Sweet Amy

By Lynn Abell

The car careened off the slick road, leaving two people dead and one alive. She is the survivor, and this is her story.
Amy Sheppard has been best friends with Anna Kildare for as long as either of them can remember, and they each have their roles. Anna is the successful beauty and Amy is the supportive friend. But when Amy reinvents herself and steps out of Anna's shadow, the true fragility of this bond is revealed. How far would someone go to stay in the spotlight?
Winding its way through the events leading up to the tragic accident, Sweet Amy explores themes of self-confidence, trust and envy while uncovering how a shift in the balance of power in a lifelong friendship can lead to devasting consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667821825

Book preview

Prologue

I don’t drive anymore. Not since the accident. Subways, taxis, and buses move the empty shell of my body from place to place. I adhere to schedules that aren’t mine. The loss of freedom is part of my penance. I wait, standing on platforms, on curbs, in three-sided glass boxes covered with peeling flyers. I board, stepping carefully over the gap, sliding into backseats, holding the handrail as I climb the black rubber steps. I submit, handing over all control because I need to keep searching. I need to find deliverance. I look desperately out the windows, but I can never see past my own reflection, my translucent ghost keeping me from focusing on the things that lay beyond the glass.

I could drive if I wanted to. I’m still alive. The only survivor of a trinity of souls. Physically, I have healed completely. There’s just a little aching in my hand before it rains.

Chapter 1

September 1980

Amy, please slow down, my mom begged, her high heels slipping on the marble steps, a holdover from when the elementary school building had been a grand public library. I rushed ahead of her and pulled the heavy glass door open with my two small hands.

I know where I’m going, Mom, you don’t need to come with me, I said, but as I looked down the hallway, it seemed impossibly long. Longer, wider, taller than all the times I had come here with my older sister. A kaleidoscope of a view that, until today, had been unintimidating. The sound of a locker clanging shut startled me like a car backfiring, and bigger kids seemed to be everywhere, blocking my path. The din of their voices became oppressively loud and unwelcoming, as disturbing as hearing laughter in a nightmare. I stopped mid-step, recoiling unexpectedly with fear, and reached back for my mom’s hand, moving my arm around, trying to find her grasp in the empty air. She placed her hand in mine and gave it a comforting squeeze. With her touch, the hallway shrank back to its appropriate size and the noise level returned to normal. As we walked down the hallway together, my metal lunch box banged against my shin in a rhythmic pattern, as reassuring as a heartbeat.

Welcome, welcome, the teacher greeted us. I’m Ms. Chapwell. She reminded me instantly of an apple, round and shiny, her plump cheeks flushed red with excitement. Please, have a seat while we wait for the rest of the class. I looked around at the checkerboard of empty desks. The kids who had already arrived were sitting on a large oval rug that was ringed with the letters of the alphabet and pictures of corresponding words in happy primary colors: ‘B’ on a bumble bee; ‘U’ on an umbrella.

Then I saw her. The princess. I had seen her before, sitting on the front stoop of one of the newly built townhouses across the street from my own. I watched her from my window, mesmerized, as she played with her Barbies, her hair the same color as the dolls. It reminded me of the girl with spun-gold hair that I remembered from a Russian fairy tale in an oversized library book with strangely sketched pictures and a cracked spine. The beautiful girl in the fable had a long braid made of gold that reflected in the water and made the lake beneath her shine like the sun, but the braid was so heavy, she could never leave her spot by the lake. Daringly, I sat down next to the princess, imitating her crisscrossed legs so that our knees almost touched.

Okay, Ms. Chapwell said, stretching out the word in a singsong voice. It is time for all mommies and daddies to say goodbye to their big children. She made a shooing motion toward the door with her hand. Reluctantly, parents filed out into the hallway. My mom turned and blew me a kiss that I caught with my hand under my knee, where the other kids couldn’t see it.

Welcome to your first day of kindergarten! Ms. Chapwell’s voice chimed as the last of the parents shut the door behind them. Surprisingly, the princess reached over and grabbed my hand.

Chapter 2

November 1996

O’Sullivan’s Bar was a landmark in my hometown of Bell’s Lake, Pennsylvania. Inside, the tables were dark pine layered with years of furniture polish so thick that you could carve into the soft wood with your fingernail. Names, dates, and quotes graffitied the tabletops and the backs of chairs, solidifying O’Sullivan’s as the place that you could always come back to when you wanted to remember where you came from. Tonight, my best friend and I were meeting early so that we could catch up before everyone else that was home from college for the Thanksgiving holiday arrived and the bar would be transformed into a loud makeshift reunion.

