You Know I Need You (You Are Mine #4) - Willow Winters Page 0,56
step to the right, to knock on the only other option, the door opens.
In red silk pajamas and her hair in curlers, Samantha looks so different from any other time I’ve seen her. She wasn’t expecting company, that’s for sure.
Her expression is nothing but irritation at first, and then she recognizes me.
“Oh, hello,” she says, greeting me somewhat easily but with her lips pressed in a thin straight line as she stands up straighter. “Kat.”
I have to clear my throat before I can answer her. “Samantha,” I respond in the same stiff way. “I apologize for dropping by with no notice. I was hoping I could talk to you.” Clutching my purse with both hands in front of me, I add, “It’s about Evan.”
She crosses her arms, instantly on the defensive and I’m quick to add, putting on a bit of a show, “I’m worried about him. About the loss of his father and how he’s handling it.” The words are the truth and the emotion that comes with them is genuine. But I just want an in so I can get a better grip on exactly who this woman is … and maybe details on her estranged husband.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she responds tightly, still looking me up and down as she considers what to do with me.
“I know you’ve spent a little time with him and I was just hoping you could tell me how he is.”
She nearly flinches then has to take a moment before she can answer. As if she has no idea how he’s doing. Or maybe she’s shocked that I know she’s seen him, but it’s all over the papers, so why wouldn’t I?
Evan’s told me one side of this story, but there are always three sides … sometimes even more. In this case I’ll stay away from James, for Evan’s sanity, but I’m sure Samantha will have a thing or two to gossip about.
“Did you guys talk at all?” I ask her. My throat tightens as I add, “He doesn’t talk to me at all anymore.”
“Oh, God,” Samantha says, sounding exasperated and then tells me, “We didn’t talk about his father. I’m sorry.” She struggles to gather a response. “I’m sure it’s difficult and I understand you two are going through something, but I assure you that I’d like to stay out of it.”
With the creak of the heavy door, she attempts to close it, but I’m quicker.
My palm smacks against the door and I plead with her, “I just need someone to talk to. Please! If you could just let me in.”
My blood rushes in my ears as I wait, the door remaining right where it is, only slightly cracked. She opens it again cautiously, pursing her lips and appearing more irked than anything else. As she lets go of the door, it opens with my weight and she nods her head, letting me in.
“What is it that you want?” she questions as she walks with her back to me inside of the apartment. I close the front door myself and take the place in.
It’s a barren disaster.
I nearly ask her if she was robbed, but looking to my left at a cluttered kitchen I can easily spot a potential cause of the state of her place. Three small bags of white powder and a line wait for her. Right next to them is a colorful bag of pills. A mix of what could be Adderall and pain meds.
She turns with a smirk on her lips. “Like the place?” she asks sarcastically. “My prick of an ex made sure to sell all my belongings when I went out of town.”
“Oh my God,” I say, the words coming out in a whisper of disbelief and pity, neither of which truly resonate with me. There’s only a sofa in the living room, a sleek gray contemporary sectional. I imagine it would look beautiful if the living room itself wasn’t devoid of any other piece of furniture. She settles down onto one end and I take the other.
Glancing up at the chandelier I tell her, “I’m so sorry. I’m sure it was beautiful …” my voice trails off and she doesn’t say anything.
“You could go to the cops,” I offer her, and she laughs with ridicule. If she weren’t so arrogant, I’d feel sorry for her. With her cheeks sunken in and the silk pajamas baggy on her slim frame, she appears far less beautiful and enviable than I remember her.