We are not the same, p.5
We Are Not the Same, page 5
Her stomach gurgles after eating the chips and she places a hand on the ever-expanding girth that she finds there. Monday, she will start her diet. Maybe she’ll even bring some extra clothes and sneak in a quick walk on the Great Allegheny Passage, the rehabilitated railway trail that parallels the Mitsin River through the city. If the late spring weather cooperates, that is.
Temple is scheduled to be in court on Monday afternoon, and with the Munsons gone until next Friday, the whole week is promising to be extra slow.
The phone rings its muted trill on the desk in front of her, and Crystal checks the time again. She does not answer calls that come in on the general number after 4:30. It is 4:45, and she lets the call ring through to voicemail. It makes her uneasy to sit there while someone is so clearly trying to reach a human, so she stands and heads to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee in the common area. She pops one of the breakfast blend coffee pods into the machine. She shouldn’t be drinking coffee this late in the day, but she knows it doesn’t matter. She won’t get much sleep anyway with Frank’s CPAP machine inhaling and exhaling beside her.
She glances down the hall at Temple’s open door, then walks toward it and taps gently. A light tinkling of classical music reaches her ears from somewhere within.
“Yes?” he mumbles, just loud enough for her to hear.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Temple. Can I get you some coffee?”
He doesn’t look up from the file he’s studying. “No.” Then he belatedly adds, “Thank you, Doris.”
She hesitates. Doris?
Crystal has worked for Munson, Munson, and Temple for just a short time, but shouldn’t he know her name by now? Just today, she interacted with him several times, and all the while he had no idea of her name. She’s partly amused but also offended.
How has it come to this, that the nature of her entire existence is so temporary and meaningless? She is so temporary and meaningless that people don’t even bother to learn her name anymore.
She steps away from his doorway without correcting him and backtracks to the kitchen to finish preparing her coffee.
When she returns to her desk, a red light on the phone pulses steadily, indicating a message, and Crystal takes a few tentative sips of her beverage before she listens to it. This law firm is one of the few in town, and despite specializing in mainly property and estate matters, each of the attorneys tended to take cases outside of real estate law in their own areas of interest and expertise. Crystal doesn’t know if this is a good thing or not, but it is the one thing that keeps this job interesting. She periodically finds herself with juicy gossip that she is forbidden from sharing.
She picks up a pad and pen, dials into the voicemail system, and then presses the number one to listen to the message. A tentative clearing of the throat precedes the words.
“Uh, hi. My name is Amber Armstrong. I’m looking for someone—a lawyer. I need, uh…” The words trail off. “I want to get a divorce, and I guess I need a lawyer to do that.”
Crystal’s hand hovers above the notepad. She knows this name, knows this voice. She knows it well, in fact.
The breathy voice continues quietly, as if the woman is trying to whisper but also trying to be heard. Crystal imagines that Amber Armstrong is at home with her house full of children.
“I would like to meet with someone as soon as possible. I’m not, like, afraid or anything. You know. For my…safety. But…well. I’d just like this to be over and done with.”
Crystal visualizes Amber—a sturdy, curvy girl with dishwater-blond hair, no makeup, and a baby permanently attached to her body. The last time she’d seen the woman had been a few months earlier at the Save-A-Lot. Crystal had planned to say hello and maybe invite the family for a weekend dinner, but Amber had walked past with a faraway look on her face. She’d had a baby strapped to her front in one of those pouches and another little boy walked next to her chattering away. Amber hadn’t seemed to notice or recognize Crystal. That had hurt Crystal’s feelings greatly.
The voice on the phone continues. “I have four children. I’m not sure about…custody. But, you know, that’ll have to be decided, too. Or visitation for…him. I’m not sure how any of that works.” A long exhale follows. “Okay, please call me back.” She rattles off a phone number, which Crystal jots down on the notepad.
Crystal replaces the receiver and then sits back. Well, hell. She may not know Amber well, but she sure knows Amber’s husband. Dan has been through so much already in his life. She wonders if he has any idea that a divorce is about to hit him, too.
