The Rise and Fall of Ava Arcana by Jennifer Banash

Author:Jennifer Banash [Banash, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781662505416
Google: OYM5zwEACAAJ
Publisher: Amazon Publishing
Published: 2023-04-15T04:00:00+00:00

I wasn’t sure where I’d been expecting the formerly menacing ex-boyfriend of a dead almost pop star to reside—a seedy hovel near the train tracks, perhaps. But the carefully tended home on a rain-washed, tree-lined street was the direct opposite of any grim scenario I could’ve imagined. The high-pitched squeal of children’s voices rang through the air, and everything, from the neatly trimmed bushes flanking the walk to the newly painted exterior to the lawn mower parked in the driveway next to a shiny red tricycle, told me that whoever lived here valued not only appearances but family too. A green garden hose lay curled tightly near the flower beds beneath the bay window in the front, and the cheerful yellow faces of daffodils were just beginning to peep through the earth in a neat line. The garage doors were open, revealing two shiny white BMWs parked inside. “His” read the license plate of one, while “Hers” graced the other.

The house was a reminder that some people weren’t comfortable anywhere but the same familiar streets they’d walked their entire lives. As soon as I could, I’d fled to New York, leaving Minnesota and its endless winters behind, shedding layers of coats and scarves I no longer needed. There was familiarity and comfort in going home but also a sense of suffocation. Every time I stepped off the plane and into the frigid air, a cloud seemed to descend from the overcast sky, heavy and thick, wrapping itself around my shoulders. A panic rose up inside me, and I’d immediately want to turn around and reboard the plane. Astrid’s presence hovered, trailing my every move, though for all I knew, she was long gone herself. Her blue bathing suit dotted with cherries. Her autumn-gold hair like corn silk in my hands. That night at the party, her tear-streaked face in the moonlight, mascara in pools beneath her eyes, shadowing them, making her into something older, knowing.

Shattered.

After a visit, I was always glad to return home to Brooklyn, to the haven of my apartment, to the city itself, where I was accountable to no one and nothing. There was only the sound of trucks rumbling past along the street outside, the anonymous faces in the subway, belying the proximity of our bodies. Blank stares and ears stopped with headphones. But Jamie’s entrance into my life threatened to change all that.

As I rang the doorbell, the rain stopped, and a sliver of sun peeped through the clouds. I could hear the thump of tiny feet padding around inside the house. There was a rustling, and then the door opened and a petite blonde woman in her early thirties stood there wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun atop her head, and her feet were bare, her toenails painted a light, unobtrusive pink. While she appeared harried, her blue eyes, as she looked at me hesitantly, were kind.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Ian Strickler.” I smiled in a way that I hoped was reassuring.

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