That’s not the tragedy. The tragedy is that Mr. and Mrs. Prince, along with Ashley’s parents, are seated together, as if in a huddle. They look like a nice group, men dressed up in tuxes and women wearing designer dresses.
And Zach, he’s seated all the way at the other end of the table.
It feels like there’s a line between him and his family and their friends. Not to mention, he’s the only one in this group with no fancy clothes on. He looks more like us, the staff, with his dark, threadbare t-shirt and spiky hair, than one of them.
I’m serving wine and trying to be invisible to them. So far it’s been successful. They are all absorbed in themselves, except Zach.
Zach has been staring and staring at his dad’s hand over his mom’s. Yup, they are holding hands – Mr. Prince has his fingers wrapped around Mrs. Prince’s wrist – and sipping their drinks from the free ones.
It’s all very lovey-dovey, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like there’s something wrong in the way Mr. Prince is dominating almost all of her hand.
“So, Zach, how long are you here for?” Mr. Howard asks.
This is the first time anyone has included him in the conversation. Mr. Prince’s eyes snap to his son and something crackles in them. Something very close to annoyance.
Zach looks away from his parents’ entwined hands and focuses on Mr. Howard.
“As long as it takes,” he drawls and glances at his mom.
Lowering her lashes, Mrs. Prince dabs her lips with a napkin and clears her throat, smiling slightly. Mr. Prince’s hold on her hand increases. I can see his knuckles turning white as I pour wine in his glass.
“Take to do what?” Mrs. Howard asks, taking a bite of her steak.
Zach toys with the stem of his wineglass. He hasn’t taken one sip or even a bite of his food. All he’s done is watch his parents with anger.
“To forget this place.”
The scratch of a chair dragging on the floor sounds and it’s Mr. Prince. He looks like he’s going to stand up or say something, I don’t know, but Zach’s next words stop him.
“Because I miss them so much when I’m gone.” He’s looking at his dad. “England’s a cold place to live after the heat of our town.”
Ashley’s parents laugh like it’s the funniest joke ever. There’s a chuckle from Mrs. Prince and a cold smile from Mr. Prince that matches so beautifully and spookily with Zach’s.
“You must be very proud, Ben,” Mr. Howard says to Mr. Prince.
“Yes, very proud.”
Mr. Prince’s voice is lashing. It almost cuts the air in two, if possible.
Zach’s jaw clenches.
Mr. Howard carries on like there’s nothing wrong. “We all remember how much of a troublemaker Zach was back in school. You definitely would’ve had some sleepless nights.”
This is addressed to Mrs. Prince, who hasn’t spoken a word in ages. She clears her throat and I see her wrist flexing under Mr. Prince’s hold as I top up Mr. Howard’s glass.
“Yes. But you know, kids. Besides, he’s at Oxford now and so I think it turned out okay.” She leans over to her husband and kisses him on the cheeks. “It was all Ben.”
I round the table to go to Zach and top up his glass. Although, there’s nothing to top up. He hasn’t been drinking; I just needed to be close to him.
His knuckles around the stem of his wineglass are pretty much the same color as his father’s. All leached out and white. Bloodless.
He doesn’t even spare me a glance. I wish he would. Because my eyes would drip the same anger that his gaze holds. They’re all talking around him like he doesn’t even exist.
I hear Mrs. Howard’s airy laughter. “Everyone’s a troublemaker when they’re at school, George. He was just being a boy.”
Mr. Prince takes a sip of his wine. “Troublemaker or not, Zach is a Prince. And every Prince is born with a certain set of traits, a certain intelligence, a certain intellect. Going to Oxford is just a part of it. I went. My father went. My father’s father went. And if Zach hadn’t, then he wouldn’t have been one of us.”
Then, he smiles at the table in general as his eyes remain pinned on his son. “And that was just unacceptable to me. And to my wife.” He turns to Mrs. Prince and kisses the back of her hand.
More chuckles go around the table.
Fuckers.
Every single one of them.
I can bet anything that Zach’s father wasn’t supportive of his dyslexia. Which is so unfair and archaic.
It’s not Zach’s fault that he has a learning disability. Not to mention, it’s easily treatable. This is the twenty-first century, people.
Zach was right.
He’s expendable. An afterthought. To his dad, at least.
