“He’ll be back later . . . early in the morning, but I’m glad he’s missing the storm.” I rest my hands on my knees, trying to keep my leg from bouncing. “What about you?”
“Do I travel?”
“No. I meant, do you have a boyfriend?” I stumble over my words. I shouldn’t make assumptions. “Or girlfriend?”
Elle opens her mouth, but, evidently noticing the absence of sirens, she puts a hand near her ear. “They stopped.” Clapping her hands, she grins. “I’m going to see about catching a bus.”
“I doubt they run during a tornado warning.” I flatten my fingers against the beige-papered wall to guide myself up to a standing position. “Please let me give you a ride. I don’t want you walking to the bus stop in this weather.”
“No, absolutely not.” Elle slides her hands into her pockets. “You’ve done enough.”
“Do you always take the bus?”
“Typically. That or I walk.”
“And your parents are okay with that?”
“My dad works nights, and someone’s gotta take care of the kiddos. It’s the easiest way for me to get around. If I’m in a bind, I can always ask my boyfriend.”
“Who do you know in this area?”
“Oh, in this neighborhood?” She raises her brows. “Nobody. I just like to walk around the lake and enjoy some peace and quiet.”
“Is your house really loud?” I don’t want to intrude, but I’m curious.
“You mean, do I have younger brothers and sisters?” She laughs. “Yeah, a couple. It’s never without drama when you have little siblings. Someone’s always fighting—either over bathroom time or the TV channel.”
“I’m not letting you walk home. I’ve got an extra raincoat that should fit you perfectly.” I stop at the hall closet and hand her a yellow jacket.
Elle replies, “You’re too kind.”
“Let me run and grab you a bag of cookies. I also made some peppermint bark the other day. Would you like some?”
Elle cringes. “Can’t say I’ve had flavored bark before.”
“Oh my gosh, no.” I bring a hand to my throat, chuckling. “It’s basically peppermint and chocolate, nothing from a tree.”
“Well, if it’s as good as the cookies, I’d be stupid not to try it.”
“If my mother were here, she’d be thrilled you think so highly of her baking.”
“She’s got a gift. I wish my mom were more like that—into cooking and stuff.” Rolling her eyes, she moans, “She’s still trying to get the hang of the microwave. Can your mom teach my mom some basic skills?”
“I wish she could.” My lip starts to quiver. “Sorry, I don’t mean to get emotional.” Inhaling sharply, I apologize. “It’s just . . . my mom died a few years ago, and it’s always hard when I make something she loved.”
Elle shifts from one foot to the other, toying with the zipper on the rain slicker. “I’m sorry to hear that. Losing someone is hard . . .”
“Have you lost anyone close to you?”
“No.” She bites her lip. “Fortunately not.”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“You’re lucky,” I say. “I’d kill to be that young again.”
An odd look crosses her face, something between a smirk and a frown. She tilts her head as if to rebut this, but instead, her mouth twists into a thin line. “I am lucky.”
CHAPTER 5
Elle
Give me a break, I yelp to myself, almost biting off my entire forefinger to keep from letting loose a string of cusswords. I can’t believe she’s trying to make me feel sorry for her.
I watch her test the locks on the front door, the windows, and the french doors in the kitchen. Must be the constant guilt you feel when you carry such a dark secret, I think.
She has no idea that her worst nightmare is standing in her living room. Not to mention how easy it was for me to pretend I’d been caught in the downpour.
I follow her out to a mudroom that leads to a three-car garage. Inside the cavernous stalls, a charcoal Jeep Grand Cherokee is parked next to a bunch of lawn ornaments and a mower. A couple of boxes are pushed against the wall, and gardening tools are scattered on a shelf, along with household supplies.
The other two stalls are empty.
After opening the passenger door and climbing in, I casually ask, “What time does Noah come home?”
“Uh, I think his flight gets in around nine.” She scratches her head. “He never needs a ride, so I just wait for the sound of the front door.”
“Does he have to travel a lot?”
Charlotte starts to nod her head, then stops, her eyes trained on the backup camera.
“Do you get to go with him at all? I bet there are some neat places he gets to visit.”
“I guess I could . . .” She taps her fingers on the steering wheel. “He doesn’t seem to have a lot of downtime, so I would just be on my own.”
The color of the sky is eerie, the moon hidden behind the clouds, which are tinged against the darkness with a greenish-gray pallor. I hope the sirens don’t make a reappearance tonight.
Charlotte interrupts my scrambled thoughts. “Your name,” she says. “Is that short for anything?”
“No, my mom was obsessed with the model Elle Macpherson, even though I look nothing like her.” I grin. Her face darkens when I say this.
“The name suits you, except you look like a young Claudia Schiffer.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, unsure who that is. “What about you—is Charlotte a family name?”
“I was named after Charlotte Brontë.”
“I was going to guess Charlotte’s Web.” I don’t add that with her web of deceit and lies it’s a fitting name. Instead I say, “Author, right? Little Women?”
“No.” Her disappointment at my unfamiliarity with dead novelists is noticeable on her pinched face. “She was most famous for Jane Eyre.”
“Do you have any children?” I ask. “I thought I saw you carrying a baby blanket.”
“We are, I mean, we will, someday soon, have kids.” She points to the radio. “How about some music? Pick whatever you want.”
Turning the dial, I find some Top 40 music and stare out the window as the wipers squeak across the windshield and the water splashes under the tires.
“Which direction should I go?”
Pausing, I point to the east. “Take a left up here. Get on the freeway and exit at Elmore.”
“Elmore?”
“No,” I hurriedly say. “Sorry, I meant Larchwood Avenue.” She seems relieved. Elmore’s a rough area with a lot of crime and is a heavily drug-trafficked part of town.
“What does your father do for work?”
“Drug dealer,” I deadpan. A look of wonder crosses her face. “Kidding,” I say. “He’s a doctor, an ER doc.”
“Good for him for helping people.” She visibly relaxes. “You almost got me.”
“Which hospital?”