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Then I heard, “Oh. My. Gawd. Say that’s not who I think it is?”
My heart dropped.
I turned around and two things happened at the same time.
One, I was rocked. Colby Doubard had arrived. A part of my inner geek wanted to start buzzing because he was the Kings’ first string quarterback. He threw the football four thousand eight hundred thirty-eight yards last year, with thirty-seven touchdowns.
Oh yes. I was buzzing again, or starting to, but he wasn’t alone.
The second thing that happened was that after the woman who accompanied Colby Doubard said what she said, she followed that up with, “Holy shit! It is Butcher Girl! I thought no way, but it is way. It’s a sign from the universe.”
Kayla had begun to stand up from the chair beside me, and this new arrival rushed forward, dropping into it, even before Kayla fully vacated it, and she gawked at me. Live and in person and three feet from me. Her hand went to her chest, to her heavily tanned skin that was showing because she was in a strapless dress, and she dramatically hunched forward. “You have no idea, but you and I were sisters from a past life. I swear to Mother Gaia.”
42
BILLIE
The night had only started.
Dusty tried to intervene, but Doubard’s date ignored her, shooting her hand instead toward me. “Goodness me. Where are my manners? I’m Brandi. How are you? Well, maybe don’t answer that one. We all know how you’re doing. Not good, right? I wouldn’t be good if I were you.”
She was beautiful. All the women here were gorgeous, each in their own way, but Brandi’s beauty was forced. It felt brittle. She didn’t have the natural glow like Kayla or Dusty. With long legs and slender arms, she was thin, but it wasn’t healthy. Not like with Emma, who was also slender, but whose skin was a lovely cream. Both women were similar weight, but one glowed from the inside out and the other’s glow was forced. Brandi’s voice was husky, a sexy deep-throated sound that teased a slight Southern accent. Curly brown hair, green eyes. She had a little bit of a round face, and her makeup was done flawlessly.
At first glance, there was nothing that made her stand out from the other women.
At a second look, she was nothing like the other women.
Scanning around the backyard, it seemed everyone was aware except Colby Doubard. He was holding tightly to a beer and scowling in the distance.
I shook Brandi’s hand. “Yes. Hi. I’m Billie.”
“Billie.” Her lips drew into a wide smile. “God. I love it. Not Willow? Billie is such a heartwarming but hick-sounding nickname, isn’t it?” She looked to Kayla and Emma for confirmation but didn’t wait for it. “Tell me everything. You were, like, extremely poor, right? That’s what the last documentary on the Midwest Butcher was saying. Did you interview with them? Do you get paid for that? How much do you get paid for each interview? Though, I suppose it’s different with each one. I really liked the last documentary done on your life. They went more in depth about you and about, God forbid, what happened with your mom and brother. And no father? They never mentioned a father. Didn’t your mom drive into a river? Were you in the foster system ever since then? Do you think your mom went into the river on purpose?”
“Brandi!” Dusty shoved to her feet, glaring.
I stilled.
She didn’t notice. “The documentaries always say it was an accident, but they imply there was more to it. Was there? She was probably in such shock from what her daughter went through and wasn’t paying attention. And your brother too.”
“Oh my God.” Kayla got to her feet. “Stop talking.”
So still now. I was almost a statue.
She wouldn’t stop. “I grew up with my grandmama. My mom, bless her heart, she gave me up to meth when I was twelve. The same age when you went through all your stuff.”
My stuff.
My stuff?
Dusty yelled, “Shut the fuck up!”
Brandi wasn’t reacting, like this sort of reaction happened all too often. “I’ve always felt that we were connected. You and me. We both went through similar things at the same age—losing our moms.”
This was another reaction that I got in foster homes, at school, from neighbors.
I felt Kayla and Emma’s horror. When I looked up, they were shell-shocked, and the old Billie—the person I’d been able to be when I got here, the fangirl, the awkwardly shy one, and the one starting to feel like maybe she’d met some new friends—that Billie shifted to the back.
I became Willow Harm.
