Ким Карр - Torn

I have to laugh because she knows I can never find any of my umbrellas.

As I get in my car, I watch her standing in the doorway through my rearview mirror. I open my window and call out one last time, “Thank you, Grace. Love you.”

She blows me a kiss and waves goodbye, then wraps her arms around herself and goes into the house. I’m so happy we talked and everything is back to how it’s always been.

Serena pulls into the driveway as I’m pulling out and she honks her horn repeatedly at me.

Putting my car in park, I open the window.

She hurries over, the rain soaking her clothes. She looks furious. “Who the hell do you think you are, keeping something like that from me?” she says, trembling with anger.

I know she’s talking about Trent, but don’t know what to say. “Serena, I’m sorry . . .”

She leans down into the window, her fists clenched and her eyes flashing with anger. “How could you of all people not tell me? I thought you believed in telling the truth!” With that, she storms off toward the house.

I get out of the car and run after her. “Serena, I do, let me explain.”

“No Dahlia, you don’t get to explain. Just remember I’m his mother,” she says, slamming the front door in my face.

I stand there trying to figure out if I should go into the house or not. She’s so mad, but I can’t blame her. She had a right to know. I decide it’s best to not try to talk to her right now. I’m sure she wants to talk to Grace about Trent and I’m not sure anything I say will make a difference in her state of mind.

Driving off, I once again find myself heading back to LA. So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours since I made this same trip home, yet it seems so little has changed. Well . . . Grace and I made up. It feels right that we were able to put our issues behind us. Ben and I seem to have come to an understanding—we may even eventually be able to be friends. He’s back, but our lives will remain separate and I think he has accepted that. Then there’s the bad . . . Serena is not talking to me, and neither is Xander. Then there’s the unchanged . . . River and I haven’t talked all day, he never came home last night, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen when I get home.

As I think through all of this, I can’t help but notice the damp chill in the air and the steel gray color of the sky.

All In

As I pull into the driveway, I glare at Ellie’s car parked in the same place it was yesterday. I take a deep breath and blow it out. I just can’t deal with her right now, so I decide it’s best not to go in. I want to talk to River and try to get past all this, but I know seeing her again will just enrage me. I just can’t stop thinking about the look of betrayal on Serena’s face—the same look I know I had a few times in the past week.

I decide I should probably go see Bell and make sure she knows I’m not upset with her. I haven’t had a chance to call her, and, hopefully, by the time I come back, Ellie will be gone.

River’s mom lives less than five miles from our house. When I arrive at the large two-story house, I ring the doorbell. As I wait, I keep my eyes fixed on the large metal doorknocker. I know Charlotte’s at work, but I can’t stop from wondering if she knows about Bell and Ben. I’m sure she does. Bell tells her everything. I’m suddenly nervous and my heart starts pounding. When Brigitte answers the door, I jump, suddenly feeling more nervous as she greets me.

“Hi Dahlia, come in. What a nice surprise.” The longtime housekeeper is more like a part of their family. The short elegant French woman has her curly brown hair pinned up and is wearing a white shirt and black pants, looking the same she does every time I see her.

“Hi Brigitte. How are you?”

“Fantastique!” she says with a heavy French accent. Her enthusiasm makes me smile.

“Dahlia!” I hear and I look up the staircase to the balcony. There stands Bell—she could be River’s twin, with her light copper-brown-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a USC sweatshirt that must be Xander’s, a pair of jeans, and chewing her bottom lip.

She rushes down the stairs. “I’ve been calling you. I thought you were mad at me.”

“Excuse me ladies, I’ll let you two talk,” Brigitte says as she makes her way toward the kitchen. Then she turns around and looks at Bell. Shooting her a wink she says, “See Missy, I told you she wouldn’t be mad at you.”

Bell smiles and says, “You’re always right, Brigitte.”

“If you need anything, let me know, girls,” Brigitte says and leaves the room.

“Bell, I’m not mad at you. It’s just . . .” I shake my head. “I didn’t even know your name was S’belle.”

“It’s not. I spent my freshman year in France with my aunt and everyone there called me S’belle. When I came back to the States I thought it would be fun to keep my French name, so I told everyone at USC to call me that.”

“Okay, that makes sense, I guess . . .”

She cuts me off as she pulls me through the kitchen and into the large family room. Before we have a chance to sit down, Bell asks, “Why haven’t you called me back, then?”

I can’t help but notice her vibrant green eyes are teary.

“I’m sorry, Bell, I didn’t know you called. I haven’t been able to find my phone.”

She rolls her eyes, and then shakes her head as she settles into the mirror image of the chair I am sitting in. “What a surprise.”

“You could have called the house phone.”

“Shit, I always forget about landlines. It’s just I called you, I called River, I even called Xander, and none of you answered.”

“I’m sorry, Bell,” I say and shrug my shoulders, not wanting to be the one to explain the tour fiasco to her.

“Dahlia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know my Ben was your Ben. I was immature back then and I didn’t respect other people’s relationships. When I met Ben at the initiation party, I just had to have him. Nothing else mattered. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend at first and even though he told me, that didn’t stop me. I tried to get his attention at every party and finally one night when he was really drunk I got it.”

I didn’t miss the way she said his name. Like she knew him. I should have been more prepared for this moment, but what did she mean? Her Ben? Had to have him? Just went for it?