Because according to his dad, he isn’t a Prince. He’s defective.
He’s a reject.
Isn’t that what bullies say to you? You’re too fat. You’re too short. You’re a nerd. You’re a loser. You eat too much. You eat too little.
It’s not Zach. It’s his dad. He’s the bully.
I can almost see him bullying Zach into believing that he doesn’t belong in this family. The family of perfectionists and architects who build estates and palace-like mansions and are town-founders in their spare time.
I can almost see Zach as a little boy trapped in a tower with a glass window, where he can see the stars but never touch them.
Because he was made to believe he couldn’t.
***
After dinner, I see him.
Zach’s walking down the winding pathway that cuts directly across the cottages and along the side of the woods.
I’m in the kitchen, cleaning up. But at the sight of him, I wash my hands and say my goodbyes. And I run out after him.
Ever since he came back, almost every night I hear him take off on his bike. I don’t know where he goes. Maybe he just rides, feels the wind in his face, but after what happened tonight, I don’t want him to be alone.
My running ability is kind of hampered though, because I’m wearing two-inch-heeled Mary Janes instead of my best friends: my leather combat boots.
But I follow him, nonetheless.
I want to call out his name but something is preventing me. Probably it’s the tightness in his posture. His fisted hands and the fact that I know he wouldn’t like it if I called out his name and asked him to let me be with him so he’s not alone.
In fact, I’m sure he would downright hate it if I stuck my nose in his business.
Cruel is what I’ll do to you if you don’t stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.
Whatever.
I’m sticking my nose in his business and he can’t stop me.
But then, my next thought brings me to a halt. I realize what his destination is.
Damn it.
I should’ve thought of it sooner. He’s going into the garage, the main garage at The Pleiades. The staff members also have a garage, right across from the main one, but it’s smaller. I’ve been in there once and I have no inclination whatsoever to repeat that experience.
Zach punches in the code to his own garage and the stupid gate whirrs to life and pulls up.
Okay, so now is the time to call out his name. If I want to stop him, this is the moment. Because if he gets on his bike, all my good intentions will be for nothing.
But the moment is gone in a flash and I’m left standing there, feeling queasy.
Maybe I should go back. I can’t follow him in my car. I’m not going to.
Nope.
I haven’t dealt with my issues yet, okay? I haven’t had the time. I’ve been busy and I can’t… I just can’t.
But if I don’t do it then who will?
Definitely not his bullies of parents.
Before I can even think my plan through, I break into action. I run to the garage door, punch in my code that I remember from six months ago when they gave it to me.
The smell of gas and leather seats has invaded every inch of the space and if I paid attention to it, I’d throw up.
So I don’t.
I don’t pay attention to anything but my little blue car, parked in between an SUV and a truck. My house keys are in my pocket and my car keys are attached with them. I’ve thought about throwing them away a million times but I always back out. I always think one day, when I have my house back, I’ll deal with my fear.
Well, I guess today’s that day.
I’m facing my fear. For Zach.
I beep the car open and slide into the seat. My thighs are clammy and so is my entire body and I feel like I’m glued to the leather and that I’ll never be able to get out. The thought makes me so dizzy that I’m about to climb out when I hear the roar of his bike.
Fuck it.
I don’t have the time to be queasy. I shut the door and start the car. It occurs to me later that there was a chance that it might not have.
I pull out and get the automatic garage door going and peel out after him.
Everything feels claustrophobic and yet familiar at the same time. So familiar that I feel like I was driving just yesterday instead of being on a hiatus for about a year.
I catch up to him just as he turns at the bend of the road and merges with the highway. It’s been ages since I took this road. It runs parallel to our town and I’ve had nights where I’d just coast along it with all the windows down.
Some nights, I’d find Zach riding along too. I always made it a point to stay out of his sight but I remember feeling jealous of all the wind on his face, all that freedom of being out in the open. The thrill of it. It felt like flying.
Soon we’re leaving the highway and taking the exit into a neighboring town. I think we’ve been driving for about thirty minutes when we come to an area that’s more or less deserted, with several warehouses and chain-link fences.
It’s kind of spooky but we don’t stop here. We keep going and going, until the buildings fall away and the trees crop up. We go through the woods and come to a clearing.
A big, wide clearing full of lights and music and people.