“Nope. Just visiting a friend.” She motioned to the door. “But he’s running late.”
“I didn’t know Sammy was back.”
“Sammy? This is Hugh’s place.”
“Uh, no.” He pointed to the apartment next door. “I live there. I’m pretty sure I know who my neighbor is.”
“But I’ve been in this very apartment. It’s Hugh’s.” She stood back from the door, reading the number. “Unless I got off on the wrong floor,” she said, pressing a palm to her forehead. “Idiot move on my part.”
He laughed as water dripped from his hair onto the flat carpet. “Don’t worry. It’s happened to me. What floor is your friend on?”
“Third. This is the second, isn’t it? I’m impatient that way.”
A perplexed look settled on his face. “Now I’m confused. This is the third floor.” He pinched his wet shirt away from his skin. “Unless your friend is the guy who’s been keeping an eye on his place. I just didn’t know he was using it to entertain.”
The way he said entertain was clearly meant to make Sylvia feel cheap. How rude. Hugh hadn’t said a word about this not being his apartment. It had to be his place. His clothes were hanging in the closet, for God’s sake. “Help me to understand. This apartment—number 305,” she said, slapping the door, “belongs to someone named Sammy who is currently out of town?”
The guy looked to his own place as he flicked a hand down his shirt, causing water droplets to scatter. “Yeah. That sums it up. Call your friend.” He gave her a helpless look. “Sorry, but I need to change out of these wet clothes. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” she muttered. What the hell was this? Was Hugh some kind of pathological homeless house sitter? She pressed his number on her phone.
No answer.
Probably best. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts. It could very well be that the wet neighbor was a lunatic.
She began typing.
Hey, babe. I waited for fifteen minutes, but I’m guessing you were delayed by the rain. Text me when you’re here and we can meet up. xo
Before she left, she snapped a photo of the apartment door. There was no decipherable reason for it, but her instincts were leading her, and she wasn’t one to ignore her gut.
As she rode down to the lobby, her eyes landed on the elevator buttons. The “P” glared at her. Why didn’t Hugh ever park in the structure? She’d asked once, and he’d told her he made a habit of avoiding underground parking structures because of earthquakes. An adorable quirk, she had thought when he’d explained it to her. But was it a lie?
Strike two against Hugh. The lie last night and now this. Sylvia’s pulse quickened.
There could be a perfectly logical explanation for all of this, she reassured herself. So what if Hugh was house-sitting? It wasn’t like that was a crime.
But what if she hadn’t looked at him carefully enough, given him enough credit? What if the guileless demeanor was an act?
She ducked her head as she darted into the rain. Her car was half a block away, and by the time she reached it, she was wet, though not as drippy as the man. Would it be worthwhile to sit in her car and watch for Hugh’s arrival?
Hell no. Her time was more valuable than that. She would hit the grocery store and pick up something for dinner. Keep busy. Waiting and watching for him would only dredge up bad memories. An image of herself as a child, her face pressed to the window, flickered and waved in her mind. Remember me? Do you see me here? I’m waiting, waiting, waiting. The word echoed in her mind, but she quickly extinguished the memory. That was the past. Never again would she wait as fear scratched her to shreds. She’d rather tear out her own heart and scatter the broken bits.
CHAPTER SIX
Water dripped from Riki’s hair as she tromped to her room to change out of her wet clothes. She wondered how it would feel to be the kind of person who didn’t care that Brandon was married. Because if she was being honest, she wished she could be the one who was peeling his coat from him and soaping him up in the shower, the way she had imagined Embry doing. She closed her eyes and pictured the way his mouth had curved into a smile when he’d said, Twirl, girl! Jeez, he was hot. And it was obvious he liked her. Not in a cheat-on-his-wife way, her brain rushed to add. Her eyes snapped open. She couldn’t be part of that. Ever. And he didn’t seem like a cheater. But it felt really good to know that he thought she was cool enough to dance with in the rain. That maybe in another world where Embry didn’t exist, he would ask Riki out.
Ugh! That was a horrible thought. She tugged off her shoes and tossed them to the floor. Embry was an amazing friend. The best. When Riki had moved in nine months ago, Embry had been like a ray of sunshine, stopping by with honey pops—homemade candies in the shape of beehives fitted on lollipop sticks—and a bottle of wine. She was sweet and funny and honest. And not someone she would betray.
She left her clothes in a pile on the floor and headed for the shower. Once she was scrubbed to a shine, she dried off with a fresh towel and put on her comfy flannel pajama bottoms and an oversize sweatshirt. The flannel was smooth against her legs—so much softer than the stiff jeans she’d worn all day with her pretty pink shirt. He’d really said that.
This wasn’t easy. Maybe she could ask Chris to come over. He’d mentioned going out, but hitting a bar on a rainy night wasn’t on her top-ten list of fun things to do. She turned on the TV for company as she headed to the kitchen. Before getting some cereal, she opened her laptop and sat at the table. Fourteen new emails popped up in rapid succession. The first was from Darcy’s mother.
Dear Miss McFarlan and Room Fourteen Families,
I’m writing today in response to the letter that was sent home in the children’s Friday folders about the leprechaun trap assignment, and I have some concerns. I’d appreciate it if you’d all weigh in.
I am not comfortable perpetuating this leprechaun lie. I don’t mean to come across as harsh, but do you realize the damage that can be done? If we as parents lie to our children about something that’s allegedly special and magical when they are at such a young and impressionable age, how are they expected to trust us in later years? Our children will find out about the lies one day, whether from another child, a movie, or maybe even a parent who has grown tired of keeping up with the charade. And where does that leave the child? Scared and confused. I strongly urge all of you to respond with your thoughts so we can make an informed decision about this “homework” assignment for our children. Miss McFarlan, I do hope you’ll be open to our feedback.
Sincerely,
Cassandra Trainor
Riki glared at the screen. What the hell? First the Cheerios shaming and now this? She shook her head, wondering why anyone would make a big deal about a little green man.
This was supposed to be a fun project. The kids would bring in their traps on the sixteenth, and the “leprechaun” would leave plastic gold coins and some green glitter on St. Patrick’s Day. He might even turn a few chairs upside down and scatter books across the classroom library. It had always been such a great event at Clover Street Elementary. She scrolled down, surprised to see that all fourteen emails had the same subject line.