Page 28 of The Killer You Know

Deer Lick Flats is no Aspen Heights, but that was my parents’ zip code. That’s what they made for themselves. This is what I have. I should be proud and go into the reunion with my head held high. Although Deer Lick isn’t exactly anything to brag about either. Neither is my faltering career.

I do medical billing from home and I enjoy it. I get to choose my hours and my nap schedule. Honestly, it’s a dream. But in the back of my mind, I’ve already started comparing myself to the rest of my graduating class. It’s hard not to.

Alicia Adams, our old class president, started up a Facebook group where she asked us to reintroduce ourselves to one another and fill in the blanks about where we are now in life. I’ve never seen so many doctors, lawyers, and CEOs of Fortune 500s. Of course, there are the SAHMs and the self-professed MILFs, which got a laugh or two out of that last category. But everyone seems to have made something of themselves, something big, something with a legacy, even if the only thing that legacy is contributing to is a gene pool.

I step outside and take in a lungful of the fresh mountain air. The early morning light bathes the Colorado landscape in a soft, golden hue, casting long shadows alongside me as I jump onto my usual trail. The path ahead is flanked by towering pines and aspens, their leaves swishing softly in the gentle breeze like a choir that accompanies me on my every step. Ironically, the last time I ran like this was in high school and only because one of my grades depended on it.

But four months ago, when my bathroom scale topped out at a record peak, I bought myself a pair of track shoes and never looked back. Same trail day after day. The snow has finally melted, but in a few weeks fall will be upon us and the scenery around here will change once again.

I haven’t thought about whether or not I’ll hang up my running shoes after the reunion. I’ve sort of grown accustomed to my time with nature. Up until a few weeks ago, I had earbuds stuck in my ears, blasting the deep cuts of my youth just to get me in the mood. But one day I forgot them, and surprisingly I found myself enjoying the solitude and the sounds of nature even more.

I’m pretty sure that means I’m old.

I chuckle to myself at the thought. It had to happen one day. I’m just glad it was by way of solitude rather than a broken hip.

The crisp air fills my lungs, carrying the earthy scent of pine needles and damp soil, mixed with the subtle sweetness of the honeysuckle that dot the trail’s edges. The vibrant colors of the wildflowers are a sharp contrast against the lush green forest. The splashes of yellow, purple, and blue always seem as if they’re cheering me on as I trot by.

The serenity of the trail, with its towering pines and fresh mountain air, has become my sanctuary. Although, today, my mind is anything but serene. The looming high school reunion is a cloud over my sunlit path. It’s just days away, and in all honesty, my bathroom scale hasn’t moved that dramatically since I began this misadventure.

I haven’t touched a carb in months, all in the name of looking good—and for what? A night of forced smiles and feigned interest with people I’ve spent the better part of two decades avoiding?

And don’t get me started on the fact I’ll be showing up stag.

My mind flits back to that seven-year disaster I just crawled out of. I thought Stephen and I would last forever. And apparently, he thought we’d last until he found someone younger, hotter, and far more limber in the bedroom.

Stephen leaving me for some fresh-out-of-college girl who probably thinks his job at the local movie theater is the pinnacle of artistic achievement still stings.

But who needs him when I’ve built a new circle of friends? My coworkers, the librarians whom I love, and the baristas at the coffee shop. I have friends who value me for who I am, not the girl I was in high school.

Okay, so they’re more acquaintances than they are friends, but after the trauma my so-called friends put me through way back when, I’ve decided it’s best not to get too close to people.

I pound the trail harder as the ghosts of those days sneak up on me. I was part of them once—the Queens of Aspen Heights we called ourselves while reigning over the school with sharp tongues and cold shoulders, making life miserable for anyone who dared cross us—and even those who tried to steer clear.

Once the rest of the kids got wind of our little self-absorbed moniker, they gave a more reality-based twist and we were the Queens of Mean from there on out. We stepped right into that one and we knew it. But we sure as heck lived up to that name as well.

The thought of Robin and Brittney worms its way into my consciousness again, no matter how hard I try to shake it off. A double horror right here under our noses and just minutes from the big reunion they’ve both been clamoring over.

It doesn’t seem fair.

It’s not fair.

Murder never is.

And what about Brittney? They never found her body. Unless she’s still alive, but a part of me doubts that. These things never end well.

Their fates were so dark. And for some reason, it’s a reminder of the cruelty we once dished out so carelessly.

My therapist’s advice echoes in my head—Don’t let any rancid thought seep into your brain longer than three seconds. Combat it with three happy thoughts.

I’ve been seeing her to curb the trauma from my divorce, but now that Robin and Brittney have incited more than a few rancid thoughts in me, I’ve come to implement the technique when it comes to them as well.

One happy thought that you can control. One that you have on your vision board (another slightly woo-woo exercise she demanded I do in order to create the reality I wanted for myself). And lastly, a unicorn thought that is as wild as wild can be. But, of course, happy.

Okay, happy thought number one: The day after the reunion, I have an entire menu of indulgences planned out, mostly centered around a decadent chocolate cake. No softball game for me the day after that trauma. No thank you. I’ll be savoring every bite of my well-earned chocolaty feast.

Happy thought number two: I see myself on a beach in Hawaii, the warm sun kissing my skin as the sound of waves lulls me into a state of bliss. That’s where I belong, far from the petty concerns of high school politics and closer to my own peace. How I wish I could have run away to Hawaii way back when. How I wish I could be there now.

And my unicorn thought, my magical wild wish that never fails to bring a smile to my face: The idea of all of us former Queens of Mean coming together to make amends and somehow, someway heal the wounds we inflicted. It’s a far-fetched fantasy, I know—especially now that one of us is dead and another missing, but the thought of us sharing stories of redemption on a warm, sunny beach is my secret balm.

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