Don't Scream. Wendy Corsi Staub
Brynn says through clenched teeth.
There’s a pause.
“Excuse me?”
“Look, tell her it’s an extreme emergency and I need to speak to her immediately.”
“All right, I’ll tell her. Can I have a number where she can reach you?”
“No, you can’t, because I’m not hanging up! Please tell her to pick up right now.”
The girl hesitates.
Realizing Fiona has already put the fear of God in her new employee, Brynn softens her tone to say, “Listen, I will take full blame for this. Just tell her I need to talk to her. Please.”
“Hang on.”
Pacing the kitchen, Brynn absently glances from the sink full of dirty dishes to the steaks thawing on the white laminate countertop to the cheery blue welcome mat askew on the hardwood floor beside the door leading out to the deck.
The orange prescription bottles on the windowsill momentarily trigger her consciousness. Both she and Caleb are due for another dose of antibiotics. She’d better not forget.
Then there’s a click on the line, and Fiona asks crisply, “What’s going on, Brynn? I’m in the middle of—”
“Whatever it is, this is more important,” she cuts in, furtively taking the phone into the dining room.
“I doubt that. I’ve got a really important new client on the other line, so make it snappy.”
“Mommy!” Jeremy protests from the kitchen.
“I’ll be right back, boys. Caleb, sing to him!”
Ever obedient, her older son obliges with a singsong, “A-B-C-D-E-F-G…”
“What’s this about, Brynn? Emily said it was a life-or-death emergency. I hear the kids in the background so I’m assuming you’re not calling me to dash over and save one of them.”
Yeah, right. Fiona is the last person she’d call in that situation.
“Listen,” she says in a whisper, “it’s about Rachel.”
Silence.
Brynn can hear Caleb singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” in the kitchen.
Then…
“Did you say Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“Rachel Lorent?” Fiona’s voice is as hushed as Brynn’s.
“Right.”
“I know, today’s her birthday. I was thinking about her earlier, actually, and—”
“Fee, I just got a card. In the mail. From Rachel, supposedly.”
No response.
“Fee?”
“Hang on a second.”
Brynn pokes her head into the kitchen, to make sure the boys are okay.
Caleb has progressed to “Mary Had A Little Lamb,” obviously moving right along through his musical repertoire. Jeremy is wearing most of his macaroni and cheese, the rest scattered on the hardwood floor beside the overturned bowl.
Fiona curses softly in Brynn’s ear.
“What?”
“Me, too. I got one, too.”
“Got what?”
“A card. In the mail. As soon as you said it, I remembered there was an envelope—I was too busy to open it earlier, but…My God, Brynn, what’s going on? Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“Played by who?”
Fiona takes a moment to answer. “Tildy? Or Cassie?” she asks, and exhales audibly, the way she does when she’s puffing on a cigarette. Which she probably is. Sitting right beneath the NO SMOKING sign above her desk.
“You honestly believe that either of them would think this is the least bit funny?”
“No. Of course not. Anyway, it was postmarked in Cedar Crest, so…”
“I know. Fee, I have to ask you…Did you ever tell anyone?”
“Are you kidding me? No. Did you?”
Brynn’s “No!” is as decisive as Fiona’s, but her friend asks, “Are you sure? Not even Garth?”
“I didn’t tell Garth. What about Pat?” she returns.
“Do you honestly think I would violate a sorority oath for him?” Fiona’s tone is laced with disdain.
“One of the others must have, then.”
“Right, Tildy or Cassie must have told someone, and whoever it was probably thought it would be funny to play this sick trick on us.”
“I don’t know…” Brynn examines the card again. “This looks real. This is how Rachel signed everything.”
“Rachel’s dead, Brynn. It can’t be real.”
“No, I know, but…If it was somebody else, somebody Tildy or Cassie told, then how would that person know about the Xs and Os?”
“I don’t know…Lucky guess? Rachel sent a message from beyond the grave? I mean, what do you want me to say here, Brynn?”
I want you to say you did it yourself…that you sent me the card, thinking it would be funny, and now that you know I’m all freaked out about it, you can’t figure out how to get out of it.
But Fiona doesn’t say any of that.
She asks, “When was the last time you talked to Tildy or Cassie?”
“Tildy, not in over a year. I spoke to Cassie when she got engaged last spring. How about you?”
“Me? I don’t keep in touch with anyone lately. If you didn’t live here in town I’d probably have lost you, too.” She is more matter-of-fact than apologetic.
“I think we need to see them as soon as possible, Fee.”
“See them? How are we going to do that? I’m too busy to go anywhere, and Tildy’s in Boston and Cassie’s in Rhode Island.”
“Connecticut. Listen, we’ll have to meet somewhere in between and discuss this. All four of us, together.”
She can hear Fiona tapping keys.
“Just so you know, my schedule is crammed full for the next week,” she informs Brynn, obviously having brought up her electronic calendar.
“Make room.” Brynn’s voice is hoarse, and not from the strep throat. “This is bad, Fee. Really bad.”
“It’s probably just a joke.”
No, it’s not.
Brynn can feel it.
The past has caught up to them at last, just as she always feared it would.
The Zeta Delta Kappa house is brightly lit on this September night. Several windows are cracked open and music spills through the screens to mingle with the spirited chatter from the group of girls hanging out on the front steps.
They’re talking about courses they’re taking and guys they’re dating and the upcoming rush. Every trite word they’ve said for the past hour and a half has been clearly audible from this shadowy bench in the deserted park across the street.
The Zeta sisters have no idea that someone is eavesdropping tonight.
Watching.
Remembering.
Really, all that has changed in ten years are the names, the faces, and the voices.