chapter one: lonely is as lonely does
Sierra Aldridge sat alone in the brightly lit dining hall of the Helena Country Club. Young boys and girls darted across the Victorian carpeted room in maroon colored vests and white button downs. The midday sunlight was streaming through the French doors behind her, bouncing their rays of the crystal chandeliers precariously dangling above everyone’s table.
Sierra’s freshly nude manicured hand perfectly poised her chin in one hand, her other hand drumming a beat on the lace tablecloth. The Levi’s were always late. She didn’t know why she bothered with them anymore. Oh, that’s right. The Aldridge’s and the Levi’s children had gone to the same school and church since birth. There were some ties you could never just up and sever. Especially not in Helena.
“Would you like any more wine, Mrs. Aldridge?”
Sierra lazily looked up at the silly waiter. Those who knew her didn’t ask. She didn’t recognize him––he must have just gotten hired.
“Of course,” Sierra drawled, redirecting her attention to staring at the entrance, almost wishing the Levi’s never showed up and she could drink wine alone in this sad little place that she somehow couldn’t ever stay away from.
The cabernet couldn’t be back fast enough. She heard them before she saw them.
“Oh, please, Ron. Get off my ass for one second, won’t you?”
The Levi’s most beloved quality is that they were never not arguing. It’s no exaggeration. Rumor has it that they even argue in their sleep.
Eloise and Ronald Levi. Loveliest couple in Helena.
Sierra forced her Bobbi Brown painted lips into a smile and reluctantly stood out of her seat to greet them.
Eloise hurried over in a sea of clinking silver jewelry, fur, and Dior. She embraced Sierra fiercely with her cold, clammy hands.
“Oh, honey. I am so sorry we’re late! The damn housekeeper held us up. We just hired her, and she can’t seem—”
Eloise Levi was a big fan of exaggerating her words with her airy, breathless voice. She also was known to open her mouth and never shut it again. As Sierra tuned out of one of Eloise’s rants, she had no idea how she had dealt with the woman for so long.
Ron quickly greeted Sierra and adjusted his sportscoat as he went to take a seat. Anger always lived in his eyes. Sierra had never seen the man laugh or smile. With a wife like Eloise, she really couldn’t blame him. Then again, who was Sierra to judge.
“So, Sierra. How do you feel about the kids about to leave so soon?”
Sierra finally snapped back into the conversation. Ron had disappeared, most likely to the bar, and left the two ladies to chat amongst themselves. Well, really, Eloise to chat, Sierra to nod and agree every so often.
Sierra sighed. Time to pretend.
“I’ve been trying not to think about it. Seems like just yesterday we were dropping them off at St. Rita’s for kindergarten.” She could’ve been sick.
Sierra’s son, Mills, and Eloise’s daughter, Riley, were in the same grade and had grown up together. As children, they were inseparable, which had started Sierra in on the annual country club visits.
Eloise began fanning herself. “Oh—I could cry!” She suddenly reached for the kerchief in her lap and dabbed daintily at her eyes. She was always one for the theatrics. In high school, she was always the lead in every play. Now, she was the star of her own show, except no one was interested in watching anymore.
Sierra reached across the table and patted her arm for comfort. Eloise grabbed her fiercely.
“At least we have each other.”
Sierra smiled.
A half hour later, the strawberry summer salad and the calamari were out. Their time would be coming to an end. Not without some gossip.
“Oh, Sierra. I know that you have heard about that Jerome boy.”
Sierra paused before taking another sip of wine. Her fourth glass. “No, what about him.”
Eloise’s eyes widened and she sat down her glass with a thud, sending the pinot slipping and sliding within the glass.
“Well—let’s just say Oliver Jerome is about to have no future here in Helena.”
As if there was much of one to begin with, Sierra thought.
As Eloise gasped and drawled her way through the story, this is what Sierra got. First, the backstory. Oliver Jerome was the son of Pierre and Shannon Jerome, one of the wealthiest families in Helena. They owned the Pacific Pines Golf Course chains and nearly half of Helena. Pierre had inherited his company from his parents. Oliver was now a freshman in college at the University of Georgia. Everyone had loved Oliver, even from a young age. He was like Helena’s sweetheart. He was kind, smart, gorgeous—Helena had been proud to call Oliver her own. Of course, this is only how Oliver presented himself to the general public. The doting families and friends didn’t know the real Oliver Jerome, which apparently consisted of dollar bills and pretty white lines. And how exactly did Helena get her heart broken by her very own? Shannon had gone to visit Oliver as a surprise for his birthday only to find him coked out in his bedroom, high out of his mind.
Happy Birthday Oliver.
“They just don’tknow what they’re going to do. Bless their hearts. God, I can’t imagine. I just can’t,” Eloise exclaimed, her spray-tanned hand over her heart.
Sierra feigned surprise. “Gosh…that’s terrible. We’ll need to pray for them.”
Eloise raised her glass in agreement.
Sierra wasn’t surprised because all of Helena’s elite spawn had issues. Of course, they did. Look at who they had for parents.
Pierre Jerome was known for abusing his dear wife Shannon. Word spreads fast in a town like Helena. He was always very careful, always meticulous. Never when the kids were home. Never where anyone could hear. Never where anyone could see. Usually, it occurred in their basement, where Pierre would pull Shannon down the steps by her strawberry blonde hair.
It had happened for years before the truth ever came out. While Pierre was cautious about his beatings, Shannon was cautious about her bruises. She became a perfectionist at covering and concealing with makeup, clothing, and jewelry. No one would ever know. That’s how she wanted it. To appear meek to the public was about the worst humiliation she could ever imagine.