It’s hard not to think about Dan without remembering what happened all those years ago. In fact, Crystal realizes, the twentieth anniversary is coming up in just over a week.
The Munson, Munson, and Temple office is just down the hill from the site of the accident, and if Crystal were to look out the west window, she’d be able to make out the large tree under which a perpetual altar of stuffed animals, balloons, and other memorial items is placed.
The girl hadn’t deserved to die. Megan. Megan Richards. Crystal says her name out loud in an attempt to keep the memory alive.
She had tried to prevent Dan from driving that night, but he hadn’t listened to her.
For the life of her, she can’t think why she’d even been there that night at a party with a bunch of seniors about to graduate. Not that it matters now.
She also can’t figure out why Dan has never left Conway. She wonders if it’s some sort of self-flagellation. She wishes he’d reach out to her like he had when he’d been a boy. When he’d been dealing with all of the stuff with his mother and his horrific, abusive, alcoholic father.
She wishes he’d need her again. No one needs Crystal these days. Except Frank.
Crystal sits there for a long while staring at the note she’d made on the pad in front of her. She contemplates crumpling it up and throwing it in the trash with her grease-stained tissue.
In the end, she pushes herself up and walks to Temple’s office, the notes of a piano spilling out from his speaker. He is still studying the papers on his desk, but now he’s making notes on a large yellow legal pad to his right.
Crystal knocks, and when he doesn’t acknowledge her, she knocks again.
She catches the flash of annoyance on his face as he looks up. “What is it now?” His voice is curt.
“A call came in on the general line. Someone looking for a divorce lawyer.”
“I don’t take divorce cases.”
Crystal pauses, waiting for further instruction. When he looks back down, she says, “Should I…call her back? Refer her to someone else?”
Temple sighs. “Sometimes Marie will take divorce and family court cases,” he responds, referring to the female Munson. “I don’t know what her client load is right now. Any details?”
Crystal glances at the notes she’s jotted down, even though she doesn’t need them. “Amber Armstrong. Needs someone to help her with both divorce and custody. Says she’s not in any danger but wants to move quickly.”
“Armstrong,” Temple says slowly. His chin snaps up. “Armstrong,” he repeats. “Dan Armstrong?”
Crystal shrugs though she knows very well the answer to his question.
Temple makes a crooking motion with his finger, signaling for Crystal’s notes. She hands him the piece of paper, and he looks at it. “Amber,” he says under his breath. “I think this may be related to someone I prosecuted as one of my first cases,” he mumbles mostly to himself, staring at the note. When he looks back up again, he seems surprised to find her still standing there. “I’ll give her a call. Thank you, Doris.”
“It’s Crystal.”
He looks up. “Sorry?”
“Crystal. My name is Crystal.”
He blinks. “Ah.” Then he looks back down at the paper and picks up the phone on his desk. When she doesn’t move, he flashes her a glance. “That’ll be all.”
Dismissed.
Crystal slumps slightly as she walks away. She organizes her desk, washes out her used coffee mug, and neatens the kitchen. From the common area, she can hear Temple talking to someone, and she assumes that it must be Amber.
At exactly five o’clock, she gathers her handbag and walks out the front door, locking it behind her. She doesn’t bother saying goodbye.
She climbs into her used compact sedan, which is a few years old but still runs well enough. She waits a moment for the Bluetooth to connect. The speaker blasts a My Chemical Romance song, and Crystal quickly turns down the volume then presses a button on her phone. It takes another few seconds for the phone to connect, but when it does, she’s surprised to hear the male voice on the other end. She thought it might go to voicemail.
“Dan,” she says. “It’s Crystal. I know it’s been a while, but do you want to meet for a beer later?”
There is a long pause then a slow exhale. “Why not.” It’s more resignation than a question.
“Great. How about eight o’clock at Bud’s?” Bud’s is the most well-known and crowded of the many bars in Conway. It’s also the cleanest and most reliable.
Dan agrees and Crystal disconnects the call. From the speakers, “I’m Not Okay” resumes its chorus.