I was chatting with Steven, an old classmate and current bartender at O’Sullivan’s. I had just started telling him about my favorite dive bar at college when he abruptly stopped listening, his eyes fixated over my shoulder at the entrance where Anna Kildare stood in front of the heavy wooden door, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the low lighting. She wore a white sweatshirt with her sorority letters embroidered across the chest, fashionably dark jeans, and chunky Doc Martens boots. With her long blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail, she looked like she had just walked out of a picture in a college brochure. I called her over and stood to give her a hug, stretching up on my tiptoes slightly so that my height matched hers, a habit from long ago. She said hello to Steven, and they exchanged pleasantries, a quick rundown about their lives after high school. When Steven excused himself to greet new customers, Anna and I grabbed a table at the back of the room.

You lost weight, Anna said with a sly smile. Is there a man is your life?

The only man in my life is Henry Gray, I said. Noting her confused look, I added, He wrote our anatomy textbook. It’s a common joke at the school of nursing. ‘I’m sleeping with Henry Gray. I was up all night with Henry Gray.’ It’s a lot funnier when you’re running on fumes. Nursing school doesn’t leave any time for dating, I’ve told you that.

Anna pulled out her chair and angled it next to me at the small table so we could talk more privately. Or food, apparently. It was true that nursing school had stressed me down a size or two from our high school days, especially now that I was facing finals for the semester and the ever-present licensure exam looming after graduation. A flicker of fretfulness crossed Anna’s face as she looked me up and down, although I wasn’t sure why. Anna certainly never had to worry about her weight, she was naturally thin with just the right amount of curves. I had always envied this about her. I gained weight easily and knew I was going to have to be vigilant if I wanted to keep the weight off.

So, what’s your news? I asked after appetizers had been ordered and our first round of drinks was nearly gone. When we had spoken earlier in the day, Anna mentioned she had something to tell me. I imagined she’d been offered an internship in journalism, a career she had decided on when we were just about nine years old, and that decision had never wavered. I had always been impressed by her resolve. Indecision haunted even as I applied for college. I was torn between the liberal arts degree that would sustain my interest in photography and a practical job-oriented degree as a registered nurse. Practicality won.

Well, it turns out, Anna exhaled, that dear old dad has been sleeping with receptionists up and down the eastern Pennsylvania sales territory. I know, I know, no surprise there, but Mom has finally had enough. They are getting a divorce. She poked at the ice cubes in the bottom of her empty glass with the flimsy drink stirrer that bent under her grip.

What? I was completely taken off guard, not because of the divorce itself, but because I was so off base with Anna’s news.

When I first met Anna, her parents, Renée and Jackson Kildare, were the very definition of young, modern love. Renée worked for Doctor Benjamin Phillips, a sought-after pediatrician in Bell’s Lake, who was called Doctor Ben by everyone except Anna’s mom. Renée would clarify to anyone who mistakenly called her a secretary that she was the office manager, pulling herself up to her full height, making her presence as big as her petite frame would allow.

Renée met Jack just after his pharmaceutical company, Prime Labora­tories, relocated him from Columbia, South Carolina, to Philadelphia. Jack was a detail man. In the early ’70s, detail men were typically somber and unassuming, ready to provide the doctors with facts and statistics that they gleaned from the articles in the medical journals, but Jack was different. He wore his dark blond hair longer than his colleagues, all of whom were several years older, but he kept it cut just above the collar of his shirt. Jack also had a moustache, his nod to the current trend, but like his hair, he kept it well groomed.

Instead of sitting patiently in the waiting area, Jack preferred to lean through the small window as Renée sat at her desk, checking patients in and out. He’d stolen Renée’s heart before he finished his first sales call.

