Chapter Text
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
-F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Summer had always been Heather Duke’s favorite season of the year: it was a more simple time, one that lacked the complexities brought on by its companions on the calendar. The academic and social pressures of the school year were relieved in those warm months and she was offered an opportunity to simply exist as she was, unbound by the crushing need for base survival that so often haunted her.
It wasn’t that she particularly enjoyed the climate: while the heat on its own might have been pleasant, its ever present companion in the form of humidity had a tendency to suffocate the skin, making the air so heavy that even breathing feels like a chore. Despite that, Heather found the discomfort brought on by the humidity a bearable sacrifice when contrasted with the freedom harkened by the warm summer season. It was one of the few times that Sherwood actually felt like something approaching home, a time when she could bask in the warm light of the sun and enjoy time to herself without the all consuming difficulties presented by school and life, a much needed chance to recuperate and relax in preparation for the trials of the coming school year.
It was with no small degree of delight, she considered, that this was shaping up to be the best summer of her life thus far.
The first indication in this regard was the departure of her parents: they’d be spending the next two months in New York managing her father’s investments and chasing the illusion of domestic bliss through the city’s theaters and restaurants. While she didn’t doubt her father’s financial acumen, the idea of this trip actually igniting an ember of romance between her parents was laughable. No, the less time that she had to spend around them, the better she’d feel: she could do without the biting dismissals and apathy.
It was in a similar vein that she found herself pleasantly surprised by the absence of Heather Chandler, the other girl’s departure on a vacation coming as a surprise to the both of them: Duke imagined that Heather’s parents had envisioned the Aegean cruise as an opportunity for family bonding, an endeavor that she doubted would end any better than her own parents’ forced attempts at domesticity. With Heather gone, she no longer had to worry about the possibility of being dragged away to whatever endeavor the other girl had dreamed up, and didn't have to fear the honeyed cruelty and hidden hooks that Heather so easily conjured up. She could live free of the red clad specter that seemed to haunt her life, at least for these blessed months of sun.
Those two occurrences alone would normally be more than sufficient for her to luxuriate in the peace and warmth of the summer months, temporarily freed of her constant obligations and struggle to maintain appearances. She could spend her time doing things that she actually felt passion for without the questioning gaze of judgemental onlookers.
She could ready a space for herself in the sunroom, curling up in one of the comfortable armchairs and escaping into another life through the words on a page under the comfortable glow of the celestial body above. Her exploration of the vibrant and colorful worlds erected by skilful wordsmiths from places far more interesting than Sherwood Ohio allowed her a temporary relief from the pressures of life, one that she found herself indulging more for comfort than escape in this time of peace.
If she felt more inclined towards physical activity, she would dress herself appropriately and take the opportunity to better familiarize herself with her jeep: while it didn’t necessarily need the level of attention she provided it, she found a great deal of satisfaction in learning how to properly tune and manage every facet of the sturdy vehicle. It was a process that she’d found herself growing increasingly familiar with over time, something that she found a surprising amount of pride in: she could claim something as hers and hers alone, something that she explored in pursuit of enjoyment rather than a need for survival or in the hopes of acquiring her parent’s ever evasive approval.
While it was perhaps not as traditionally enjoyable as the aforementioned activities, she found a great deal of satisfaction working through the vast array of preparatory materials for university: admittance essays and scholarship competitions were all vital to achieving her hopes for a future in the Ivy League. It was a dream that she had held for a long time, one that she was intent on securing by her own merit: she knew that her parents could likely secure her a position within a university of her choice, they had the money and connections necessary for something like that, but she wanted to be able to claim this as a victory for herself.
Even as she anticipated the joys and freedom brought by the summer break, she usually was forced to ready herself for the loneliness that it always brought: she didn’t enjoy spending time with Heather and heather, not really, but they were at least company of some kind. Heather McNamara wasn’t as bad as Chandler: while Duke rarely initiated, McNamara generally made an effort to spend time with her. She wasn’t bad company, not exactly, it was just that, well… Duke didn’t exactly trust her. She knew that Heather meant well and wanted to be able to be friends, but she also knew that she couldn’t afford to take that risk. When she did accept Heather’s invitations, she did her best to enjoy the time with the other girl without getting too close, all while endeavoring to ignore the hurt in the other girl’s eyes as she refused to engage beyond the surface level vagaries of their ‘friendship’.
This year had the potential to be different though: as the end of school came ever closer, Heather had found herself wondering whether or not Veronica would want to remain by her side once school was out. She had determined that she wouldn’t blame the other girl if she didn’t want to spend time around her, even if she desperately hoped that Veronica would continue to look past the less than pleasant persona she had to put on within the halls of Westerburg. She’d done so before after all: Duke knew that they were friends but she also knew that friendship didn’t necessarily mean affection or enjoyment of another’s presence, as was so regularly displayed by her relationship with Chandler.
But…
She did enjoy having Veronica around.
She was fairly certain that Veronica liked being around her as well, even if she didn’t quite understand what exactly the other girl saw in her.
It had been vindicating whenVeronica asked if she could catch a ride home with Duke on the last day of school, an assurance that perhaps there was something more to their relationship than the transactional assistance they’d provided each other. It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected Veronica to stay with her, everything she’d known of the girl had indicated that she would, but it was really, really good to be proven right in that regard. It was a sign that maybe, just maybe, she was someone that was good enough to have someone like her in their life.
The companionship that Veronica offered had changed her summer plans entirely: for the first time she could recall, there was someone that she was actually enthusiastic about spending time with. She still found fulfillment from her usual activities but it was surprisingly painless to set them aside whenever Veronica called in, the book or tools temporarily set to rest while she spent time with that wonderful girl. She’d come to anticipate the calls, ensuring that a phone was within hands reach wherever she settled: she didn't want to risk missing a call, after all.
