Page 27 of Your Every Wish
I cut my walk short and head back to the trailer. Hopefully by now, Emma is done doling out advice and we can go to town or do something where normal people live. On my way back, I pass Liam, who’s in his yard, busy building something.
His trailer isn’t as nice as Harry’s but it’s one of the better ones in the park, though there’s a lot of scrap metal and junk in his yard. He can’t be much older than Emma and me, yet he doesn’t appear to have a job to get to. I suppose he could work remotely like Emma.
He’s too immersed in his project to notice me, which I say a prayer of thanks for. I’ve had enough socializing for one day.
Emma’s in the shower when I get home. Her laptop is still on the table, but her notebooks are cleared away. While I wait for her, I go in search of my phone. It’s the first time in the last five years that it’s been out of my possession for more than thirty minutes. My whole life is in there, everything from my calendar to my business contacts.
I find it on the nightstand in my bedroom and take it with me to the sofa in the living room. There are three more missed calls: a whale from New York who wants his usual room in the north wing, the dry cleaner at Caesars—the alterations on my dress are ready—and Madge: “Where are you?”
That leaves one more call. The one from this morning.
I hold my breath.
Beeeep.
“This is Detective Miguel Salazar from the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department. Please call me as soon as you get this message.”
Well, that certainly didn’t take long.
Emma
I find Kennedy sitting on the couch, looking white as chalk. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Let’s go to town.” She jumps off the sofa and grabs her purse.
“Just give me a few minutes to blow-dry my hair.”
“Okay, but hurry.”
“What’s your rush? Did something happen while you were out walking?” She’s acting peculiar.
“No, but I feel cooped up here. And I’m hungry. Let’s go to a restaurant.”
“Fine, I won’t dry my hair but at least let me change out of these sweats into jeans and a sweater.” I dash into my bedroom, quickly throw on some clothes, and tie my wet hair back in a ponytail.
“I’ll meet you in the car,” she shouts from the other room.
I grab a jacket, jog out the door, and meet her in the driveway, where her engine is already running.
“Where’s the fire?” Before I can fasten my seat belt, she’s backing out of the driveway.
“I need to get away from here for a few hours, is all.”
We drive to the highway in silence. She’ll tell me what’s going on in her own good time. Or not. We may be roommates now, but we hardly know each other. It could be that she’s moody, or at the very least a chronic antsy pants.
Regardless, the drive is nice and now that my column’s done, I have nothing better to do. In San Francisco, I’d hang out at Perk Up or go over to Mom’s. Or if Dex was amenable, meet him for lunch.
The trees are in full color, and it’s turned overcast as if it might rain. Only an hour ago, the sun was out, and summer seemed to be lingering. Still, the ride is beautiful. So many rolling, green hills with the Cascade Mountain range close enough in the distance that it almost feels as if I can touch it.
Kennedy turns on the radio and searches for reception until she lands on a local station. A country-western song comes on and she quickly switches it off.
We’re halfway to town when she says, “I need thirty thousand dollars.”
“What? Why?”
“Because if I don’t come up with it in the next twenty-four hours I’m going to be arrested and thrown in jail.”
I’m trying to absorb what she’s said when she abruptly pulls over to the shoulder of the road and kills her engine. “I’m not kidding. I’m in real trouble here.”
