Page 3 of Edge of Secrets

“Nelly. Honey.” Norma put her hands on her substantial hips, her eyes full of dismay. “You have got to get out more.”

“Norma, I am in no mood for a lecture,” I said through gritted teeth. “My sister was almost murdered by a slobbering maniac. I’m short on rent because of all the lost work afterward. My thesis adviser is on my case night and day to get the damn thing finished. I can’t get any sleep. And Lucia ... oh, God. Just let me be, okay?”

My face was dissolving. Norma tugged me up to my feet and wrapped me in a big, smothering hug. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. What happened to Lucia was so shocking and horrible for you girls. I didn’t mean to stress you out. And your sister getting attacked was really scary—but things have worked out, am I right? She’s got that big, tough-looking guy looking after her now, and he’s down for watching her like a hawk day and night, so things seem to be calming down a bit. I’m sure Lucia would want you to have some fun, move on with your life! You know she would!”

I put my glasses back on, sniffling fiercely. “I’m not in the mood for fun, Norma, no matter what Lucia might have wanted. And I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t have time for this lecture, either. I need to get dessert for table six, table eight needs their check, and Monica’s taking another cigarette break.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. But truthfully? I’m glad to see you taking a healthy interest in a likely-looking man. All in all, that’s a good sign.”

I grunted something bad-tempered in response and headed out to dump broken glass into the trash. I struggled to compose myself before going back out on the floor. My eyes were red and puffy, but who cared? Mr. Hyper-Focused would never notice. When I refilled his coffee, I asked, “Care for dessert?” I was just throwing it out there, because what the hell. If the sky fell, he’d barely notice.

“The usual,” he said flatly. Not looking at me.

I hesitated for a moment, then let ‘er rip. “Are you sure you don’t want to try something new? We have fresh strawberry shortcake on sweet, hot butter biscuits today, and the pecan fudge brownies are wonderful, too—served with whipped cream.”

His hands froze over the keyboard. “I’m sure they’re all good. Give me the usual.” ‘And no back talk’ was the subtext. He was impatient with me. Huh. That alone was more attention than I’d gotten from him thus far in the past several weeks.

I sighed, and went to get him his goddamn apple crumb pie with vanilla ice cream.

As always, when he finished, he closed his laptop, dropped bills on the table that covered the check along with a very generous tip, and left without a backward look. The guy had the imagination of a cement block. The manners of a molting snake. To hell with him. I was embarrassed for myself. Crushing out on a meat-headed, insensible, uncurious, indifferent, soulless, gearhead dweeb.

At least he tipped well, so there was hope for him as a human being.

The rest of the shift was a tired blur. I helped Norma start the dinner prep, then went to the bathroom to freshen up before going uptown to my discussion section. I took off my glasses, leaned close to the mirror, and squinted at myself—a critical once-over.

Norma was right. The round glasses were very eighteenth-century. I think I’d been going for a Brontë sister vibe when I picked them out, but it was not a look that flattered me in the third millennium. And my long, thick mop of black, curly hair was juvenile and nondescript and dowdy. And very heavy.

I twisted my hair up into a knot, letting curly wisps fall down around my ears and jaw. Marginally better, but I didn’t have the technology to make it stay up there. My eyes were my best feature—big and dark, with long lashes and thick eyebrows that I had to pluck regularly, or else they staged a coup d’etat and took over my whole face. A nice mouth, I conceded, if a little large for my jaw. Norma and Monica kept nudging me to wear lipstick, but I always ended up wiping it off whenever I tried. All that bright red, ka-boom. My mouth took over my face. It literally scared me.

I should be braver. With the lipstick. With my clothes. And maybe I should try contact lenses. And do something, God knows what, to my hair.

Most importantly, I should get my ass moving or be late to my discussion group.

I splashed water on my face, hefted my heavy shoulder bag, and headed for the downtown bus. Why stress over my looks? What difference did it make? Who cared?

I had more pressing things to worry about … like staying out of the clutches of our nemesis, who Nancy had named Snake Eyes.

And who knew if I could pull that off.

Chapter Two

Nell

The class went more or less as expected. A healthy two-thirds of the group actually attended, and of that number, only three appeared to be sleeping. Not half bad, statistically speaking. We had a rousing discussion about Emily Dickinson’s love poetry, and one very serious young man with lank, stringy hair asked earnestly, “Like, how do you know Emily Dickinson never had, you know, sex? Some of those poems are scorching! I can’t believe she could feel like that if she never got any.”

“Believe it,” I said grimly.

I regretted the thoughtless statement amid sideways looks and muffled chortling. Then I noticed that the young blond man and I wore the same type of glasses.

I was overcome with a sudden, almost desperate urge to change my style.

“Let’s wrap it up for tonight,” I told them. “I expect a five-to-ten-page paper from everyone by Wednesday at five.”

“But I can’t!” one of them said. “I have a physics midterm to study for!”

“And I have a philosophy paper to turn in on Monday!” another lamented. “Can’t we have till Friday?”

“Wednesday. Five o’clock.” My pitiless mandate was met with a chorus of groans.

---