Afternoon is when I leave academics behind, and the latter half of my school day is taken up by advanced music courses for the Virtuoso Program. I hold my breath as I enter the choir room, unsure if these classmates will be as vicious to me as the others. But from the moment Professor Teller greets me with a big hug, I know that here at least, I am safe. She keeps me busy during the three-hour block of classes, giving me a tricky Shostakovich solo to learn and choral singers to accompany, on top of rehearsing my planned pieces for the Orchestra Showcase, which includes an exhilarating duo number with Brianne on cello. For these three hours, in my bubble of music, I can almost forget. Almost. But the ringing of the bell at three o’clock yanks me back to reality, reminding me of what’s next: my meeting with Chace’s parents.
I used to often imagine what it would be like to meet them. In my daydreams, Chace held my hand proudly, introducing me as his girlfriend, and Congressman and Mrs. Porter’s eyes lit up as they felt the love between us, exchanging a glance that said it all. Thank God he found the right one.
I never had a scar in those daydreams. My face was unblemished, my spirit unshaken. It was certainly never part of the plan to meet the Porters by detective escort, with my mom joining me for “protection.” But that is my current reality. At least I was able to talk John Sanford into letting Mom and me handle this one on our own. The thought of meeting Chace’s parents with a lawyer in tow made my stomach coil, made me feel guilty of…something.
We’re supposed to meet Congressman and Mrs. Porter at the Alumni Club, the exclusive space on the basement floor of Academics Hall. I’ve never been inside, and at any other time in my life, it would have been a thrill. The place is legendary; it’s been described as our equivalent of the final clubs and secret societies of Ivy League lore. It’s not enough to just be alumni—to get a key to the lounge, you need to have made a name for yourself out there in the world. You have to be invited. And now I’m getting a peek behind the curtain, but for the worst possible reason.
I meet Detective Kimble and Mom in the dressing room adjacent to the Joyce Hall theater, the place we determined would draw the least amount of attention. I grab my cap from my backpack and slip on my sunglasses. It’s not much of a disguise, but it makes me feel less exposed.
Detective Kimble leads the two of us back out onto the quad and up the steps into Academics Hall, where she unlocks an inconspicuous door across from the janitorial closet. To my surprise, the door opens onto an antique French elevator. Until now, I’ve only seen elevators like this in old photographs. It must date from the school’s origins. The creaky elevator sputters us down to the basement and in front of a recessed doorway. Detective Kimble slips a card into the slot, and the door swings open. We find ourselves standing in the middle of a Victorian fantasy of a parlor, made up of mahogany mirrored walls, royal blue brocade curtains, antique furniture, and hanging candelabras. A bust of the school’s founder is displayed on a marble pillar at the entrance.
Mom and I follow Detective Kimble farther into the room, where a couple is seated on a blue-and-gold damask couch, their backs to us as they hold each other. A man in a black suit stands off to the side, staring straight ahead. My stomach lurches.
This must be the congressman and his wife, along with their security detail. The moment I once looked forward to, and now dread, is here. I shut my eyes momentarily, willing myself to feel Chace’s hand squeezing mine. But there’s nothing there.
Detective Kimble clears her throat. Congressman and Mrs. Porter turn around, still clutching each other’s hands. They are dressed in black, their expressions deadened as they look at me. They seem to have aged another ten years since I saw them at the candlelight vigil.
“Congressman, Mrs. Porter,” Detective Kimble begins. “I’ve brought Nicole Morgan, and this is her mother, Ms. Lindsey Morgan.”
Mom finds her voice before I do.
“We’re so incredibly sorry for your loss,” she says, stepping forward with her hand outstretched. “My daughter and I are both heartbroken. We can only imagine what you’re going through.”
Congressman Porter nods slightly. He shakes her hand and then mine, while Mrs. Porter simply sits beside him, staring at us with watery eyes. I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
“Have a seat,” he instructs us.
“Can I get you any coffee, Congressman?” Detective Kimble offers, her voice far sweeter than it’s ever been with me.
“We’ll take two, please, with no cream. Thank you.” He glances at us. “Would you like anything?”
“No, thanks,” I murmur. I know there’s no way I’ll manage to keep anything down in my current state.
“I’ll take the same, thank you,” Mom says. Detective Kimble smiles tightly, not quite as eager to please when it comes to the two of us.
After she disappears down the hall to the club’s kitchen, the four of us sit in a momentary silence, eyeing each other. Finally, I manage to speak.
“I always hoped to meet you, but in such a different way. You saw the pictures, so you know what…what Chace and I meant to each other.”
“That’s what we’re struggling to understand,” Congressman Porter says, rubbing his forehead with his palm. “Our son was dating Lana Rivera, for almost a year. He never mentioned you.”