toward me briefly, eyes cast downward. “I need to think about it.”
Before I can respond, he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and takes off down the hall. When he passes my mom and the young ginger-haired guy she’s with, he says something briefly, a stiff nod of his head, and then he’s gone, disappearing around a corner.
Dammit. None of this is going right.
Now I have to deal with my Mom, strutting in here on the arm of some young-and-pretty dude in topsiders and a pastel polo shirt, in front of God and everyone.… It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know he’s the reason she wasn’t answering her phone this afternoon.
So, yeah. Think I’ve filled my drama quotient too. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of walking away from my supremely messed-up family.
Not yet, anyway.
NO SENIOR DISCOUNTS—YOU SHOULD HAVE THE MONEY BY NOW: Handwritten sign in the window of the kitschy and beloved Revolutionary Doughnuts in the South Harbor district. The always-packed doughnut shop is popular with both locals and tourists. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)
Chapter 9
My mom’s ginger-haired boy toy turned out to be a real estate agent named Hayden Harwood. After Lucky left the hospital, Mom was too worried about extracting Evie from the public restrooms to question pesky details, like why I was dressed up and carrying my portfolio. Or why the person I was specifically forbidden to hang around was very much hanging around the hospital when she arrived. You know … stuff like that.
When we got ourselves sorted, Hayden carted us girls all back into town in his insanely big, insanely expensive SUV and dropped us off at Mom’s car … which was stuck in a hotel parking garage, because Mom couldn’t find her parking ticket?
Okay …
Their story was patchy, at best. Hayden’s a whole lot younger than Mom, cockier than he should be, and not at all uncomfortable with the elephant in the room—the fact that he was Mom’s so-called “afternoon errand.” Honestly, I don’t even care. Evie’s not speaking to me, and I’m too stressed about that. So when we finally get the Pink Panther out of the garage and end up going our separate ways at home—Evie to rest in her room and me to develop film in the bookshop’s stockroom—I’m happy not to discuss the matter with Mom. I’m sure she’s relieved too, because every time she tries to talk to me, I politely find a way to excuse myself and thereby avoid any kind of Hey, kid. Sorry I wasn’t there when you girls needed me speech.
What’s the point of apologizing if you’re just going to keep doing it? Besides, if she apologizes to me, then she’ll be able to ask me about my elephant in the room: Lucky Karras.
And I can lie about why he was at the hospital. I guess I’ll have to. But if she doesn’t ask me, then I won’t have to say anything. Which would be easiest for both us. I mean, after all, that’s what she’s taught me, right? If you pretend it never happened, it’s not really a lie.
That’s what she tells herself.
So that’s what I tell myself, too.
The next day, the mood at la Maison de Saint-Martin is still strained but getting better. Evie is talking to me, but she’s prickly and a little reserved. Not her usual I’d Like to Haunt a Gothic Castle reserved; she’s definitely still holding a grudge. For the first time, I realize that maybe it’s not just me that she’s mad at. I think Evie and her friend Vanessa are fighting about the wreck. Maybe Vanessa hates Adrian too; if so, I like her a little more.
Mom puts on an extra-bright pink lipstick and a fake cheery face, trying to ignore the weird vibes. I can’t do that. I know what Evie tried to do for Lucky in going to talk to Adrian. What she tried to do for me. Now she’s not only physically bruised from a car accident, Adrian has messed up his rowing season at Harvard and totaled an expensive car. I mean, just look at the cost of this lie. I’m leaving a path of total destruction around my family and this community.
I’m a walking tornado.
I can’t repair that damage right now. But I can try to make up with Evie.
Revolutionary Doughnuts sits across the street from us, about a block down. I definitely don’t need to pass by Nick’s Boatyard to get there, but when I check the usual spots for