Page 32 of Drawing Home
“You know, this hotelis not big enough.”
Emma looked up to find the old woman—Ms. Winstead. She was dressed in all black, a diamond brooch on her jacket. Her lipstick was a bright reddish orange, and the Hermès scarf around her neck featured the identical shade. She was probably only five foot five or so but something about her seemed towering.
She was the last person Emma wanted to see.
“Good evening, Ms. Winstead. Do you need something in your room?”
“I was saying, young lady, that this hotel is not big enough for the two of us. How do you expect me to sleep under this roof knowing there is a thief at the helm?”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Was she for real? Sadly, the answer seemed to be yes. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Ms. Winstead. But this is my place of employment and I’m happy to assist you if you need something.”
Across the room, the handsome couple disentangled themselves, stood from the couch, and walked arm in arm to the front door. Emma felt a pang.
Ms. Winstead leaned closer. “This will not be your place of employment for long.”
“Excuse me?” Emma said.
“I’m having a little chat with your boss tomorrow morning to make sure he knows he has a fox guarding the henhouse. I don’t think he’ll be pleased. Do you?”
“My mom sucks! She says I can’t sleep over. She’s sending a cab for me.” Penny rolled her eyes at Robin, who laughed on cue. They sat on the deck of Mindy’s house overlooking the harbor filled with yachts and sailboats. Penny couldn’t believe she had to leave when she was finally having fun.
“When?” Robin asked, as horrified as if Penny had said her mother was sending her off to do hard labor.
“At this point? A half an hour or so.”
“You can’t go! It’s so early.”
Penny nodded. She didn’t want to leave, despite the weird thing that had happened downstairs earlier in the night. For the first time, she felt like she fit in. It was so different than Memorial Day weekend. She’d felt bad that night, inferior, because she couldn’t help comparing Mindy’s place to her own ramshackle house by the railroad tracks. But thanks to Henry, everything had changed.
Well, almost everything. As much as Penny tried to enjoy herself, to let go and be like everyone else at the party, she couldn’t quiet her mind. The party was just Robin, Mindy, Mindy’s lapdog friend Jess, and a few boys from Pierson High, including one kid, Mateo, whose family was from Spain and whose older brother Nick was infamous for wrecking the Porsche convertible he’d gotten on his sixteenth birthday.
Penny joined everyone playing beer pong in the rec room on the third floor, but she kept leaving to wash her hands. She’d accidentally touched the bottom of one of her shoes when she’d taken them off to sit by the pool, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. When she came out of the bathroom the third time, she found Mateo waiting for her.
“Hey, you don’t like to share?” he said with a smile. He had very dark eyes, and there was a certain thrill to seeing them focused on her.
“Share what?” She hid her hands behind her back. They were dripping wet, because her OCD made it impossible for her to use the same towel all the other guests used.
Mateo put one hand against the wall and leaned his body in close to hers. “Whatever it is you’re doing in there. You have blow?”
She told him no, she absolutely did not. She didn’t have anything. Then he leaned in even closer and kissed her. She opened her mouth—was it to protest? And his tongue pressed inside. She jumped back, ducked under his arm, ran up the stairs to the first floor, and rushed out to the deck.
She was still trying to process it when Robin came looking for her.
“The taxi is here, but you still have time for this.” She handed her one of the white pills. “You might have to leave the party, but the party doesn’t have to leave you.”
“Thanks,” Penny said, pocketing it for her next dismal stint at the historical society. “You’re such a good friend.”
Emma had been working out her frustrations on Murf’s black-and-red dartboard since the summer she’d spent behind the bar there. It had once been a reliable cure for all that ailed her, as the original owner put it. Tonight, distracted by Bea Winstead’s threats, she was completely off her game.
The idea of Bea actually going after her job! And, worse, going after what belonged to Penny. She thought of Penny’s face the day she’d said, “Why does life have to suck all the time?” And what had Emma told her? That sometimes good things happened. Well, something incredible had happened. Now it was Emma’s job to protect it. And she would—no matter what it took.
Her previous two darts had lodged in the wall. She tossed a third. Total crap. She didn’t bother keeping score on the cracked green slate propped up against the wall on a bench. Someone else’s game was still etched in chalk underneath a logo that readTHE CRICKETEER.
A crowd of people walked in and she waited for them to go past her before tossing her next three darts. On the jukebox, Amy Winehouse’s “Back to Black” played. The door opened again, bringing in a rush of hot air. And an unwelcome face.
Please don’t see me.
He saw her.
