Page 60 of The Stolen Queen

“If I’d left, how would you have been able to manage?”

“That’s not the point,” Joyce dodged. “You have a job, there must be coworkers from your fancy museum job that you can reach out to for a place to crash, even if it’s temporary. Or friends from school. You really should be with people your own age.”

“I don’t have any friends, and you know why? Because I was working two jobs to keep us afloat.”

“I did my best—”

Annie cut her off. “And let’s be honest, the real reason you don’t want me here is I’m a reminder of how old you really are.”

She wasn’t expecting the slap across the face. Her mother had never hit her before, not even when she was a young girl. Joycerecoiled in horror as soon as her hand left Annie’s cheek. “I’m sorry, darling.”

Annie should’ve known this day would come, when her mother would toss her out on the streets all in the name of setting her free. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t even have the fancy museum job anymore. But there was no way she was going to confess that to Joyce and watch her try to conjure up the appropriately sympathetic expression when underneath she’d be panicking at the thought of Brad arriving to find Annie planted on the couch.

Annie had nowhere to go, and no landlord would take her in if she was jobless.

For years she’d thought she was being a good daughter by propping up Joyce on her down days, when in fact she’d lost valuable time, thrown it away, by being her caretaker.

In the bedroom, she filled a suitcase with clothes and toiletries. If her mother wanted her out, she’d go, and let Joyce live with the consequences.

Annie quietly let herself in to Mrs. H’s front door using her key. What she needed to do would only take a few minutes. A lamp burned on the narrow table in the front hallway, the one Mrs. H always left on to deter burglars.

But as soon as Annie closed the front door behind her, footsteps sounded on the creaky second-floor landing.

“Mrs. H, it’s just me, Annie,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

From the top of the stairs, Mrs. H pulled her glasses down her nose. She wore a high-necked Victorian nightgown, and her gray hair was tied up in a ribbon.

“What are you doing here? What time is it?”

“I’m sorry. I need to get the money I saved up. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t an emergency.”

Mrs. H slowly made her way down the stairs, clutching the banister. “What could you possibly need it for this late?”

“I need a hotel room, I guess. And then I need money for food and stuff.”

“You and your mother had another row?”

“Something like that. I’m on my own, now.”

After Annie had stormed out of the basement apartment, she’d waited for a moment on the sidewalk, hoping in vain her mother would follow and usher her back inside, apologize for the squabble. But she was no longer her mother’s focus. Not that she ever was.

“At least wait until morning,” said Mrs. H. “Your mother will come around.”

Annie’s skin prickled with shame. “Please. I need the money now, or I wouldn’t be here.”

Mrs. H ushered her inside and waved her into the kitchen, where Annie settled into the same chair she had last time. Mrs. H put on the kettle. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

“There was a mix-up at the Met Gala tonight. I won’t be working there anymore.”

“Well, I’m sorry about the job. I can only imagine what it’s like being at Diana’s beck and call.”

No matter how much of a mess it turned out to be, Annie didn’t regret that she’d taken the job. The joy of rushing around town, doing errands and being part of a team, was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. “It was wonderful, for a time. But on top of that, my mother got engaged and so I have to find a new place to live.”

“How about this? You stay here for a bit. You can take the spare room on the third floor.”

“I couldn’t impose on you.”

“I’m not letting you out this late, it’s not safe, and you’re dressed in a way that will garner the wrong kind of attention.”

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