Page 32 of Saving Graces
“I’m not choosing,” Cassidy said.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m not choosing,” her eyes flared, blue as the heart of a flame. “I’m not choosing between Lane and the band. I’m choosing both.”
“Well, good,” Kinsey said.
“We’re both going to Vermont,” she said, pointing at Kinsey.
“Huh?” Kinsey cocked her head. “I can’t go to Vermont. I have a job. And I don’t need to be there while you and Lane fall madly into bed with each other.”
“Kinsey.” Cassidy looked more determined than Kinsey had ever seen her look. “Take a little winter break,” she said. “We’re making good money on gigs and we’re five minutes from a record deal.”
“But why?”
“Look, I know it’s not ideal timing. We should be here in Nashville, playing every gig we can get. But we’ve already got a buzz, and we’ve got our demos almost ready. Besides, what comes next, if we get a record deal?”
“I assume you mean after we blow the advance on cocaine and strippers?” Kinsey asked and Cassidy scoffed. “I mean…writing, I guess?”
“So why not write now? Not the kind we do now, around day jobs and gigs, but the serious, hardcore, knuckle down and write kind of writing,” Cassidy said. “All Savannah’s houses have some kind of massive band room. Actually, her Vermont place is where Beware the Fury got written.”
Kinsey couldn’t stay still. She leapt to her feet and started pacing.
“Let me get this straight. I’m being invited to come hang out at Savannah Grace and Brynn Marshall’s winter home, to write an album?”
And that was how, to her intense delight, twenty-four hours later, Kinsey found herself on a private jet to Vermont.
Before
The day after Rachel left, Rosalie dressed for school and left the house, slamming the front door behind her with a loud bang. Then she walked twenty-feet down the street before ducking through the trees and running back to her bedroom window. Savannah opened up at the first quick tap.
The two of them hunkered down in silence until her parents had left for work. When the coast was clear, they headed downtown to search all the places Savannah thought Rachel might be. They searched bus stations and overpasses, along quiet stretches of the river and crowded street corners of the city, finding in each place a couple of kids Savannah knew. No one had seen Rachel.
The abandoned warehouse seemed even darker in the daylight, no shimmering mirror ball or glow sticks to light its dusty corners, no party music to lighten its oppressive silence. Only Daria and a handful of other kids hung out near the back.
“Have you seen Rach?” Savannah asked and they shook their heads.
“You will,” Rosalie told them, with confidence. “She had a huge fight with our parents. It’s not safe for her to come home.” She gave Daria her phone number, but told her they’d be back each day to check in. “Tell her,” Rosalie said, as they went to leave, “tell her to come tap on my window. We’ll keep her safe. She’ll know what I mean.”
If they could hide Savannah for what was now almost three months, they could hide Rachel. The three of them could all squish into her damn bed, as uncomfortable and annoying as it would be. She knew Rachel would be a pain in the ass about it, wanting to be in the middle and hogging all the sheets, but Rosalie would deal with that when it happened. Right now she just wanted her sister back.
She and Savannah searched all day, going back and forth amongst the different locations and groups of kids, but Rachel was nowhere to be found. That night, Rosalie refused to eat with her parents. She walked to the dinner table, stiffly picked up her plate and walked back down to her room.
“Rosalie!” her mother protested.
“Let her go,” her father said. “She’ll calm down eventually.”
She and Savannah shared the meal together, then waited up. Savannah fell asleep around 2AM but Rosalie didn’t sleep a wink. She didn’t want to miss Rachel’s knock.
The next day after she snuck back in from skipping her second day of school, Savannah convinced her to stay at home and catch up on sleep while she searched alone.
“Leave your window open,” Savannah said. “That way if Rachel comes home she can get in.”
Rosalie fell asleep and dreamed that her sister was sitting on her bed, telling her about the party she’d been at, the dress she’d worn, the boys she’d kissed, before the mirror ball shattered into a million pieces of glass and she awoke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright.
Savannah sat on the edge of the bed on top of the covers, hair shining in the afternoon light.
“Did you see her?” Rosalie asked, rubbing her eyes. Savannah shook her head, her eyes unfocused with worry. For a single second, Rosalie’s stomach plummeted. “She’ll show up,” Rosalie reassured her. “Rachel lives for this kind of drama.”
