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by Jillian Dodd
Garrett comes back and sits in front of me. “Tell me how you know him.”
I cover my face with my hand and shake my head no. “I can’t. You’ll be mad at me. But I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know.”
Tommy rubs my back. “None of us knew, baby. You’ve got to tell us. We aren’t going to be mad. We’re so glad you were smart enough to figure it out when you did.”
“But that’s just it. I’m not smart.” I look at my mom. “Mom, remember the hot older guy I had dinner with? Vincent Sharpe?”
“Yes?”
“It was him.”
“What do you mean?”
“The stalker, Thaddeus whatever. He either goes by Vincent Sharpe or was pretending to be him.”
Mom’s legs buckle. James grabs her elbow. “Oh my God, Keatyn. You had dinner with him.”
Garrett flips back through his notes and mutters, “Sharpe. Where did I see that name?”
I answer. “He said his grandmother was Viviane Sharpe.”
“Yes, that’s it. He wasn’t lying about that. So you know him? Went to dinner with him? Spent time with him?”
“Basically, yes.”
Everyone in the room starts to murmur and ask questions.
Garrett stands up and holds up his hands to get everyone to stop. “Look, I know you all have a million questions, but I’m going to ask them. We’ve got to piece this all together and figure out why he went from long-time fan to kidnapper. So, Abby, we know he’s been a fan of yours for years, but it was never a problem. When did things first escalate? Was it when you found the note in the backpack? When I was brought in?”
Mom thinks. “No, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal at the time, but before that, he broke into my trailer on set.”
“And he stole a family photo,” James says. “One of Keatyn and Abby on the beach in Hawaii.”
Garrett surmises, “So he sees a photo and instead of seeing Keatyn, he sees the Abby he first fell in love with in the photo. Young Abby.”
“That was the same day I met him. I remember, because you were in the living room with all those men in suits when I came back from shopping with Sander. It was the day we broke up.”
“Where did you meet him? When you were shopping?”
“No. On our beach.”
Mom audibly gasps. “He came to our house?”
Brooklyn says, “He was on the beach, down more toward my house. He told us he was buying a house up the beach and asked me to teach him to surf. He seemed cool, except for the way he was staring at Keatyn. I didn’t like it, but he quickly apologized for staring. He told us she looked just like Abby in A Day at the Lake, and how he had a big crush on her when he was fourteen. He said Keatyn brought back some memories.”
Garrett says, “Okay, do you remember when you saw him next?”
I nod. “Yeah, it was that same night. He was at Damian’s last gig. He kinda flirted with me. Told me he wanted to make a movie. I laughed and asked him if that line usually worked for him in the bar. I kinda blew him off, but he told me he was doing a remake of A Day at the Lake. I joked that I didn’t want to stand around in a bikini and scream. He told me it wouldn’t be like that. That I’d be a kick ass heroine and it’d be a blockbuster. He gave me his business card. Told me to call him. I didn’t. The script wasn’t even written. I’m not dumb.” I close my eyes tightly. “Well, I thought I wasn’t dumb.”
I take another slow sip of Tommy’s scotch and slowly open my eyes. The burn of the scotch on my throat is a harsh reminder that this isn’t just a bad dream.
Garrett says, “So he fantasized about remaking Abby’s movie. Now he’s found an Abby look-a-like to play the role. Still, there has to be something in his life that happened. Something that made him snap.”
“His grandmother died,” I say. “He idolized her. She was an old film star, and he said she was a lady. He went on and on about how Grandmother—that’s what he called her, never Grandma, always Grandmother—respected Abby because she never took off her clothes in her movies; that hers were clean, like they were in the old days. He had a bad childhood, and it sounds like his mom was pretty slutty. She was married like six times. The last guy she married had money, but didn’t want kids, so she dumped him at his grandmother’s house. It was good for him though. It sounded like he kind of had low self-esteem, like maybe kids used to make fun of him. But his grandmother told him he could fake confidence. He said eventually he didn’t have to fake it anymore.”
“So the woman he idolizes dies. Okay,” Garrett says. “What else?”
“I helped him spread her ashes on our beach. He was very sad. I don’t think he was faking it. He sobbed on my shoulder. I hugged him and cried too. He was buying the beach house for her birthday. Apparently, she met the love of her life on this beach and was happiest there. She wanted Vincent to find true love. He told me she would have loved that he met me on their beach. The next day, he texted me and asked me to dinner. He wanted to thank me for being nice to him.”
“That’s the night Barbara called and said you were having dinner with a hot, older guy, right?” Mom says.
“Yeah. We drank wine on the patio first.”
Garrett says, “What happened that night?”
I think about it. “We talked all about the movie, but then not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Even though we talked about the movie, it was like . . .” I trail off, and finally whisper, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”
Garrett touches my arm, and I immediately flinch. “Did something happen?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I always thought I was good at reading people. I was so wrong about him.”
“Don’t question your instincts. Tell me what you really thought.”