I avert my eyes from her and momentarily stare at the collage of family photos on the wall. Xander, River, and Bell in front of the Eiffel Tower with Charlotte and her sister on each end, the three kids sitting down for a picnic, and a young River onstage with his guitar. A million questions run through my head as she continues to talk.

“Dahlia! Hey, are you okay? You said you weren’t mad.”

I blink my eyes and try to refocus. “Wait a minute. I’m confused. You need to start from the beginning.”

“Sorry, I assumed River told you everything.”

I shake my head without speaking.

“I just thought . . . I don’t know. Maybe not. Knowing River, I guess not.”

“He didn’t say much. Go on.”

She blinks, watching me closely. “God, Dahlia, I’m sorry.”

“Bell, just tell me,” I manage. It feels like my throat is closing up and my voice comes out as a squeak.

She squirms a little in her chair and looks away. “I only knew Ben for the two-month period before I left school. After the accident you know I never went back. And even though my time with him was short-lived, it had a long-term impact.”

“You mean long-term because of the accident?” It’s all I can manage to ask. I say nothing more, not trusting my voice or its ability to fully convey my real question.

I can tell she’s nervous as she rubs her feet together then pulls them up to the chair. “No Dahlia, that’s not why I really left. I needed time to recover, but I didn’t go back because of the baby.”

My hand flies to my mouth. Baby? What baby? My heart’s pounding, but I bring my eyes back to hers and nod, urging her to tell me the rest.

“Oh God, Dahlia, that’s not where I should have started.”

She opens her mouth as if she wants to say more, but closes it abruptly. I take small shallow breaths watching her, waiting for her to tell me the rest. When she doesn’t I say very calmly, “Bell, go on, it’s okay. Just start wherever you need to.”

She turns to completely face me and places both of her feet firmly on the ground. Her face crumples. “I met Ben one night at the beginning of school at a frat party. We talked, but he ignored my advances and then disappeared. But that didn’t sway me. I was determined—I had this strange feeling that even though he said no, he meant yes. I was a little self-absorbed back then. One night at an after– rush party for Kappa Sigma, I was assigned as Ben’s little sister. Well, I begged the committee to be his little sister. That night, I took care of keeping the alcohol flowing for him and the new prospective pledges he was overseeing. We were all pretty drunk by the time he sent the pledges on a scavenger hunt to find a pair of pink lace panties.” She pauses as if stopping again to assess my reaction.

I have none. I am weighing the cold bare facts of what she’s saying and know what’s coming. She adjusts her ponytail and I try to calm my stomach. It feels like it’s leapt up into my throat. I’m feeling anxious and just want her to get it out.

“Please remember I was young and immature, and I’m not proud of how I acted,” she says and once again all I can do is nod. “Once the pledges went off on their hunt, I came on to him again. And just like all the other times, he refused. I promise he did. But then I followed him into the bathroom and made sure he couldn’t resist anymore. I locked the door, pulled my shirt off, and unzipped my skirt, letting it fall to the ground before asking him if black lace would do.”

I put my hand up in a stopping motion. I don’t need to know anymore. I got it.

“Dahlia, it was all me—honestly, it was.”

All me? What does that mean? He was in a relationship. He should have been able to walk away. God, he did actually cheat on me. Was he always a cheater?

My voice flat, emotionless, I ask, “Was it more than just the one time?”

I wait for her to meet my gaze. Not that it should matter, but for some reason it does. Did Ben have an ongoing affair and I never knew?

She nervously tugs on her bottom lip and shakes her head no. She puts her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt. It doesn’t really matter anyway. He still cheated. I start to feel dizzy.

With guilt evident in her voice she says, “Dahlia, I’m so sorry.”

“Bell, what did you mean by ‘baby’?” I manage to get out.

Her eyes fill with tears. “I got pregnant.”

I swallow. “You have a child together?”

“No Dahlia, we don’t. I gave the baby up for adoption after it was born.”

Freezing, I gasp. I can tell my eyes widen in disbelief at the magnitude of her words. Time stands still. Bell doesn’t say another word, as if letting the shock wear off.

Finally, I manage to mutter, “Did Ben know?” I brace myself for the answer.

She pauses and with a sad expression says, “No, he never knew. I never told him. We were supposed to meet the night I got in the accident; I was going to tell him then. But after the accident, it took months for me to recover. Once I did, I tried to contact him, but he never returned my calls.”

“Does your family know?”

She’s crying now as she tells me, “Yes, they all knew, but I made them promise to never say anything to anyone. I told them I was pregnant after the accident. Xander and River demanded to know who the father was. I knew it was Ben because I hadn’t slept with anyone since I had slept with him. I was still hoping he wanted more. They sought him out, wanted to know who he was, I think they even stalked him at some of the frat parties. But Mom demanded they leave him alone. In the end, when I decided to give the baby away, they were nothing but supportive. Honestly, without my family to help me through it, I don’t know what I would have done.”

And with those words it all falls into place—Xander’s anger at me the night we met and River’s reluctance to tell me anything.

I frantically search for something to say, but I have no words.

“Bell, I have to leave.” Then I somehow manage to get on my feet and dash toward the door. I know I’m going to throw up and hope I make it outside first.

Brigitte is in the kitchen as I hurry through and says, “Dahlia, I just made coffee for you and the missy.”