.”

Julie couldn't believe how naive that was. “Please. We both know that the moment I come back to school, people are going to be all over me.” She stared at the lattice pattern in the table. “I've already been through this, remember?”

“I know. In California. But did you have me back then?”

Julie's lips twitched into a smile. “Well, no.”

“Those girls over there?” Carson gestured to them. “They have secrets, too. I guarantee it. They're not perfect.”

Julie snorted. “That's where you're wrong. We're in Beacon Heights. Everyone is
actually
perfect here.”

Carson shook his head. “Their lives are just as screwed up as yours, mine. Everyone's. Trust me.”

“How is
your
life screwed up?” Julie wanted to change the subject.

Carson reached for her hand again, and this time she let him take it. “That's the thing. It's not anymore . . . because of you.”

Julie looked away, a lump in her throat. “You don't have to do this,” she blurted. “You don't have to sacrifice
yourself for me. You're new in town—and cute, and nice. You deserve a chance at being friends with everyone. Not just the freak.”

Now Carson looked angry. “Stop saying stuff like that! I've made my choice, Julie. I've never cared about what people think. Now, what will it take for you to come back to school?”

Julie's lip wobbled. “I'm not coming back.”

“Do you really think things are
that
bad?”

Julie turned away. “How can you ask that? I'm the laughingstock of the school.”