Yet, one day, on a late muggy June afternoon, while the kids were out at camp or with friends, the Jerome’s let their guards down. Maybe it had to do with the full moon the night before. Or maybe it was time for the truth to be revealed.
This time it was because Shannon didn’t put Pierre’s coffee cup back in the correct spot. Other times it could’ve been for dinner not being on time, his shirts not correctly steamed–really just about anything. Shannon living and breathing was enough to set Pierre off. He lived with an uncontrollable rage he kept hidden–except from his wife.
Pierre grabbed Shannon and habitually dragged her down the steps. Pierre’s rage caused him to pull too forcefully this time, causing her to miss a step and land haphazardly on her ankle. Shannon allegedly yelped audibly, so someone else around could have heard her.
Wrong place, wrong time.
Pierre had been so enraged he forgot his business partner was coming over to have a meeting with him. Camden Frasier had just arrived the minute Shannon fell. Now, Pierre wasn’t one for having people just walk into his home, although him and Camden had been partners and best friends for years. Yet, Camden had decided to park his car in the back of the house, rather than the front. The basement windows were in the back of the house. Camden had heard the yelp but decided not to look into it. As he made his way to the front door, he could hear what he thought was fighting. Camden had known Pierre for years and surely, he couldn’t be beating his wife! Camden, confused, hurriedly went to the front and phoned his wife, naturally, instead of stepping in. But who is another man to interfere in another’s man marriage anyway? That’s a whole other story.
Camden’s wife reminded him there was a television downstairs and one of the children had probably left it on. Mr. Frasier was such a worrywart as it was, with a tendency towards a vivid imagination. Camden believed his wife, put it out of his mind, and carried on with the business meeting with the unsuspecting Pierre Jerome.
Yet, Camden had felt no peace of mind. Shannon didn’t come around once, not even to greet him as he entered or left. Camden had even asked about her, to which Pierre allegedly replied, “She’s very sick. You know how she is, she worries so much about other people she didn’t want to risk getting you sick.”
Camden was not convinced and begged his dear wife Amy Leigh to check on Shannon. Amy Leigh thought her husband was absolutely crazy, but obliged. The following day Amy Leigh went over to the Jerome’s, while Pierre was at work. As they sat on the porch and had brunch, the family golden retriever had barked suddenly at the mailman. Shannon had become startled and dropped her fork. As she bent down to grab it, that’s when Amy Leigh saw it. The dark purple bruise just below her neck. Amy Leigh began to question her, but Shannon had remained calm and stated, “Honey, I’m afraid he misheard. I had been cleaning up and spilled water at the top of the steps. When I went to do laundry, I had fallen down them. It was awful. Camden does have quite the imagination on him, Amy. You know this. I was also quite sick at the time. I can’t be spreading germs around our successful husbands.”
Naturally, Amy Leigh didn’t buy these lies and pretty soon everyone in Helena Hills had heard about the Jerome’s. It had been reduced to small town fiction, but most people knew the truth. They could see the fear in Shannon’s eyes, the way that Pierre carried himself. They knew the Jerome’s. They knew the truth. Yet, there was nothing to be done. The marriage had to be kept up for appearances. No one wanted to sever their ties with Pierre by outing him as a wife-beater. To know the Jerome’s was like knowing the Queen.
It’s just the way the world worked. Everyone was looking out from themselves.
Lunch had ended, and Sierra finally said her goodbye’s to Eloise and Ron. Ron had reappeared during the last five minutes, smelling of gin and cigar smoke.
“Hate to break up the hens, but we got to go, El. Quinn has those try-outs soon.”
Oh, Sierra had heard all about it. Their best and brightest. The tennis star, Quinn Levi. She was thirteen years old and one of the best young athletes in town.
They said their goodbyes, with Ron rushing Eloise out of the club. Sierra watched them load into the Lexus, knowing damn well they shouldn’t be driving. The Levi’s never knew their limit.
Once Sierra arrived home, she didn’t see anyone’s cars in the driveway. Her husband must have been playing golf, or maybe doing work at the office. Mills was hardly ever home, there was no surprise there. The one she was worried about was her youngest, Bea. Bea had just turned sixteen and used her newfound freedom to escape the house every chance she got. Yet, she always left without so much as a goodbye or a text as to where she was going. Sierra went to text her daughter as she went through the backyard, only to stumble upon a troubling site.
Mills, sitting on the back porch, smoking a cigarette, empty beer cans spread all around him.
“Christopher Mills Aldridge. What the hell are you doing?” Sierra stormed up the porch, snatching the Marlboro from his lips and throwing it to the ground, stomping it out.
“What does it look like?” He glanced up at his mother, no emotion in his silvery-blue eyes.
“This–What is this?” Sierra didn’t know what to say. “This is so out of character for you.”
Suddenly, she stopped. “Mills, where is your car?”
Mills cracked open another beer. “Wrecked.”
Sierra closed her eyes. “Mills…why?”
“Do you really want to know, mother?”
Mills was her mystery child. Always secretive, always emotionless, yet never bad. He just had always seemed to be in a world of his own. Sierra had talked to doctors, therapists, etc. They all said the same thing: “Give him his space.” Sierra obliged. She wasn’t going to hover around him his whole life. Sierra understood he had a life separate from her own. But this, Sierra didn’t have an answer for. She was confused. Her arrival home should not be greeted by her intoxicated son.
Sierra had moved to Helena for her husband, but it just seemed that Helena was a toxic loophole no could escape. No one was safe, not even Sierra’s own family, who took every precaution to make sure her children didn’t end up like Oliver Jerome.
But then again, she didn’t understand. She never would if she didn’t try.
So, she sighed, pulled up a chair beside her son, grabbed a beer, and said, “Talk to me.”
savannah luckey 