What had begun as once a week liaisons had become a nearly daily ritual: they didn’t always meet in person, occasionally just chatting over the phone, but Heather had found that the Sawyer household had become an increasingly common location for her recreation. Veronica’s parents had been strangely relaxed and welcoming, their friendly demeanor strangely out of place for what she’d normally consider a parental role. She appreciated it though: they never made her feel stressed or trapped and generally stuck to making small talk or serving up snacks in the rare moments when Veronica wasn’t by her side. It quickly became clear that Veronica’s presence was setting her plans for the summer astray and out of order…
and Heather loved it.
She loved how uncomplicated it always was. When she was faced with an invitation to Veronica’s house, she could be sure that she’d have the opportunity to spend time with an individual that she cared for deeply, time without the little barbs and games that she’d grown so used to when in the company of her peers. At the start, it had taken some effort to escape those habits, to avoid dropping snide comments and sheathed insults but Veronica made it easy to resist those instincts. Heather had been surprised by Veronica’s penchant for croquet, even moreso when she found herself enjoying the game as well: she’d never been one for sports but the sedate pace of the game and the easy conversation it allowed quickly cemented it as one of their more regular rendezvous for them. The conversation flowed easily during the extended games and she found herself learning a thousand little things about the girl that she’d never even considered before.
She’d learned how Veronica’s scarf, the one that she’d been so dismissive of when they’d first met, had been knitted by her grandmother before her passing.
She’d learned how Veronica made a habit of keeping a diary and, more importantly in her eyes, how she always wore a monocle when she wrote in it. The mental image of it was somewhere between absurd and delightful, even moreso when she saw Veronica’s indignation.
She’d learned about Veronica’s friends , the other people in her life. She’d known that Veronica had friends but she hadn’t entirely processed it: she’d always felt that she and Veronica had something special, a thought that had been easier to maintain before she’d learned about the other people Veronica cared for. She sometimes found herself wondering whether or not Veronica’s relationship with them was like her relationship with her, whether or not she and Veronica actually had something more special than base friendship.
Any tinges of jealousy were suffocated by the cocktail of complicated emotions that surround Martha Dunstock.
Intellectually, she’d known that Martha was one of Veronica’s friends: neither girl had made any attempts at hiding their relationship, Veronica being far more interested in shielding her friend with her newfound popularity than shunting her to the side. It had been easier to ignore then though, before Veronica had felt comfortable enough to talk about her: hearing stories about the girl she’d once been friends with was surreal, as if a ghost of a past life had returned to haunt her for her sins.
And she had sins aplenty.
It was difficult to hear about Martha again, far more difficult than she’d ever thought it would be, not that she’d ever be willing to tell Veronica that. They’d used to be friends, real friends, before Heather had… before. Before everything had changed and she’d found a way to make herself safe. Before she’d understood the dangers that came with that kind of relationship. Before Chandler had demanded that she prove her loyalty, before she cast off the remnants of who she’d been before to prove that she was Chandler’s and Chandler’s alone.
When she saw Martha now, she couldn’t see the friend that she’d abandoned and betrayed. She couldn’t see the girl who she’d spent years with. She couldn’t see the person that had once been her closest, most trusted confidant.
All she could see was the manifestation of her regrets. Martha had become a symbol of her failings, an example of what would happen to her if she was stupid or weak enough to slip and loose her position. She was a reminder that Heather could never afford to fall as low as Martha had, that she could never let go of her position unless she wanted to be torn apart and tormented as Martha was so regularly. Those fears were usually enough to stave off the bouts of self reflection that occurred when she found herself too deep in thought: that path led to little more than crippling disgust and regret, feelings that would hang over her for days while she did her best to forget how much she’d changed and how much she’d lost.
It was a relief though.
She could never admit it, could hardly admit it to herself, but knowing that Martha had managed to find someone else to fill the hole that Duke had left was… good. Veronica was a good person, a good friend, and far better than Duke could ever possibly deserve.
Martha needed someone like that.
Duke was able to admit that she did as well, even if she couldn’t conceive of a reason why Veronica would want to spend time around someone as… someone like her.
Veronica made it easier to ignore those feelings though, easier to shrug off the storm of doubt that had become such a regular presence in her mind. Veronica made her feel wanted, like she actually mattered, that someone might actually care if she was gone. She’d never realized how much she’d missed that feeling or just how lonely she’d been in years past.
It was different now.
She felt good.
Not just better, good .
The silence that they’d found themselves in now was comfortable, an increasingly common occurrence ever since she’d found herself playing croquet with Veronica. While their conversations were generally impassioned and intriguing, the other girl’s potent intelligence and cutting wit making her an excellent interlocutor, they sometimes found themselves lapsing into bouts of silence, occasionally sneaking glances at each other as they played.
Duke could happily say that she was quite good at croquet: while Veronica had her beat in terms of experience, she found herself picking up the necessary motions quite quickly. She always took her time with aiming, applying her full focus and consideration to predicting the way in which her strike would direct that path of the ball: while this game hadn’t been particularly competitive thus far, she took pride in her budding skill.
Content with her consideration, Duke took a step back, readied her mallet and swung, watching contentedly as the ball rolled over the grass and through the intended hoop.
“Good shot, Heather!”
“Thanks, Veronica. Let’s see if you can beat it.”
Heather felt the smile spread across her face as she glanced over to Veronica, the bright grin that was now directed squarely at her evoking the warm and pleasant sensation that she’d become increasingly familiar with over the last month.
She never wanted this to end.