In elementary school, Anna’s dad was every girl’s secret crush. Even the teachers sighed when Jack came to parent–teacher night. It was shortly after Anna and I started middle school that Renée had her first suspicion about Jack’s infidelity. Anna called me late one night and I could hear her parents arguing in the background. Anna relayed Renée’s accusations to me between sobs. I reassured her that her mom was wrong, Jack would never upset his perfect little family and to me, Anna’s family was indeed ‘perfect.’ At the time, my older sister Samantha had just started high school, and I could feel the sisterly bonds that had always united us, straining under the weight of her full transition from childhood to teen. Her near-constant arguing with my parents made her the center of attention, pushing me into the background, an afterthought in my family’s priorities. But this was Anna’s first time experiencing a family shouting match so vicious it could make the paint peel off the walls, an event that had become practically a weekly occurrence at my house, and it would be a long time before Anna’s family had another one. Although I didn’t fully realize it then, I was jealous of Anna’s lack of a sibling who refused to play by the rules for the sake of family harmony. I was sure this was a one-time event for her that would be resolved when Renée was proven wrong. Yes, omne trium perfectum, as my Sunday school teacher would say, her use of Latin making the phrase indisputable—everything that comes in threes is perfect.

But when we were older, Jack’s affairs were harder to deny. And as Renée grew resigned to them, Jack’s dalliances became something quieter. Not the elephant in the room, but the mouse that scurried behind the cabinets, smart enough to never let itself be seen in full daylight. But still, three became four, as obvious as the empty seat at their square kitchen table.

I’m so sorry, really, I said to Anna after her words had time to sink in, but secretly, I wondered how Renée had remained married to Jack this long. I placed my hand comfortingly on Anna’s shoulder and waited for her to look up again.

Well, said Anna, that isn’t the only thing. Dad moved to some crappy singles’ apartment complex with a weight room and a Jacuzzi. A Jacuzzi! she said with disgust. She pushed her glass across the table. It left a wet trail in its wake, condensation filling in the words etched in the wood. He’s pretending it’s fun to be single again. She rolled her eyes and then looked down at the table. Mom is seeing someone, she said quietly. She’s started dating Doctor Ben. His wife died a year ago. Oh, god, Doctor Ben could be my new daddy! Anna said sarcastically, looking up and meeting my eyes.

You better get free lollypops, I deadpanned, and Anna, taken off-guard, barked a laugh.

I’m serious, Amy. I mean, Mom and Doctor Ben, well, everyone saw that coming. They would have gotten together twenty-five years ago if Dad hadn’t gone into Doctor Ben’s office. But my dad, he’s going to be lost without Mom. He may seem like a playboy, but actually, he needs her.

So, what are you going to do? I asked.

What can I do? she asked rhetorically, shrugging her shoulders. Go back and finish my last year at Penn State, spend Christmas driving back and forth between them, oh god…. She put her head in her hands, and the reality hit her, her eyes growing soft with tears.

Let’s just get through Thanksgiving, I said, giving her an awkward hug across the table.

Is that you, Amy? Amy Sheppard? Megan, a girl I hadn’t seen since graduation, interrupted us as she approached the table. And Anna! Oh my god, can you believe we’re back? This place never changes.

Anna quickly wiped a napkin under her eyes. Megan! she said with false enthusiasm. We each hugged her in turn and spent the remainder of the night lost in conversations about life after Bell’s Lake High, Anna masking her emotions with aplomb.

•••

My parents’ house was dark when I got back a little after two in the morning. I moved quietly through the familiar kitchen, leaving my purse on the table. The smell of cigarettes clung to my hair and clothes, more obvious since leaving the bar, and I was longing for a shower. Bits of conversation with old friends replayed in my head as I walked upstairs. Anna was as popular as ever, and it seemed that people hovered near us, talking to me while waiting for their chance to ask Anna about her life and brag to her about their own post-graduation accomplishments.

I silently opened my bedroom door. Nothing had been changed since I left for college. The walls were still the bright yellow that I had woken up to for seventeen years and the matching flowered comforter was worn pale from washing. My poster of Morrissey, the lead singer for the English band The Smiths, hung over my bedframe. Unframed snapshots from high school littered the mirror, held in place with scotch tape that was beginning to curl at the edges. I pulled one of the pictures off the mirror and looked at it closely. In the picture, Anna and I were standing on the lawn outside the high school, clutching our diplomas and leaning our heads intimately toward each other, graduation caps touching. Memories of that day came flooding through me. Moments after the picture was taken, Anna’s dad arrived late to the graduation. From a distance, we could see he was carrying two bouquets of flowers wrapped in green tissue paper. There were bright white daisies with yellow centers as big as quarters in one bundle and carnations dyed garish shades of purple, red, and orange in the other. Renée, who had been saving an empty seat throughout the ceremony, let out a sigh, but whether it was from exasperation or relief, it was difficult to tell.

