Cruel Love (11 page)

With a discerning eye, Ariana scrutinized her look from all angles. Her blond wig was fashioned into a ponytail, which stuck out through the hole in the back of the battered Washington Nationals baseball cap Palmer had once left in her room. Her black wool peacoat was the blandest she owned, and she’d decided on jeans and sneakers to complete her girl-next-door look. Altogether, she appeared pretty darn forgettable.

“This is just in case,” she told herself firmly. “You always need to have a plan B.”

She smoothed the ponytail, got out of the car, and walked toward the marble-columned building across the street. Inside the bank, the atmosphere was hushed and professional. The brown granite floors gleamed, and the security guard took no notice of her as she crossed to the customer service desk.

“Can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asked, looking up with a smile. Her makeup was about three shades darker than the skin on her neck, and it was all Ariana could do to keep from cringing.

“Yes, I’d like to open a new account,” she replied, averting her eyes to keep from staring. “Of course. Mr. Lawrence can help you with that.”

She indicated a nearby desk where an elderly gentleman sat in front of a glowing computer screen, his red tie adorned with candy canes.

Perfect
, Ariana thought.
This guy will be eating out of my palm.
And at least she wouldn’t have to deal with staring at that line for the next fifteen minutes. “Hello!” Mr. Lawrence said, standing as she approached. “So you’d like to open an account with us Miss …?”

“Walsh. Emma Walsh,” Ariana said.

“All right, Miss Walsh, have a seat. I’ll just need to see a driver’s license and one other form of ID.”

Ariana produced her wallet from her bag and fished her Emma Walsh license from the window pocket. en she took out her passport and laid that out for him as well.

Mr. Lawrence hummed Christmas carols to himself while he inputted her information, using the address on the license. “Okay, and your telephone number?” he asked.

Ariana recited the number from the new cell phone she’d just procured for herself at the mall that morning—the same mall where she’d purchased the wig. Mr.

Lawrence’s pudgy fingers flew over the keys.

“All righty. Now. We have many different types of accounts,” he said, pushing his desk blotter toward her. On it were three large squares, one white, one blue, and one gold, each advertising the different levels of accounts and how much money was needed to open each. “Were you interested in checking … savings …?”

“Well, my grandmother wanted me to put most of it in savings, as long as it was linked to a checking account so I could access it if I needed it.” Ariana made sure her hands shook as she withdrew the crumpled check from her bag.

“Your grandmother?” he asked.

“Yes, she … she wrote me this check before she … passed away.”

Ariana brought her free hand to her face, covering both her mouth and her nose.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Mr. Lawrence snatched a tissue out of a box on his desk and handed it to her. “Was this recent?” Ariana nodded, pressing the tissue to her nose. “A few days ago.”

She laid the check on his desk and flattened it with both hands. She had actually written it out to herself that morning, then let it sit, crumpled, in the bottom of her bag so it would be good and battered when she arrived at the bank. Mr. Lawrence did a double take when he saw the huge amount. He cleared his throat and smoothed his tie.

“Well. I’d say you definitely qualify for our gold-level accounts,” he said. “Which is perfect because you’ll be able to transfer money to and from your checking without paying a fee, provided your total combined balance remains above fifty thousand dollars.” He glanced at the check again. “Which … I don’t think you’ll have any problem with.”

“Okay,” Ariana said tearfully. “That sounds good.”

“What do you say we put the bulk of it in high-yield savings, and … let’s see … would twenty thousand be okay in the checking?”

His voice cracked a bit on the “twenty” and his smile twitched. Ariana had a feeling he was thinking about how he’d never see this much money in his lifetime, yet here she was, a teenager, rolling in it already. Such was life, Mr. L.

“Better make it fifty,” Ariana replied, touching the tissue to the corners of her eyes. “I think that’s what Grandma Covington said.”

“Okay,” he replied with a nod. “Fifty it is.” He tapped away at the keyboard, then opened a drawer to remove two separate deposit slips. “You’ll just need to fill these out and sign them, and we’ll be all set to open those accounts and issue you an ATM card.”

“Great,” Ariana replied.

“If you don’t mind, Miss Walsh, I’d like to call my manager over and introduce her to you. She likes to meet all of our new and … esteemed account holders personally.”

