In Her Skin(50)

He did, however, warn me about you.

But Zack is gone and Gerry is here and Gerry insists, in his quiet, respectful way, that we ought to consider Zack’s murder as an attack on the family and discuss our current security measures; tighten things up. He calls for a family meeting, which feels pretty ballsy, but Gerry has done ballsier things.

Gerry explains in his oddly formal way why we need to assume lockdown mode.

“Mr. Lovecraft. It has been my experience that enemies will reach people connected to your family as a message that they are able to get as close to you as they wish. A warning, if you will.” Gerry stands rigidly in his fatigues, always in fatigues, long sleeves covering his scarred arms no matter the weather. He and Wolf have scars in common, and my friends are for the most part scarred, and I have started thinking of Gerry as a friend. In Gerry’s mind, all of us are under constant threat of kidnapping by the person who kidnapped Vivi, and as a friend, I want to tell Gerry that is hilarious.

Mr. Lovecraft sits in the parlor chair, cupping his knees. “See, Gerry, we appreciate your foresight. Our relationship with Vivi’s tutor was pretty tenuous. In fact, he was nearly done working for us. I really don’t think—”

Mrs. Lovecraft interrupts. “I can’t see how a few more precautions could hurt. Boston is a city. Sometimes I think we forget that. There’s always a certain criminal element about, closer than you think.”

Your lip curls at me. Mrs. Lovecraft did not mean that at me; she is not intentionally cruel. You, on the other hand.

“Fine. What are you proposing exactly?” Mr. Lovecraft is ready for this to be over.

Gerry blinks slowly; his lids stay down a second too long. When Gerry first came I did my research, and I know there are things that cannot be unseen, but that the people who abduct child soldiers make them see, and I wonder if this is how he kept from seeing all of it. “The girls. I should stay close to them always. Take them to school. Sleep outside their bedrooms on the third floor.”

You roll your eyes. “Overkill,” you say, no doubt thinking about Gerry cramping your visits to your little dive bar, and overkill seems like an insensitive word to use around Gerry.

“Well, September is months away yet, and we are going on vacation, of course,” Mrs. Lovecraft says, eyeing her daughter. “But I can see your point. Particularly if the press make a connection between Vivi and Zack Turpin.”

“We appreciate your thinking ahead, Gerry. Being proactive and such. Now,” Mr. Lovecraft says, “if you’ll excuse me, I brought some work home with me.”

“So are we done?” you say.

Poor Gerry. He only wants to do his job well. He does not realize the only threat to Vivi Weir is in this room.

Gerry turns robotically to face you. You actually look startled. “I am thinking of Vivienne. Vivienne is the one who needs my protection the most. Vivienne is the one who escaped.”

Mr. and Mrs. Lovecraft lean forward at the same time. “Of course!” they say in unison.

*

Part of going to the Parkman School in September involves shadowing another student for a day, and that student is not you. In fact, I barely see you during my day with Taylor Washington, who was chosen for her effervescence and love of all things Parkman, and who is shadowing me more than I am shadowing her. Taylor is the model private-school-girl tour guide: on scholarship, so, she is appreciative; ivy league–bound since birth, so, she is focused; and popular, so, she is happy. These things are clear as we move from classroom to classroom, through the hallways, and on to lunch. I, on the other hand, am the model one rumored about: orphaned, so, technically poor; missing since nine, so, uneducated; and maybe-abducted, so, interesting.

The Parkman sweater they gave me to wear for the day itches.

Taylor has the manners to act like I am the most normal girl in the world, even like she has to sell me on Parkman, like I have a choice whether or not to attend. I am vaguely grateful. I don’t sense that this is something she was warned to do: it comes naturally, as will all things requiring good judgment for the rest of her good life. Girls in private school do not bother with makeup and wear their hair in sloppy ponytails and buns; this is their privilege, and to look otherwise is suspect. I am glad I went with as little effort as possible. Taylor’s friends are kind, and they stop by to greet me and introduce themselves, and I’m slightly embarrassed because they make a big deal out of me. These are cool girls—Oona, Lila, and Ming-huá—and Taylor herself is pretty cool, her eyes a neat shade of amber and the most perfect skin, and all of these girls are shiny, but not in a way that is interesting to me. Like you.

On cue, you glide across the dining hall, an airy space with marked Gluten Free and Vegan selections. Girls who are not seated with us whisper and stare but the stares are innocent and I get it. There is golden Temple Lovecraft, there is poor little Vivienne Weir! How do they deal, when so much has passed?

If only they knew how much.

You nod at them, all underclassmen and technically beneath you. Taylor stands, as do the rest, and says, “I’m going to run to the girls’ room,” and they are gone.

“Looks like you’re a hit.” You say it so casually. You saw what a wreck I was this morning, when you scooted out early but I had to wait to go in with Mrs. Lovecraft and Gerry, God I’m so sick of Gerry, and it felt like you didn’t want to walk in together. I want to tell you the only reason I was looking forward to this was to see you in your element, and that has not been the case.