Page 32 of The Cowboy and the Bombshell
I swallowed thickly. “They called it Toxic Dust, but that’s a really bland name for something that contained over two thousand contaminants. Jet fuel, concrete, glass, rubber. You name it, they breathed it. For days, months on end. Every volunteer, every first responder, every office worker that made their way back downtown as the world tried to carry on. They all spent their days in a poisonous cesspool.”
I chanced a glance at Stone, finding him watching me, his eyes wide and his face blank. I couldn’t read anything in his expression, so I turned my gaze back to my toes, finding it easier to talk now that I had started.
“When I was nine, my father started showing symptoms. My mom is a nurse, so she was pretty on the ball about these things. She had him in a doctors office quickly, but even then, it was close.” I could feel the tears threatening, but I made no move to hide them. My father deserved my tears. He deserved my pain. It was how I knew I had loved him.
“There are over fifty-five thousand people listed on the Word Trade Center Health Registry. They try to help, they do. But there is just not enough money to go around. And cancer treatment?” I scoffed humorlessly. “That shit’s expensive. Like, twelve thousand dollars a month, expensive. Add to that the wages my mom lost because she was taking care of dad, and it makes for a pretty bleak picture.”
I paused when I felt Stone’s hand on my shoulder. Turning my head to look at him, I rested my temple on my knees. I hated to see pity in people’s eyes when I told them about my father, but I didn’t see pity from Stone. I saw sadness and pain. He felt what I was feeling, and he shared my sorrow. I took strength from his touch and told him the rest.
“I was eleven the day we buried my dad. The cemetery was packed with his brothers and sisters from the department, all standing side by side in their uniforms. I remember thinking how nice they all looked, their white gloves so bright against their dark blue clothes.” I could still see it, the rows of uniformed officers, all there to say goodbye to my dad. I could feel my mom, squeezing my hand for all she was worth. “It really was a beautiful ceremony.”
“Penelope, I-”
“There is a lot more to me than just being from New York, Stone. I got my first job at thirteen, because between the bills and the medical debt, mom’s paycheck was tapped out, and it was up to me to make the grocery money. By fifteen, I was working two jobs to try and cover the utilities as well.” I could see the blood draining from his face, but I pressed on. “I can’t drive a car, Stone, because we never owned one. I got my license in drivers ed when I was in high school and that’s the last time I was behind the wheel. I earned a scholarship to NYU and started at the bottom at Pennington Hotels because the company holds a special place in my heart. I have struggled, sweat, and cried my way through life. I have worked for every thing that I have, and I am still fighting for everything I want.
“So, when you see me, Stone, try not to just see the things you think you want to see simply because of your own experiences.” I stood, looking down at him as he stared at me blankly. Gathering my shoes in my arms, I was moving toward the door when he called me again.
“Penelope.” I paused, then slowly looked over my shoulder to see him, standing, his arms hanging limply by his side. “I’m sorry, Penelope. Truly.”
I looked at him, his handsome face seeming so sad in the dark, and I sighed. “So am I, Stone. So am I.”
Carrying my shoes, I entered the house, hoping that a hot shower would help put this entire night behind me. Padding barefoot up the stairs, I paused when I reached the upstairs landing. My room was to the left, in the north wing and I started in that direction when a noise to the right drew my attention. I knew Stone and Silas were occupying the south wing, so it was no surprise when the door to Silas’ room opened.
What was a surprise was seeing Daphne slinking out of his room. Still wearing the club dress from earlier, Daphne turned and froze when she saw me, her eyes going wide and her mouth falling open.
“Uh, hey,” she said awkwardly.
“Hey, yourself,” I replied, raising my eyebrows, hoping she’d divulge a bit of information.
“So, if you could just, um, not mention this to Stone…”
“Got it,” I smirked. Daphne let out a relived breath, then gave a crooked little smile and a shrug and darted past me, headed to the room that was actually hers.
Looked like I wasn’t the only one with complications in my life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Stone
Shit.
How could I have been so wrong?
I felt like a complete asshole, which was saying something, because people generally thought that about me.
But this was bigger. I had taken one look at that woman and decided I knew everything about her just because of where she lived. And I hadn’t even gotten that part right. I judged her unfairly and treated her poorly because of it.
Which was ironic, because I hated when people judged me by my father’s last name. I hated when people heard that I was a Pennington and felt that they knew everything about my life because of it.
What an asshole.
I ran my hands down my face and blew out a big breath.
I couldn’t believe the story she had just told me. I mean, everyone knew about the attacks on September 11th, but down in Texas, we knew them in an abstract way. The way you knew about the First World War, or the Mount Saint Helen’s eruption. These were things that happened and, yes, they were tragic, but they hadn’t directly impacted my life in a real way. Sure, we had stricter security measures at the airport, but by now, it just felt like that was how it had always been.
But Penelope had lived through that horror. She had watched her father, his friends and coworkers, people she had known and interacted with her whole life, suffer the physical and emotional after effects of the disaster. I tried to put myself in her place, a seven-year-old child, waiting at home every day hoping that her father would return. Listening to the news and seeing the images and knowing that he was down there, digging through the damage, and wondering if he was going to make it back to them.
And then to have him survive all of that only to succumb to a related illness a short while later? That was a different kind of tragic.