And by esteemed you mean filthy rich
, Ariana thought.

“No, I’d rather not,” Ariana said, knowing that the fewer people who remembered her here after today, the better off she’d be. “I’m not really up to it … right now …” She forced herself to dissolve into tears and covered her whole face with the tissue.

“No, no. Of course not. at’s quite all right,” Mr. Lawrence said, reaching over to pat her arm. “Please don’t cry. You can meet her the next time you come in. Would that be preferable?”

Ariana sniffled hugely. “Next time. Perfect.”

Of course, there wouldn’t be a next time. If she did have to leave the country, she’d never set foot in this branch again. And if she didn’t have to leave, she intended to keep this account open and full as an emergency fund for as long as she felt she needed it.

“Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Lawrence,” Ariana said as she signed the deposit slips with a flourish.

“Of course, my dear. Of course.” He slid the check and the deposit slips into his hand and arose from his chair. “I just need to take these over to a teller to make the deposits. I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you.”

As Mr. Lawrence scurried off, headed for the long cashiers’ desk at the back of the bank, Ariana took a deep breath and looked around. e bank’s motto was emblazoned across practically everything in sight, from the desk blotter to the letterhead to the front window.

International Trust. For your peace of mind.

Ariana smiled. For her peace of mind indeed.

THERAPIST
PAST

Ariana walked to dinner that night between Tahira and Maria, her face hidden under huge Donna Karan sunglasses, a wool hat pulled low over her ears, the collar of her black coat turned up over her cheeks. All she could think about was getting into the dining hall and off the open quad. Dr. Meloni had never once eaten the cafeteria food at the Brenda T., preferring to order in his meals from overly expensive gourmet restaurants and eat them in the privacy of his office. She could only hope his snobbish culinary tendencies would continue during his tenure at Atherton-Pryce.

“Okay, what’s up with the sunglasses at night?” Tahira asked Ariana, her brow creased with what could only be serious fashion concern.

Luckily, Ariana had long since prepared for the question. “I’ve had a splitting headache all day. I can hardly even look at a light,” she explained. “These seem to help.” “Well, just don’t let it become a thing,” Tahira said, holding the collar of her fur jacket closed over her throat.

“She’s right,” Maria chimed in. “People will start to think your success has turned you eccentric, and eccentricity is frowned upon around here.” “Point taken,” Ariana replied.

She looked up at the dining hall door, wishing she could just make a run for it. But, she supposed, that would also be rather eccentric behavior. She had to try to keep that kind of thing to a minimum, especially now that Palmer was apparently bent on making her out to be a loon to all their friends. For a moment, she considered asking Maria and Tahira if he’d said anything to them today, or if they’d heard anything via the APH gossip mill, but she decided against it. Asking about a rumor only gave it credence.

“So have either of you guys heard from Soomie?” Tahira asked, her breath making steam clouds in the cold air. Ariana shook her head. “Not a word.”

“Let’s all call her right now,” Maria suggested, pausing to take her phone out of her bag. Ariana stopped two steps ahead. “I’ve already called her twice today. Can’t we just get inside?”

“If it goes to voice mail like it always does, it’ll only take two seconds,” Maria told her, hitting a speed-dial button and lifting the phone to her ear. “I just don’t want her thinking anyone’s forgotten about her.”

Ariana clucked her tongue impatiently, which her friends didn’t seem to notice, and hugged her own arms as she waited.

“Voice mail,” Maria said, rolling her eyes. “Hey, Soomie. It’s Maria,” she said into the phone. “I’m here with Ana and Tahira and we’re just … we just want to talk to you. We want to know you’re okay. And we also wanted to tell you … hang in there. It’s going to get better. I promise. If there’s anything we can do, please, just … call us back.”

She ended the call and shoved the phone away.

“God. Where could she possibly be?” Tahira mused, pushing her hands into her pockets.

“I just don’t get it,” Maria said, tilting her head back and blowing a cloud of steam toward the sky.