She isn’t sure what she’s going to say to Dan, but she’s not going to let him go through this alone. Not this time. Not again.
CHAPTER 6
CHLOE-THEN
It is May 27. Chloe can barely believe it. Just two short weeks before high-school graduation. Two short weeks before the rest of her life will begin.
She has relentlessly toiled over the past year, determined to mold herself into a new version of the girl she had once been. And while she no longer resembles the pudgy freshman with frizzy hair and pervasive acne who timidly entered the high school nearly four years ago, deep down she still feels like that same insecure girl. Despite her physical transformation, her inner demons continue to whisper, You are not the same as them. You are a fraud.
Through the tight peach-colored crop top that she’s wearing, she can feel the prickles of sweat blossoming in her armpits. She holds her arms out as inconspicuously as possible, desperately trying to air out her underarms before the perspiration causes visible dark patches. She is disgusting.
She has, incredibly, found herself in the middle of an unsupervised end-of-year conversation between some of the most popular kids in her senior class. Joe Wright is holding court, his black hair shining almost blue in the sunlight filtering in through the window. There are others around him—Ryan Tolbert, Nate Kasinski, Sutton Schultz, Jeff Snyder, Megan Richards. But as always, Joe is the dark and handsome star of the show.
Mr. McPoyle isn’t in the room yet, even though English class should have started five minutes ago. But it doesn’t matter. They all have their post-graduation plans secured—college, military, trade school. Now, they’re only showing up to school to socialize.
A year ago, Chloe would have never been a part of this group. She barely is now. But she’d gone to the gym nearly every day, counted every calorie, tracked every step she’d taken. And it had paid off. Even though she’s not slinky and cool like Sutton or gorgeous and popular like Megan, they have allowed her presence. And she knows her place.
Ryan says, “Let’s make this party completely off the chain, you know? Let’s go out with a bang.” He’s referring to the gathering that Joe has announced at his house on Mitsin Ridge tomorrow evening.
“As long as it doesn’t get out of hand,” Joe says. He looks as though he might be regretting the decision to host the party. “And someone else is going to have to bring the alcohol. I have to have some plausible deniability in case my parents find out.”
They look at Nate, who has two older brothers, both of whom are over twenty-one and home from college. Nate says, “Nah, sorry, man. I’m leaving for the Army in less than a month. I’m not going to get kicked out before I even start.”
“I’m sure I can find someone to get it for us.” Sutton winks at Joe, even though Chloe is fairly sure that Joe is dating Megan. Chloe had seen them together a few times in the hallway, and it had sure looked like there was something going on between them. Chloe hadn’t been jealous or anything like that. Joe is way too good-looking for her to even consider a crush. But Megan is beautiful, popular, and kind. A rare combination. Chloe hopes that the two of them will get married and live happily ever after.
But Chloe notes the look that passes between Sutton and Joe. Megan is laughing at something that Jeff has just said and doesn’t see what’s going on between her best friend and her boyfriend. Chloe doesn’t know Megan well, but she’s always been nice to Chloe, even before Chloe was thin. She feels a wave of protectiveness over Megan.
Chloe isn’t sure if it’s this rush of emotion that causes her to say suddenly, almost unbidden, “I can get it.”
The entire group stops talking and stares at her as if they’ve just realized she’s there.
Ryan is the first one to speak. “Doughy Chloe’s stepping it up.” He reaches forward to give her a high five.
Chloe is offended by the use of her old nickname, but she accepts the friendly gesture. She hopes her hand isn’t too sweaty and watches to see if Ryan wipes his palm after the contact. She doesn’t think he does.
“How?” Joe narrows his eyes as he looks at her.
“My—my brother is twenty-four,” Chloe stammers. She has no idea if she can convince Matt to do this favor for her.
Megan looks over and touches Chloe’s arm. “You don’t have to. Someone else can get it.”
“No, it’s fine. I can do it.” She shrugs. No big deal. The prickling under her arms has increased in intensity, and she keeps her arms glued to her sides, hoping that the wet spots aren’t too visible.
