Free Girl With a Past by Sherri Leigh James Page A

her on the sofa. “Well connected, knew everybody
who mattered, attended the right kind of deb balls––in those days
there were “wrong” ones, can you believe it? That world seems so
strange now.”
    It was almost painful to look at Elliott’s
discomfort in the photo. Chubby, his cheeks looked full and pimply.
“Was Elliott rich?”
    “Oh yeah, but he was one of those awkward
rich kids. Over protected, nerdy as hell, no cool, shy, stiff and
uncomfortable in his own skin. Except for the huge trust fund, he
was the opposite of Jamie.” Carol said, then drove in silence for a
few minutes.
    I could tell she was considering whether to
tell us more. “Hey, Carol, please don’t worry about saying the
wrong thing about any of these guys. Mom’s life maybe at
stake.”
    She cleared her throat, “Elliott was short,
shorter even than Dave. I’ve learned not to trust short men. They
tend to be manipulative and mean, as though they want to cut
everyone down to their size.” Carol took a deep breath and exhaled.
“I mean, how dare he have such a chip on his shoulder? He had every
material advantage, wealth, a high priced education, but he
resented Jamie for having everything Jamie had. Elliott seemed to
think that Jamie had what Elliott lacked––loving parents. Which
wasn’t even true, you know. In fact, Jamie’s mother lived on the
opposite coast and his father was always abroad. But Jamie had an
insouciant charm, a self-deprecating confidence that drew people to
him, while Elliott had a self-assertive lack of confidence that
repelled all but his oldest friends. I actually always wondered how
he had become friends with that gang.”
    She wasn’t holding back anymore. And I’d
never realized before that Aunt Carol had a thing for Uncle
Jamie.
    “And Ron?” I asked while she was on a
roll.
    “He was a weird one. No connections, no
money, but he never let on. Imitated the rich ones. He married
money––twice. He did a good job of looking rich. Ya know . . .
blonde and always tan. The preppie layers of clothes. He learned a
lot from Jamie. He was fun, joking, playful, acted like he didn’t
have a care in the world. But it had to be a strain trying to keep
up with the others.”
    “Carol, I imagine it’s hard, but . . . would
you please tell me about Lexi?”
    She sucked in her cheeks. The only sound she
made for a full minute was a deep sigh. She opened her mouth as
though to speak, but then closed it and concentrated on traffic. “I
loved her the way one loves someone who really gets you. Do ya know
what I mean?”
    My heart answered her with a deep ache, a
longing for such a friend again. I nodded. In the silence while we
both fought back tears, I wondered at my reaction. Again?
    “Al, the strange thing is . . . you remind
me of her. The way ya accepted me from the first moment. I’m not
usually terribly popular with children. Lexi would’ve said it’s
because I’m a bitch.” She stretched her mouth into a sad smile.
“But you.” Sigh. “As a toddler, ya tossed your curly blonde locks
with excitement, ran across the lawn, and jumped into my arms
smothering me with kisses.” She failed to stop the tears. “Oh,
fuck, hand me a damn tissue!”
    She wiped her face, blew her nose. “I do
love ya kiddo!”
    “I love you too, Aunt Carol.” I grinned,
wiped my own tears, and sniffled.
    There was not a word from Steven in the back
seat. I was tempted to look to see if my tough guy bro had teared
up, but then Carol continued.
    “Lexi was an amazing artist. Like you,
actually. At times she lived in another world, a world full of her
paintings, and color. She was obsessed with color. She could go on
about the colors in a sunset, or a rainbow, the ocean, or a forest,
until I was ready to scream. But she did make me see a colorful
world that I’d been oblivious to.” Carol pounded her fist on the
steering wheel. “There was no damn reason, no fucking reason for
anyone to kill her. She always saw the best