Chapter Two
I get to the Emerald late that evening, the sun streaking over sloping hills of dark moss. In the morning the sunlight will sparkle off the dew, which is what gave the house its name. Originally built as a vacation home for a powerful industrialist and a real-life Spanish princess, the house was eventually converted to a luxury hotel.
And then purchased by Gabriel Miller as an outright gift for Avery James.
A place for her to be safe and comfortable while she continues her graduate studies. A place for her to call home, to replace the one she lost. The hotel is still operational, only the top-floor penthouse reserved for Avery.
Gabriel still has a mansion in Tanglewood, but this is owned by her.
When I first came to Smith I lived in the dorm rooms with all the other freshman, but I have a hard time relating to the girls with their platinum credit cards and prep school backgrounds. Avery offered me permanent residence in one of the other suites, but that wouldn’t feel right either.
Instead I started working in the kitchens and found a room reserved for on-site staff members. I’m much more comfortable among the waitstaff and line cooks and maids than I am upstairs.
I slip through the back door, past the bustle of the kitchen where Lorenzo shouts orders among the clamor of pots, past the steaming laundry room, into the dark narrow corridor. This used to be where servants slept, back when this was a single household. It’s not so different now that I live and work in the kitchen part-time in exchange for rent.
I’m the modern-day servant, even if I am friends with the lady of the house. My cell phone buzzes as I drop my backpack on the twin-size bed. A text message from Avery. Let me know when you’re done. I want to go to the library.
The Library isn’t a place we go to study. It’s a coffee shop by day, a bar by night. Basically where everyone hangs out when they aren’t on campus or out clubbing. It’s also a sweet compromise for when we want to loosen up, without actually joining the party scene.
I text her back. Phone call tonight. I’ll text when I’m done.
Then I flip open my notebook to keep working on the elasticity question, my phone faceup on the desk. For an hour I lose myself in linear equations and minimized surplus, finding comfort in the hard challenge of them, the struggle that always comes before revelation. In some ways it’s not the solution I want, not the oasis; it’s the mental test of endurance, a long trek through desert sands.
A knock comes at the door, startling me. I open it to reveal Avery, dressed in skinny jeans and a deep green cable-knit sweater that brings out her hazel eyes.
She frowns a little. “I was worried about you. The calls don’t usually last this long.”
I glance at the clock, my stomach clenching when I see the time. “He never called.”
Ever since I left Tanglewood, ever since Daddy went to work for Damon Scott, he’s called me every week like clockwork. As if it’s part of his new job, and maybe it is. I wouldn’t put it past Damon to keep tabs on me through him. Then again, that’s probably pride talking. Maybe even perverse wishful thinking, because part of me wants to keep tabs on him.
But Daddy doesn’t say much about it. I doubt Damon has ever even asked him about me. Our conversations are short and tense, both of us holding back more than we’re saying. He hasn’t missed a phone call in three years. Even when he caught the flu last winter, he called, hoarse and miserable.
Some worry must show on my face, because she says, “We don’t have to go out. I’m tired anyway.”
Such a people pleaser, but her eyes couldn’t be more clear. This girl isn’t tired. She wants to go out. And why shouldn’t she? For that matter, why shouldn’t I?
“We’re going,” I say firmly, grabbing my phone. “I’ll call him on the way.”
I take a moment to look at myself in the dresser mirror, the brown eyes considerably more tired than Avery’s, definitely more wary. The chapped lips and windburned cheeks. This is what Professor Stanhope saw? He really must be interested in my mind.
With a sigh I swipe some lip gloss so it looks like I didn’t stumble in from a major exam, and drag my hair into a ponytail, which is a lazy version of dress-up hair. It falls down my back in shiny blonde curls as if I had anything to do with it.
Then I grab my coat and phone, pulling Avery along.
“I’ll call Gabriel while you do yours,” she says, falling beside me.
It’s a fifteen-minute walk to the Library. We could use Avery’s car and driver, but that takes almost as long through the heavy foot traffic around campus. Plus it’s crazy conspicuous.
We head down the lit sidewalk, well-groomed flowers on both sides.
She pulls out her phone and hits speed dial while I do the same.
I put the phone to my ear. Ring ring ring. And then my father’s voice: It’s me. Leave a message and I’ll call you back. It makes me smile because that’s so much like him.
And then I frown. Something serious must be happening.
Don’t freak out, I tell myself. Missing one call out of a hundred doesn’t mean anything. His phone battery probably died or something like that. No big deal. I swipe the red circle to end the call.
Biting my lip, I contemplate my phone wallpaper, an abstract swirl of nothing.
I type a quick text before I shove the phone into my pocket. Missed you. Call me when you can.
It feels a little strange to even say that much. Missed you. Like I’ve revealed something unsavory. Like I’ve put ammunition in an enemy’s hand. Maybe normal kids tell their father they love him. Maybe other dads say it back. We’re anything but normal.
Avery’s still on the phone. “We’re going to have a drink. Some dinner.” A pause. “Yes, at the Library. No, we didn’t take the car.”
I can hear a low sound, Gabriel’s voice through the phone. Though I can’t make out the words, I can guess what he’s saying. You shouldn’t be walking alone at night.
“I’m not alone,” she says, proving my guess. “Penny’s with me. There’s safety in numbers.”
There’s safety in numbers.
Her words bounce around inside me, held inside by my skin, by every wish and hope and fear too real to name. That’s what I’ve always believed, what I’ve always wanted to believe. The reason I should fall into Professor Stanhope’s arms, no matter how inappropriate it might be.
Beyond the glow of the lamps, pitch-black night presses in. Anything could be out there. Anyone. I’m not sure we’re safer in ones or in twos. I’m not sure we’re safe at all.