Sutton says brightly, “Great, it’s settled. Doughy Chloe will bring the booze. Do you know what to get?”
Chloe stares at her. She opens her mouth and shuts it, and Sutton rolls her eyes. “I’ll write you, like, an inventory list.” She reaches over and rips a piece of paper out of the notebook on Megan’s desk, then begins writing with a purple pen in swooping handwriting.
Chloe doesn’t like Sutton, whose eyes are rimmed too black and whose lips are colored too red. She is popular, but there are a lot of rumors about how many boys she’s slept with. Even the unpopular kids in Chloe’s friend group have heard the rumors about Sutton’s abortion during sophomore year. Chloe has no idea if that rumor is true, but she usually gives Sutton a wide berth, just in case it is. As if her behavior might be contagious. She doesn’t understand why Megan is friends with her.
Mr. McPoyle enters the room then, and everyone lazily scatters to their assigned seats. Since final exams are completed, he announces that they’ll be watching a film adaptation of Lord of the Flies, which they have already read. There are collective shouts of approval from the members of the class.
Chloe watches Sutton out of the corner of her eye. She has not once looked up from her purple inventory, and the list keeps growing longer and longer.
How on earth is she going to convince Matt to get all of this stuff for her? She has some money saved up from babysitting; she’ll have to use that, she supposes.
Chloe finds it impossible to pay attention to the movie. As the bell rings, she knows that the sweat has soaked completely through her shirt, and she keeps her arms rigidly at her sides. When they emerge into the hallway, Sutton thrusts the paper into Chloe’s chest. “You sure you can handle this?”
Chloe glances at Joe, who is watching this interaction. She nods.
“Good,” Sutton responds. She leans closer. “Try not to mess it up.”
Megan joins them and gives Chloe an understanding smile, and then they walk away from her, leaving her there to study the piece of paper with a panicked, deflated feeling.
“Everything okay, Chloe?” Mr. McPoyle has appeared from behind her, and she crumples the paper before he can read the writing.
She swallows and tries to smile. “Yeah. All good.”
He glances down at the torn notebook page, and Chloe prays that he doesn’t ask to see it. She shifts slightly so that the paper is hidden behind her thigh.
He furrows his brow but only says, “Just watch out for yourself, okay?”
She’s not sure what that means, so she just gives an awkward shrug and nods in response. Then she hurries away from the classroom and disappears into the stream of bodies.
Two more classes to figure out what she’s going to say to Matt.
Chloe’s parents are not home when she gets off the bus that afternoon in front of the small house on Jefferson Avenue. Even though she has her driver’s license, there is no available car for her to use. At least, not since Matt came home from college and just never left.
When she walks into the house, she can hear the plinking of his acoustic guitar from his bedroom at the back of the house. His door is shut, and she stands outside for a minute before she works up the courage to knock. The plinking stops, and then silence. She waits for a minute before rapping softly again. “Matt?” she says against the door.
She hears the creak of his bedsprings as he rises, and when the door opens, she detects a pungent skunky odor along with the milder scent of a burning candle.
Matt is overweight, and his face is oily and peppered with acne, even though Chloe’s quite sure he should have grown out of that phase by now. Something has dried a whitish color on the front of his black t-shirt, and his gray sweatpants have a filmy look to them. “Yeah?” He doesn’t move from the door so she can’t see around his girth.
She’s not sure how to start, so she just says, “Hi.”
He stares at her.
“What were you playing?”
He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “‘Dazed and Confused.’ Why?”
She shrugs. “It sounded good.”
That makes him hesitate. But he just says, “Mom and Dad aren’t home yet,” and tries to shut the door on her.
Chloe blocks it with her foot. “I know.” Their mother is a bank teller at a local branch and their father is a supervisor at the quarry just over the top of the mountain beyond the small city of Conway. Their parents had been old, relatively speaking, when their mother had given birth to Matt and older still when Chloe came along six years later. They are both thrilled that Matt is back home and living in his childhood bedroom, and neither of them seem bothered by the fact that Matt doesn’t have a job and spends most of his time holed up in the house.