As Jack came closer, we could hear that he was crooning lines from Daisy Jane, a song by the band America that was popular the year Anna was born. It was his song for her, the lyrics describing the simple longings of a man in love. He reached our small group, my family and Renée, and kissed Anna tenderly on the cheek. He continued singing and handed her the bouquet of daisies.

Dad, stop! Anna said, but her smile betrayed that she was flattered.

Aw, I know that you’re a big high school graduate now, Jack’s southern drawl was more pronounced than usual, but you’ll always be my Daisy Jane. He scooped Anna into a tight hug then without letting her go, he looked directly at me, his crystal blue eyes, so much like Anna’s, shooting straight into mine. And you, he said, pulling me into their embrace. You’re my second favorite flower. Leaning back, he handed me the bouquet of carnations, then replaced his arm around my shoulder, swaying us back and forth as he sang promises to his Daisy Jane. As the lyrics implied, he may not be perfect, but he loved his girl with all he had, and he was desperately hopeful that was enough. I could smell the sour-sweet scent of alcohol as it drifted off his warm breath.

I replaced the picture on the mirror, smoothing the tape until it held fast in its spot.

•••

May 1997

The phone was ringing as I opened the door to my off-campus apartment. Remembering that Gail Bishaw, my college roommate, was gone for the weekend, I rushed to answer it before the answering machine picked up.

Hello, I balanced the phone on my shoulder and kicked off my shoes. The phone cord stretched as I continued moving forward, dropping my backpack on the sofa. Mentally, I was still at the hospital, reviewing the discharge paperwork I filled out before leaving, wondering if I remembered to include the request for an increase in pain meds for the woman being transferred to assisted living. As a fourth-year nursing student, I was assigned six patients under the supervision of a senior nurse. Today, it seemed more like six hundred. My stomach growled, reminding me that I had skipped lunch. I couldn’t wait to graduate in three weeks.

Amy? I recognized Anna’s voice, the hoarseness of it snapping me to the present.

Anna? What’s wrong? I asked, stopping and sitting on the sofa. When Anna didn’t answer right away, I could feel my pulse thrumming in my ears. Thoughts of work and hunger disappeared into the ensuing silence as my mind raced through a barrage of tragedies.

It’s… my dad. He… he…. She inhaled loudly, her breath catching.

Anna, what happened? But in the quiet that followed, I knew something was terribly wrong. I knew, and I felt my heart breaking for Anna.

He died, she finally whispered into the phone.

Oh god, I whispered back, my stomach clenching with anxiety. It was even worse than I was anticipating.

I can’t believe it, but he’s gone, Amy, Anna sobbed into the phone. My dad is dead. She said those last four words as if she needed to say it.

How? I asked, but Anna’s wracked breathing was my only answer. As I waited, my thoughts traveled back to images of her youthful dad bursting with life. Memories of him pulling into the driveway of Anna’s childhood home filled my head. Jack stepping out of the car in his wrinkled suit, bending over with outstretched arms to catch a running Anna and hold her. Anna giggling when he pretended that his arms were stuck, and he couldn’t let her go. Eventually, she’d wiggle free and come back to playing with me, a smile toying at her lips for the rest of the afternoon.

It was an accident, Anna choked into the phone. I wanted to know more, but I realized Anna was in no condition to talk and the details could wait. I mistakenly assumed she was referring to a car accident—I had seen too many at the emergency room. It was an all-too-common form of sudden death.

Oh, Anna, I’m so sorry. The inadequacy of my words was tempered by the anguish in my voice. Where are you?

I’m home, at my mom’s house. Anna paused, exhaling a long breath, gaining composure. Doctor Ben drove Mom to school so she could tell me.

Okay, I’m coming to you as soon as I can. Let me make some arrangements. I’ll call you right back and let you know when I can be there. Oh, honey, will you be alright? I asked. Anna didn’t answer; she didn’t need to. I knew the answer was ‘no,’ but I didn’t know what else to say.

Two days later, I arrived in Bell’s Lake. Anna opened the front door to her mother’s house wearing an oversized pullover that I assumed had belonged to her dad. Even though Anna had inherited Jack’s height, the pullover overwhelmed her slim frame. The knit fabric, far heavier than was needed for the spring weather, looked as if it was physically weighing her down. Her face was red and blotchy from crying. She began shaking when she saw me and then collapsed into my arms.

Where’s your mom? I asked, releasing Anna slowly and walking her to the living room.

Anna gestured upstairs with her head as we sat together on the sofa.

