Page 79 of Full Circle

My assistant shrugged. “Only when necessary.”

“This is necessary!” I snapped, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

He gave a noncommittal nod in response. “Should I let the attorney know we need to reschedule?”

I sighed, the bile rising back up in preparation to puke again. “Nope. Just let me empty my stomach real quick.”

Thank god fancy hotels had large toilet bowls.

After a quick shower, where Phillip informed me I still smelled like a distillery, we were on our way out to River’s Run. The only reason I wasn’t jumping out of my skin with nerves was the guilt building a summer home in my chest. Bits and pieces of last night floated back. I could vaguely recall a bombshell with blonde hair mesmerizing me on the dance floor. Mr. Hendricks’ nickname for Celeste kept rolling around in my mind, though I couldn’t figure out why. I hadn’t heard or thought of “sugar bee” since I was a teenager.

“Mr. Sanderson assured me that everything is very straightforward,” Phillip said. “Shirley didn’t have much in the way of assets.” He sat across from me in the modified Range Rover, letting one of the Madden goon squad members drive us, and had a laptop balancing on his lap. “You should know, your father is still incredibly pissed and instructed you—in no uncertain terms—to be back on a plane to Atlanta this evening. He needs you to head over to Tokyo with him in the morning.”

I craned my head back, the ibuprofen still doing nothing for my splitting headache. “My dad can go fuck a cactus, Phillip, with my compliments,” I replied, irritated. The last thing I needed right now was to have my father breathing down my neck when I already felt lower than the fleas on dog shit.

How could I have slept with someone and not remember? Fuck, how could I have slept with anyone who wasn’t Celeste? Capturing sand with a fishing net would have been easier than trying to recall memories of last night, but I needed to know how bad it had gotten if I was ever gonna make it right. All I knew how to do was fuck things up with her.

Assuming there was still anything to fuck up.

We rode in silence the rest of the way. As the large houses morphed into small trailers with miles of forest and farmland in between, my anxiety started to rise to the point where I struggled to control my erratic heartbeat. My throat was closing up, making it difficult to swallow--not that I could have swallowed anything with a mouth as dry as sandpaper.

I knew the second we crossed into Smithson County. Even the air was different out here, purer, with a strong Georgia pinewood scent. Maybe it was a blessing or a curse, but the attorney’s office was located a couple blocks over from The Comfy Cushion so we didn’t have to drive by. I’m not sure that I could have stomached seeing it yet.

Mr. Sanderson’s law office was just a small room in the front of his house. Phillip was so aghast when we pulled up to the one story colonial that I had to stifle a laugh. I expected nothing less in River’s Run.

A receptionist that I strongly suspected was Sanderson’s wife led us into his office with a promise to return with coffee. Old Mr. Sanderson had been practicing law since Georgia representatives signed The Declaration of Independence. I could tell why Aunt Shirley trusted him. He was cordial as he went through her will line by line, clarifying things that nobody asked about. I don’t think he knew I was a recent law school graduate.

Shirley left everything to me, including her house, her savings account, and her little Buick Lacrosse. In her final will, which Mr. Sanderson stated she completed two years ago, she included a note to me about how proud she was of the man I had become. It brought tears to my eyes that I quickly blinked away. No one had said that to me since Mr. Hendricks died.

Phillip directed the driver to take us over to Shirley’s house once we were done with Mr. Sanderson. We needed to look at the condition of the place so I could decide what to do with it. Part of me wanted to preserve it just as she left it. A time capsule to commemorate my life with Celeste. But I also knew there was no point in keeping it. Even if I were to return to River’s Run permanently, Aunt Shirley’s place wouldn’t be where I wound up.

Still, nostalgia hit me hard as we pulled into the driveway. The same porch swing hung near the living room window and the same boxy shrubs offered the only semblance of curb appeal. Curtains were drawn, which was unusual in the daytime, but I assumed the nurse had closed them before she left. I paid her a bonus for providing such diligent care to my aunt.

“Wow, it’s like a time machine,” Phillip commented when we stepped inside. Just crossing the threshold sent me back thirteen years, to the angry, scared little boy who hated his father and desperately wanted someone—anyone—to love him. I suppose nothing had really changed. Except I had found someone to love me and lost her anyway.

Everything inside was exactly how I remembered. Even the magazines on the coffee table looked the same. Aunt Shirley’s favorite armchair in front of her old tv was so indented from her years of sitting in the exact same spot that there was probably no salvaging it. A sofa that was probably new in the 1970’s was still centered under the bay window. The whole place was clean, even if it was extremely dated. It would need a lot of work to appeal to buyers if I chose to sell it.

My legs automatically took me upstairs to my old room. The door was shut, probably for Aunt Shirley’s safety since she had been so confused for the last few years, but I wasn’t prepared at all for how I felt from opening it. All of my memories, all of my belongings that dear, old Benedict refused to let me claim, all of Celeste’s photographs…everything remained exactly as I left it. Hell, it wouldn’t have surprised me if her scent still lingered.

Sinking onto the bed, I leaned forward and braced my elbows on my knees. The erratic heartbeat returned, along with my upset stomach. It wasn’t until I noticed the small drops of water sliding down my forearms that I realized I was crying.

Being surrounded by all these memories hurt. A bitter resentment grew in my chest at all the years I had lost. Celeste and I should have gotten our first cars together. We should have attended all the school pep rallies with Maggie. I should have had a stack of college application and acceptance letters on the desk to my right. We would have walked at graduation together. It was all just so unfair.

The injustice of the past was what set me off. I stood up and threw all my weight in a punch to the drywall. When the hole didn’t take the edge off, I threw the lamp from the desk. Then I picked up the small desk chair and swung it into the tiny mirror that hung beside the door. Even the shattering glass did nothing to alleviate the pain. As a last resort, I yanked on the string lights that still hung across the ceiling, polaroids flying everywhere, and then I smashed all the bulbs with my boots for good measure. I was just about to flip the mattress when Phillip cleared his throat in the hallway.

I couldn’t look at him. He was suddenly a living reminder of how my father held me hostage in that godforsaken boarding school, and with the rage coursing through my body, there was no telling how I would take it out on him.

“You won’t be returning to Atlanta tonight, I take it?” he asked quietly.

I swiped a hand through the sweaty tangles of hair on top of my head. “Not a chance in Hell,” I agreed.

CHAPTER 36

INVITATIONS

CELESTE

“Oh my god,” I grumbled, stirring a packet of Splenda into my fifth cup of coffee. “Why didn’t I think about the morning after?”

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