Page 8 of Stay Close
“Speaking of,” he says. “That’s what the note is about.”
He hands it over and I scan it quickly. “...found late last night in the possession of…everything cataloged,cleaned, and pressed…” My brows lift. That was nice. “Unfortunately, your coat was not able to be located…”
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
I’ve spent my whole life buried behind a book, cramming for some test. Calculus at fourteen. AP Econ at twelve. Fundamentals of Rhetoric, Federalist Papers 1-6, History of the Near East. I trained like an Olympic athlete to get into Harvard, not daring to let up, even when I achieved my goals.
The coat wasn’t a coat. It was a symbol of all that hard work. Once the rent and taxes were paid and several years of contributions made to my 401K, it was the first stupid thing I ever splashed out on with my own salary.
“It’s not stupid,” Sara had assured me, leaning over it like a rare book seller, hands safely behind her back. “It gets cold in D.C.”
“When it’s cold you wear a parka from L.L. Bean, not a garment with its own registration number and adoption papers.”
“Edie,” she said, squeezing my cheeks in her hands, “we’ve gone over this. You’ve worked hard, and it’s okay to treat yourself.”
“Dead wrong,” I mutter.
“Me?” Lucas settles into a chair and looks me over, his gaze absorbing my unicorn goiter in a completely professional way. I can almost hear him running down a checklist in his brain, ascertaining the health and wellbeing of his client.
“My roommate,” I say, needing some kind of outlet. My words begin to come faster and higher. “What was I thinkingabout getting something so expensive? Hubris.” I shake my head. “It was hubris. From now on, I’ll learn my lesson. I’ll sock every cent I have into retirement and live off beans and boiled chicken. I told my roommate the coat was too much—”
“The coat? The coat from yesterday?”
I nod repeatedly. “That’s the one.”
“Did you want it?”
My shoulders lift. “Of course I did.” My distress is mortifying. “I dreamed about it.”
By some miracle, he doesn’t laugh. “Could you afford it?”
“Yes.”
“Then it wasn’t too much.”
I shake my head and the bun flops around. “I had to save up. I had to go on a waitlist. I should have invested in a money market fund.”
“Did you want to invest in a money market fund?”
The question snaps me out of a second spiral. “No.”
“Okay, then. Are we going to get you a new coat?”
I wave the letter. “She says it would be the pleasure of the Kingdom of Sondmark to replace it for the full purchase price.” I crush the paper over my face and hear him chuckle.
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“For one thing, I’m too ashamed to tell them how much it cost. That information has to be buried with me.”
“Who’s going to make you feel ashamed?”
I lift the paper away, meeting his laughing green eyes. A comforting middle-aged man in Bermuda shorts would be preferable right now.
Tearing my gaze away, I cast around for an answer. “My pilgrim ancestors. I’ll never be able to look them in the face. Do you think they survived the bitter winter of 1621 for me to be improvident and wasteful?”
When he smiles, I smile.
I’m not here to smile at Hot Bodyguard. I wave the letter. “For another thing, this is an obvious bribe.”
