Beautiful Affliction(16)

"It's just, there are only four of them, and this closet is so carefully organized. See? There are five of absolutely everything else. I didn't see it around the house, so I just wondered."

"Huh. I like you better than Jody," she states matter-of-factly, though I can't help but wince. She is dead, after all, but it's clear Whitney didn't mean anything by it. She seems to possess a forthrightness and energy that causes her to say whatever comes to her mind. I can see how she and her well-heeled mother would grate against each other. "You got her old room, huh?" she asks, walking in.

"Oh, um, yes," I say, trailing her. I remember the drawing on my desk a second too late.

"Well, well, well," she says, raising her eyebrows. "So you're the latest woman to fall under my brother's spell. Good drawing, though. I mean, I can actually tell it's him—you even captured that haughty look he gets sometimes."

"Um, I'm not under his spell or anything," I protest, even though she's exactly right.

"It's OK. I can't tell you how many girls in high school only wanted to be my friend so they could come over and flirt with him. It was gross. He's way old. Also my brother."

"Right," I reply with a smile as she plops onto my bed. I take a seat across from her in my desk chair.

"Isn't it creepy for you? Staying in here?" she asks, looking around.

"Well, the police already checked it out, and they said it's fine. Sounds like she might have just fallen off the bridge over Cedar Lake on her way back from town or something. Maybe she couldn't swim, and the water must have been freezing."

"Hm, maybe. Doesn't that hurt your head? Wearing your hair pulled so tight like that?"

"Oh, I forgot I hadn't taken it out yet. My hair's so crazy, I just like to have it out of the way while I'm working," I reply, reaching behind me to pull out the bobby pins. "You're very inquisitive," I observe with a smile.

"Tell me about it. My mom hates it. Do you want me to stop? She's always telling me that people find it rude."

"No, I don't mind at all. You remind me a little of my sister, actually."

"She in college, too?"

"No. She's dead."

"Oh." Whitney's face fills with chagrin. "See, that's why I'm not supposed to ask so many questions."

"It's OK, I promise," I tell her, trying to give her a smile that doesn't contain any sadness in it. As I take out the last pin, she jumps up and runs her fingers through my hair, fluffing it out.

"Wow, I wish I had hair like yours. Mine's so thin and flat. Here, I'll give you a braid on the side."

"OK," I laugh, amazed by her energy. She's like a shot of sunlight after feeling so down about what happened with her brother.

"I have some real art supplies in my room. You can use them anytime you want. One of the many activities my mom tried to get me to do, she said I needed to focus my energies and all that."

"Thanks, but I don't really do art anymore. What are you studying in college, then?"

"Dunno yet. Undeclared. Maybe philosophy, but there aren't a ton of jobs as a philosopher these days. Not that I really need a job…because we're super rich and everything, but nobody likes to talk about that."

"It might feel good to have a job, though. So you feel useful."

"Yeah, that's true. I can't see myself as a lady who lunches or anything, just sitting on a bunch of charitable boards and getting Botox."

"Your brother won't talk to you about it?"

"Brent still thinks I'm twelve. I mean, he's way better than my mom, though, who wants me to act like some thirty-year old lady or something. Hey, you want to go for a walk?" She asks, dropping my finished braid.

"Isn't it past midnight?"

"You're probably right," she agrees, frowning out at the darkness outside my window.

"And I have work tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, I forgot you worked here. OK, well, I'll go amuse myself," she says, heading for the door.

"OK. Sorry about your sheets."

"Not your fault. See you later!" she says with a wave, disappearing into the hallway. I stand to close the door behind her, feeling like a small tornado just swept me up for a minute. She has so much energy!

A troubling thought occurs to me that I hope isn't true. She is in college, could she be experimenting with drugs? I never did cocaine in college, but certainly other students did. Well, at least she seemed like she had a warm heart, and a good head on her shoulders otherwise. The room seems rather empty without her now, actually.

I walk back to my desk and look down at the drawing. It is a good likeness. I pause for a moment, then reach forward and tear off the sheet, crumpling it up before tossing it in the trash can under the desk. Don't need anyone else seeing that. I sit down and start a new list. I can already tell tonight's going to be a particularly rough one, insomnia-wise. Let's see, what did I have before: