Page 61 of Allure

And asking Declan just seems like a bad idea too. He has so much to deal with as it is between school, karate, and his internship.

Although I can’t say I’m a fan of Detective Rivera. He never did call me back again, and I left him a second message. I get that he’s busy chasing down leads, and maybe there’s no new information I can give him, but still, I want to do whatever I can to help, yet I feel like I have one arm twisted behind my back, and I haven’t been taught how to get out of that particular move.

To make matters worse, I’m sure that this story is going to go national soon, and then my mom is going to find out, freak out, overreact. I don’t want to deal with her right now.

The next afternoon, I'm supposed to be getting work done, but instead, I'm doodling, nothing major, just some designs, when there's a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Eliza pops her head in. “Hey, how are you?”

"I'm good," I say, even though a more truthful answer would be that I'm worn almost down to the bone. I've still been going to karate five days a week, and sometimes I'll watch a class beforehand or after, depending on the day, before heading over to the grocery store, and I am ready to drop.

“Are you? I’ve been reading about that mugger. Dawn mentioned it.”

I grimace.

“Kaylie’s an atheist, but I do believe in God. Even I have to admit that when something bad happens to my family or my friends, I have a harder time believing, though. Why would a loving God allow bad things to happen to good people? I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I just want you to know that you’re a good person, and I’m behind you one hundred percent, but…”

She hangs her head, her long dark hair falling forward to cover her face like a curtain, but then she lifts her head, her piercing dark eyes seeing straight through me.

“I’ve been watching you at lunch and dinner. You’re there, but you aren’t there. You don’t talk much, and you always seem distracted. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it to anyone, but seriously, if you want…”

Eliza taps her left ear.

“You can talk into this ear, and I won’t hear you at all,” she says sweetly. “You can get whatever it is off your chest, and even I won’t be the wiser.”

I want to laugh because that is so damn sweet of her, but I don’t because I’m afraid she’ll think I’m laughing at her.

“I appreciate that,” I tell her sincerely. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that, but for now, do you prefer flowers or butterflies?”

“Butterflies,” she says instantly. “Why?”

I flip over the piece of paper and start to doodle a butterfly. The wings aren’t exact matches, but I don’t know if butterflies have truly identical wings. I use shading to color in the wings some.

“That’s pretty,” Eliza says.

“Yes, pretty. My art will never be masterpieces, but I’m okay with that.”

“Your art is a work in progress.”

“Aren’t we all?” I mutter.

“What was that?”

“We all are.”

“Yes. We’re all a bit Humpty Dumpty, aren’t we? Gluing ourselves back together, finding a way to be put back together no matter what happens to us. You’re strong, Brooke. No one can deny that, but that doesn’t mean you have to face this alone. We’re stronger together, okay? That’s really all I wanted to say.”

“You’re a sweetheart, Eliza.”

“I don’t have a black heart.”

I giggle.

She lifts her eyebrows. “That’s not what you said.”

“Sweetheart. I called you a sweetheart.”

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