The After Girls Read Free Page A

Sydney didn’t either.
    So they sat there, Ella staring straight ahead as people moved through the line, Sydney taking sips from a bottle of Diet Coke that was most definitely splashed with rum.
    Ella didn’t know how long it had been when she saw the man. She noticed him because his cheeks were wet, really wet.
    “Who’s that?” she asked, nudging Sydney.
    “Beats me,” Sydney said. “I’ve never seen him before. Probably an old family friend or something.”
    The man had blondish-gray hair and tanned leathery skin. He wore a crisp suit like someone who wasn’t from around here, and even though he was older, probably in his forties, Ella could tell that he was attractive. That he’d probably been quite the thing in his youth.
    He walked up to the casket alone and when he did his body shook. Great gasping sobs that seemed to take over him.
    When he stopped shaking he walked over to Grace and held out his hands to hug her, but she stepped back. He leaned forward as if to whisper something in her ear, but she shook her head, and with her two tiny hands she pushed him away.
    “Did you see that?” Ella whispered, but Sydney was hunched over her purse, trying to pour the rest of the airplane bottle into her Coke.
    “What?” she asked, looking up.
    “Grace just pushed that man away.”
    Sydney sat up straight then, following the man with her eyes as he walked down the aisle and out the door.
    She shrugged. “She’s distraught.”
    “You don’t think it’s weird?”
    “Maybe they have a bad history or something. Who knows?” Sydney took another sip of her Coke.
    Ella nodded, but she couldn’t help looking from the casket to Grace and wondering what it all meant. She couldn’t help wondering how well she’d really known her friend.
    • • •
    It was almost a week before Ella dreamed of Astrid again. Blurry, blended days spent mostly in bed. On the phone with Sydney. Occasionally chatting with Ben. Watching TV, one bad reality show bleeding into the next.
    They were in the coffee shop, and they were making lattes.
    They stood together, side by side, at the giant red machine. Hips almost touching. Astrid pulled the espresso — ground it, tamped it down, hooked the portafilter in, started the machine.
    Ella heated the milk.
Simmer simmer. Splash splash.
    “Something is wrong,” Astrid said, without looking at Ella.
    “What?”
    Astrid didn’t respond.
    “What?”
    “Something I can’t tell you.”
    Simmer simmer. Splash splash.
    The espresso machine was red. Red like blood.
    Ella knew! She would tell Astrid to stop, to wait, to explain. She would tell her it would all be okay. They would hug and dance and drink and cry and be like they were supposed to be, and Astrid wouldn’t ever leave.
    Simmer simmer. Splash splash.
The milk was warming. The pot was hot in her hands.
    Ella turned to tell her friend — to stop her — but Astrid was gone, and the black espresso was dripping, dripping into nothing, and the pot of milk was too hot now, falling out of her hands, and it would spill and it would splash and it would hurt and it would burn, and there was nothing that Ella could do.
    She awoke with a start. Her friend’s name was on her lips, ready to burst out like a scream.
    Astrid
.
    Ella pulled the covers up around her. It was dark out, and the wind surrounded the house, cooing. The dream, so clear just a minute ago, was already disappearing from her; only flashes remained. Images. Red. Astrid’s words: “Something is wrong.”
    And yet, it had felt so real. It had felt like Astrid had really been there, had really, truly been there. Had spoken to her. It had felt that for an instant, maybe things could have changed.
    The thought both comforted and terrified her at the very same time.
    There was a scratching sound at the window, and Ella jumped. The trees were close to her window, their branches and the awful moonlight casting wraithlike shadows through the curtains and about the room. Another