Page 66 of Black Roses

Jan nods. “She absolutely is. And we love her. But there is more to this story than you know.” She puts a hand on my cheek. “But it’s not our story to tell.”

She pulls out her phone and taps the screen. “We may not know where she is, but we know someone who probably does.”

I take the phone from her to see the name on the screen.

Charlie Tate.

chapter twenty-five

piper

“No, I don’t need a bellman,” I say. “I don’t have any bags. No hay bolsas.”

The desk clerk runs my card, giving me a sympathetic look. I can see he’s wondering what my story is. Running from an abusive husband? Kicked out by a cheating boyfriend? I’m sure he’s seen it all.

I sign my receipt and ask him if I can use the hotel phone, not having yet replaced my cell. “¿Puedo usar el teléfono por favor?”

“Sí.” He pushes the phone towards me.

“Long distance.” I hold my arms wide open, hoping he understands my gesture as I don’t recall how to say the words in Spanish. I flash him my best damsel-in-distress look, even adding a lip quiver for good measure.

He looks behind him, beyond a glass door into the office, presumably at his boss. She looks busy at the moment. He types a code into the phone and hands me the receiver. “Is fine,” he says in broken English. “You look like nice girl. Hurry, use telephone fastly.”

Thanking him profusely, I dial Charlie’s number. I know she won’t answer, she’s a bonafide call screener. Plus, it’s like three o’clock in the morning in Sydney. Just as well. I don’t want to have to explain everything now. I’m exhausted. I just want her to know I’m back in Barcelona. It’s part of the sisters’ code—always tell each other where we are. Sometimes we’re the only ones who ever know.

The sisters’ code.

It’s something we came up with when we were twelve, after her dad left and she started living her own personal hell. She didn’t want to be her mother’s daughter anymore, so she asked me if she could pretend she had mine.My mom treated her like a daughter anyway. And Baylor and Skylar learned that where there was one of us, the other wasn’t far behind. For all intents and purposes, shewasa Mitchell sister.

“Hey, hermana, it’s me. I’m just following the code. I’m back in Barcelona and I can’t wait to see you when you return from down under. My phone broke, so if you need to get me, just call this number. Love you. Hope you’re having a blast with, wait . . . what’s his name? Anyway, just thought you should know. Bye.”

I push the phone back in place and thank the desk clerk again before dragging myself up the stairs to my room to get much needed sleep.

~ ~ ~

Loud knocking wakes me and I curse the noise when the numbers on the bedside clock tell me I’ve only been asleep for twenty minutes.

I cover my head with a pillow, hoping the intruder will just go away. “Por favor limpie después,” I beg the supposed housekeeper to come back another time.

The incessant pounding doesn’t stop. I angrily slide my tired body from the bed and pad over to the door, ripping it open as I yell, “I’m sleep—, oh, my God . . . Charlie!”

Her all-encompassing hug propels me backwards into the room. “I missed you so much,” my muffled words tread through her thick red hair. Then I push her away. “Wait. Why are you here? What happened to Syndey and what’s-his-name?”

She steps back outside the room to pull her heavy suitcase over the threshold. I can’t suppress my smile. It feels like old times. Safe. Comfortable. Familiar.

“Oh, that.” She avoids my pointed stare, placing her bag on the ottoman before she unzips it. “Pfft, it never would have worked out.”

My jaw slackens. My eyes narrow. I point an accusing finger at her. “You lied.”

She starts to unpack her suitcase, dumping the contents into random drawers.

I put my hand on hers, stopping her from grabbing another handful of clothes. “You broke the code, Charlie. Why did you lie? You know I know you too well, so don’t feed me any shit.”

She rolls her eyes. “Technically, it wasn’t a lie, Pipes. I had every intention of going with him. I just changed my mind at the airport” —my punishing stare prods her on— “when his wife showed up and threw her phone at me.” She rubs a spot on her shoulder, wincing.

I pull her in for a hug. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Not again. Men fucking suck.”

She laughs half-heartedly. “Well at least this one didn’t actually suck dick like the last guy.”

---