“Even though the things he said were about the movie, it kinda felt like he was trying to seduce me. His hand would accidentally brush against my knee when he filled the wine. He asked me when I’d be legal. He told me I have an expressive face and all about these things I do with my mouth, like how I bite my lip. He ran his thumb across my lip. After dinner, he kissed me on the cheek, but it was longer than a kiss on the cheek should be. Then he looked at me and told me he could tell my other cheek was jealous, so he kissed it too. He was really quite charming.”
“Sociopaths are charming, Keatyn. People are naturally drawn to them, but they’re cold inside.”
I look at a photo of the girls on the coffee table. They’re all in rainbow tutus, except for Gracie. She’s in full-on princess garb. I remember the note in Avery’s backpack, and I instantly know what made him snap. “Mom became a whore,” I mutter.
Mom goes, “What?”
“The note that was in Avery’s backpack. He was pissed at you. You did those sex scenes and instead of being like the grandmother he idolized, you became a whore . . . like his mother. He hated his mother.”
“That’s very insightful, Keatyn. Now we’re getting somewhere,” Garrett says. “His grandmother, the woman he idolizes, dies. And the other woman he idolizes becomes a whore. That’s what did it. What sent him over the edge. Tell me the rest. Every time you had contact with him.”
I tell him everything.
Garrett looks very somber when he says, “Keatyn, Abby, this isn’t going to stop.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re going to have to send Keatyn away for a while. She can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.”
“We’re getting ready to go to Vancouver to shoot a movie,” Mom says. “She’ll come with us.”
“Abby, this has gone beyond your typical obsessed fan. The pictures, his following her, and breaking into the house a few doors down in a private, gated community all suggest that this has become a game to him. He managed to work his way into her life. Vancouver isn’t the answer. This is very serious, and I think it would be best for the whole family if you split up for the time being.”
Mom gets a fierce look on her face, like
a lion protecting her young. “We’re not sending her anywhere. She’ll stay with us.”
“I was thinking of something like witness protection. We can change her name and she can go away until he finds someone else to obsess over, or until we can catch him.”
“Change my name? Move away? What happened to I’m not going to allow myself to be victimized. Isn’t that what you always say, Mom?”
“This is different, Keatyn, because you almost were a victim,” Garrett says bluntly.
That knocks out what little wind I had left in my sails.
Garrett continues. “Look, he’s obsessed about your mom for years. He got mad at her over the nude scenes and switched his focus to you. I think if he can’t find you or see you, he’ll find someone new to focus on. Worst case scenario, you go away for six months, maybe a year.”
“A year! Are you nuts!?” But then my eyes dance across the photo of the girls, and I know they won’t be safe if I’m with them.
Mom sucks in a loud breath. I can tell she’s getting ready to protest.
“No. He’s right. You’ve got to think about the girls, Mom. I want them to be safe.”
“What if she went to live with her grandfather in Texas?” Mom asks.
“Too easy to trace,” James says.
“What about France? She could live in our house there? Go to school? He didn’t try anything this summer when she was gone.”
“He knows about France,” I say, just as James says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea either.”
Damian speaks up. “What about boarding school?” He turns to his dad. “The school where Trent’s older brother went. Aren’t you friends with the dean?”
“Son, you're brilliant,” Mr. Moran says. “It's perfect. Highly secure. The Secretary of State’s kids went there a few years ago, so the Secret Service installed fencing around the perimeter. There’s a guard booth, single access entry, and perimeter cameras.”
“It sounds like a prison,” I mutter.
“It was designed to keep terrorists out. Inside, you can't tell. It's a beautiful campus. The dean was in a bind a few years ago that I helped him out of. It's very difficult to get accepted, but I'm sure he'd make an exception. He owes me.”
Garrett turns to Mr. Moran. “I’d like to hear more about this school. That might be our best solution. It could allow her some semblance of normalcy while still keeping her safe.”
Brooklyn, who has been sitting quietly, finally speaks up. “Boarding school won't be so bad, Keats. I haven’t told you yet.” He sighs. “I didn't want to tell you until after your birthday, but I leave next week.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Is that why he wouldn’t commit all summer long? He planned this? He used me?
I can't breathe again.
I barely get out the words. “When were you going to tell me? After you'd left?”
I run into my room, slam my door, sit on my bed, and cry.
Cry over Brooklyn, the boy I thought I was so in love with. The boy I spent all summer with thinking we were in love. I cry again for being so stupid about Vincent. I open my eyes and see another photo of my little sisters. In this one they are all dressed as princesses.
I cry some more.
Go to boarding school, the voice from the club tells me. You’ll be safe. They’ll all be safe.
I can't put them in danger. I'd die before I'd let anything happen to those innocent smiles.
I think about how Vincent picked me up.
How he touched this dress.
How he touched my skin.
I run in my bathroom, turn on my shower, and stand under the hot water.
Then I realize I’m still wearing my party dress.
I rip it off, throw it to the ground, and drench my body in soap.
And then I scrub my skin until it feels like it might fall off.
When the hot water runs out, I grab a towel and dry myself off.
I walk back into my room, take a deep breath, and pull myself together.
I see the boots Cush gave me lying on my desk, so I pull them on my feet.
These boots are the new me.