“I know,” Ariana chimed in, glancing over her shoulder at the dining hall. “You’d think her parents would at least call us and let us know where she is. Don’t they realize there are people here who care about their—”

e words died on her tongue as a dog’s bark, loud and persistent, filled the air. Suddenly the entire world constricted to a tiny, solid, pinprick. Walking past them, not three yards away, were Dr. Meloni and his trusty dog, Rambo. e dog strained on his leash, lurching in her direction, as if he recognized her scent. Ariana turned away from the dog, but she could hear Dr. Meloni coaxing the Doberman under his breath, cooing to him to behave.

“Come on, Rambo. Come on, boy. You know better than that.”

As he passed, he shot a glance at Ariana and her friends. Ariana’s knees went weak. She sidestepped slightly, angling so that her face wouldn’t be visible past Maria’s shoulder.

“Ana? Are you okay?” Maria asked, reaching for her. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.” “Are you having another … episode?” Tahira asked under her breath.

Ariana shook her head, but couldn’t formulate an answer. Episode? Her friends thought she was having episodes? is was so not good. And if Palmer
had
said anything

… well, then that was even worse. Dr. Meloni and Rambo kept moving away, headed slowly toward the Administration Building, but even with the distance between them, Ariana couldn’t seem to make herself breathe.

“Ana?” Maria said.

Tahira gripped her arm. “Ana? You’re turning purple.”

Come on, Ariana. Just breathe! But he’s here. He’s
right there.
He’s going to destroy me.

Ariana doubled over, bracing her hands above her knees.

“Omigod! She’s not breathing,” Maria said. “We have to get a doctor.”

I have to run. I have to get the hell out of here. I have to … to … to run!

Her mind started to fog over. Her brain floated in space. She was going to faint. If she didn’t get some oxygen soon, she was done for.

Breathe, Ariana. Just breathe.

“I’m going inside,” Tahira said. “I’ll grab the nurse! Or that new shrink. Shrinks know CPR, right?”

“No!”
the word growled out of Ariana’s throat. Tahira froze.

Breathe, Ariana. Just breathe.

Ariana closed her eyes, concentrated as hard as she could, and sucked in a breath.

In, one … two … three … Out, one … two … three … In, one … two … three … Out, one … two … three …

Tahira placed her hand on Ariana’s back in a comforting way, holding it there until she was finally able to stand up straight again. Until she was finally able to see clearly. “God, Ana. Are you all right?” Maria asked, looking terrified.

“Everything all right over there, ladies?” Meloni called out. “Tell him I’m fine,” Ariana said through clenched teeth. “But you’re—”

“Tell him!” she hissed.

“We’re fine!” Tahira shouted shrilly.

“All right then. Better get inside. It’s going to be below zero tonight,” he replied.

“We will. Thank you,” Maria called out. She put her arm around Ariana’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” Ariana said. “I don’t … I don’t know what happened.”

“Looked like a panic attack to me,” Tahira said. “My brother used to have them … pretty much any time my father was in the room.”

Maria managed to laugh. “You should have let us call him over,” she said, glancing at Meloni’s retreating back. “He could’ve helped.” “Like I said, I’m fine,” Ariana said, staring past her friend at her worst enemy.

He’s here. He’s here on campus. He’s found me. The one person who could send me right back to the Brenda T. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

“You know what? I think I’m going to skip dinner,” she said. “Are you sure?” Maria asked.

“Yeah. I kind of just want to go for a walk,” Ariana said. She backed up the pathway toward Privilege House. All she could think about was getting away. “Maybe bring me something back at the dorm when you’re done?”

“Sure,” Tahira said. “We’ll try to eat fast.”

“anks, guys,” Ariana said, attempting to smile, to put them at ease. en she turned on her heel and speed-walked off, headed for the safety of her private room. But even as her pulse began to normalize, she realized she wouldn’t be able to hide forever. And she couldn’t keep having panic attacks in front of her friends, especially not with Palmer out to ruin her. Sooner or later she was going to have to figure out a way to deal with this. Sooner or later either she or Meloni was going to have to go.

Why did he have to show up now? at was what was so unfair about this whole Meloni situation. Just when Ariana had gotten together her plan for Reed Brennan, just when she was on the verge of executing the bitch that had ruined her life, Victor Meloni had to waltz in and distract her. Why couldn’t he have just come next week when Reed would already be dead and buried? When she’d have all kinds of time to work the problem? Why couldn’t she just for once catch a break?