So, what exactly happened? I asked. Anna had given me an abbreviated version of Jack’s death in our many phone conversations over the past two days, but it always ended with her hard sobbing that made conversation impossible. She was able to convey that I had been wrong about the car accident; an even more insidious demon had caused Jack’s death. Now that we were together, she relayed the story again, the final version uninterrupted.

He was always a drinker, you know? The life of the party. She threw a used tissue on the floor where it joined a pile of others. He couldn’t handle being alone. She bent her knees and gathered her legs toward her torso, making herself small enough to fit on a single sofa cushion. We don’t know much, just that he was alone and drinking heavily. His TV was on, the volume was turned up loud, and sometime after midnight, his neighbors at the condo called the police to complain about the noise and to say that no one was answering the door. The cops found an empty bottle of Johnny Walker Black next to his hand. He was sitting in his reclining chair, leaning back. She drew in a breath and swallowed before continuing. He choked on his own vomit, she said, looking at me with puffy red eyes. She looked like she was drowning in her tears. Oh, Amy, there was no note, but I can’t help thinking he did this on purpose.

No, I replied in a hushed tone, he wouldn’t do that. I paused, feeling Anna’s conclusion take root in my head. He wouldn’t do that to you, I repeated the words without feeling conviction behind them.

You’re right, Anna said, shaking her head as if to clear it. My dad wouldn’t have done this on purpose. Her words were unconvincing, but still, once said, the words negated the implication of suicide. Jack’s death was an accident. Period. Anna would never say words like that again.

Platitudes rose to my lips and dissolved there like sour candy.

I don’t know what to say, I said simply, opening my arms wide. Anna let go of her legs and leaned into me.

There is nothing to say, she mumbled, crying on my shoulder.

Eventually, her tears slowed, and she sat back, giving me the details of the funeral. She talked about the blundering funeral director that recognized her. We had gone to elementary school with his son, and he wanted to know where she was going to college. When she answered, he seemed impressed and asked her how she liked Penn State.

As if I could think about making small talk. Anna spat out her words, her disgust obvious. She told me about how when her mom identified Jack’s body at the morgue, she wouldn’t let Doctor Ben come in the room with her. Anna recalled getting a note from her residence advisor in the middle of class that her mom was coming to school and that, without explanation, she should go and wait in her room until her mom got there. Anna’s thoughts tumbled out in half-formed sentences that drifted, not tethered to a timeline. The disbelief she felt, even as her mom cried that her dad was gone. Her last conversation with him, how she’d been late for class and promised to call him back, but she never did and how that felt so clichéd now. She talked about how when she went to buy a pair of nylons to wear to the funeral, she cried as she stood in line to pay, stunned that the world had kept on spinning, people buying clothes, cash registers ringing, radios playing, when it all should have stopped. The world should have stopped and acknowledged that her dad had departed from it, but it didn’t. I listened. It was all I could do.

Anna touched my shoulder as I turned to leave. Thank you, Amy, I’m lucky I have you, Anna offered me a forced smile, but I saw it fade as the front door closed.

•••

The gravesite was quiet except for the sounds of Anna’s tender crying. A group of about thirty people stood uncomfortably close under the black funeral home canopy, hushed, waiting for the service to begin. The air was mild and warm, smelling vaguely of fresh dirt and budding flowers. Sweat bees, thin as needles with their tiny wings fluttering, were swatted away surreptitiously. The minster began speaking and his solemn words, sounding stanch and rehearsed, rolled off my ears. My parents stood on either side of me, my mom’s arm around my shoulders and my dad firmly holding my hand. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the closed casket. While my family wasn’t flawless, the thought of losing any one of them was just too difficult to fathom. Instead, I watched Anna. She alternated between leaning on her mom and standing up straight, pushing her mom away. Doctor Ben stood with them, looking miserable and awkward, occasionally patting Renée on the back, but not daring to touch Anna.

The minister ended the service by inviting friends and family to take a bouquet of Jack’s favorite flowers and approach the casket to say their final goodbyes. That is when I saw them, the unbearable tribute to father and daughter. Bouquets of two and three daisies held together with shiny black ribbons. Anna saw them too, her eyes opening wide, a stabbing pain shaking her to her core. She was his Daisy Jane. I broke free from my parents and grabbed Anna, turning her away from the flowers and holding her fiercely as she cried.

It’s okay, I whispered, not knowing what else to say. Tears streamed down my own face. I closed my eyes and pulled her closer. It’ll be okay, I said, using the very words I swore I wouldn’t. The words I knew weren’t