The me that can handle anything.
The me that is in charge of my life and isn’t going to let people tell me what to do anymore.
I grab a pair of jean shorts and the soccer shirt I was going to give back to Cush and pull them on. I'm cleaning up the mess that is my face when Brooklyn walks in.
“You don't have to explain,” I say icily. “I get it. You need to do what's right for you, and so do I.”
“That’s it? That’s all you're gonna say?”
“Yeah. It’s all I can say. I encouraged you. Although,” I add snidely, “for someone who wants me to avoid the spotlight, I find it funny that you're heading straight toward it.”
“I’m not doing it for the money, the fame, or the spotlight. I'm doing it for me.”
“And I'm going to boarding school, but I'm not doing it for me. I'm doing it for them.” I point to the picture of the girls.
Brooklyn nods his head, gets tears in his eyes, and pulls me into a hug.
I hold my shoulders stiffly. I don't want to let him in.
“Keats, this is not the way I wanted this to go down. I had an amazing summer with you. The best summer of my life.”
“Is that why you didn’t ask me to be your girlfriend? Because you didn't want to have to break up with me? Because you’ve been planning this all along?”
“You’ve been my girlfriend all summer, Keats. I thought when I told you I loved you that you knew that. And I didn’t plan it all summer. I mentioned it to my dad, and he got the sponsors all set up. He told me when we were in London that he thought it might all pan out, but I didn’t know for sure until we got home. I didn't tell you, because I didn’t want to ruin your birthday.”
“I didn't know how you felt.”
“How could you not know how I felt? I've told you a million fucking times this summer that I love you.”
“Well, maybe you need to learn to communicate better.”
“Maybe you need to grow up. Stop worrying so much about what people think and start worrying about what you think.”
I immediately get tears in my eyes.
I swear, I'm normally not such a crybaby.
“Don’t yell at me. I can't take it.”
He grabs me. Hugs me tight.
I lay my head on his chest. The place that used to feel so wonderful now feels foreign. “So we were already going out?”
“I told you, I love you. We were together because we wanted to be. That's all that mattered.”
“No, knowing where you stand is what’s important. And after tonight, I knew exactly where I stood with you. That’s why I broke up with you even though we weren’t actually going out. And I kissed Cush.”
He purses his lips. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you kiss him?”
“Because you didn't like me enough to want to date me. We had sex the other day, and you said I'm glad we can chill together. That’s why. So are you telling me that we were in a relationship? Like you were my boyfriend?”
“Labels matter way too much to you. All the way down to the ones in your thousand dollar boots.”
I look down at the boots Cush gave me for my birthday.
Be bold, Keatyn.
I raise my chin up, stand up tall, and put my bitch on. “Lots of guys tell you they love you just for sex; even my mom, who is in a we’re-together-but-don’t-label-it relationship, asked me about my birthday. Wanted to know if you asked me out. If you gave me a ring or anything.”
“A ring?”
“Not like engaged. Just something to show the rest of the world you wanted to be with me.”
He flips his hand over and shoves his fresh tattoo in my face. “Tattoos last forever, Keats. I thought we would too.”
I start crying again.
“You should’ve known,” he pokes my ch
est, “in here. You don't know if I'm the one, do you?”
“I wanted you to be the one. I've loved you since the day I met you.”
“You had a crush on me. That’s different than true love.”
“And you’re telling me you feel that way about me? You can’t. You just decided to leave me for a year. You didn’t ask me to be your girlfriend, and you only like me when I’m your laid-back surfer girl. When I’m me, you don’t really like me that much. You want me in your world, but you don’t want to venture into mine.”
He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “I know everything you’re saying is true. But I did love you. I mean, I do love you. I wasn’t lying. I just figured if fate wanted us together it would figure out a way, because I couldn’t figure it out myself. I couldn’t figure out how I could have my dream and you too.”
“Well, you pushed fate along. You didn’t dance with me. You didn’t try to be nice or meet any of my other friends. You make fun of my amazing shoes and called my gorgeous dress slutty.”
Brooklyn nods his head. He knows what I’m saying is true. “So what are we gonna do?”
“You’re going on tour, and I’m going to boarding school. I’m going back out there.”
Mom looks surprised to see me back out in the family room. “It's late, Keatyn; why don't you get some sleep? You’ve been through a lot. We can figure this out in the morning.”
“Mom, I’m not going to be able to sleep. Probably ever again. Besides, it is morning. I feel better since I took a shower and talked to B. I finally know where we stand.”
I sit down next to Mr. Moran and hand him Tommy’s laptop. “Would you mind showing me the school’s website?” I ask politely.
He types in an address and turns the screen to face me.
I click through the site.
“That looks very nice,” Mom says, hovering behind me. “Look at the gorgeous trees.”
Mr. Moran continues his sales job. “It's a beautiful campus—a lot like a college. And it's very exclusive. Most of the kids go on to Ivy League schools.”
I click on the soccer page.
Mom says, “Look, honey, you could still play soccer.”
“Yeah, it looks nice. Mr. Smith, if you think it’s safe, I’d like to go there.”