A loud bang and splash followed by laughter came from upstairs and saved her from having to respond.
“Madam, we’ll get you sorted soon. I’d better get up there before we all float away,” her mom said, then left the kitchen.
“I’m off to clean this mess,” Sabrina said to Molly, before leaving her and Madam chatting in the kitchen.
If only the rest of her life could be washed away like drying margarita and the remnants of her dignity.
Sabrina stripped out of her stained bathing suit while standing in the shower, scrubbing at the red-tinged skin, before drying off and changing into a comfortable summer dress, which was loose and soft against her tense muscles. Looking in the mirror, she smoothed her hair into a ponytail and winced at the darkening skin around her eyes. That would never do for work.
She dug her makeup bag out of her still-packed suitcase and dumped it on the bed for the first time since coming home. She rarely wore more than a tinted lip balm and sunscreen, and maybe a bit of mascara and powder if she had to interview someone for work, but she owned nothing robust enough to hide the emerging purple. It would be worse tomorrow morning when she had to go to work.
She did the mental math on a trip to Walmart. Twenty-two minutes of round-trip driving. Ten, no, fifteen minutes to pick out a concealer. Five minutes to check out. She could be back home in forty-two minutes. She could handle forty-two minutes if she kept interactions with other people to a minimum. Forty-two minutes, then she could crash on her bed and shut out the world.
Next she grabbed her key chain and wallet, which contained a few dollar bills and her credit cards. All her tips went into the giant cheese-ball jug on her dresser.
As she settled into her car, she could see Mrs. Randolph’s door bulging where she’d put the duct tape. Every few seconds it would expand like it was breathing. Mr. Bennett was attempting another prison break.
She added a stop at the hardware store to her ticking clock. Sixty-five minutes.
* * *
Sabrina had made great time, catching all the green lights and avoiding slow drivers. A parking spot had waited for her near the door, and she already had the perfect concealer picked out, designed for maximum coverage. She’d even completed a quick search online for reviews to make sure it met the claims on the package—it did.
Internet research had always been her strength as a journalist. That, and the writing. She loved how the right words could reveal truths. It was the pushy part she hated, the way her mouth went dry and her stomach twisted every time she reached for her phone to call a source, the furiously thumping heart and flooding sweat when she met someone for an interview. Those should have been all the signs she needed to know she’d picked the wrong career. But that would mean admitting she’d amassed debt and wasted six years of education on a specific job. She wasn’t qualified for anything else. If she could be left alone with her computer, she’d be fine. At her last job, back in Washington, DC, she hadn’t even hidden it. It wasn’t layoffs that had gotten her fired; she’d missed one too many deadlines because she’d spent too much time scouring the internet rather than making a few quick calls. They’d lost out on an exclusive, and she’d lost her job. But how else was she going to get out of her hometown? She just needed enough money to make a dent in her bills and a new job as an excuse to leave.
Clutching the smooth tube of concealer, she joined the shortest line—only one person. Giddy with her success, she turned to pick up a candy bar. Standing right behind her was Ray from the waterpark, fully clothed, wearing glasses, and even more attractive. She couldn’t leave or switch lanes. She was trapped. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her now that she was showered and less red. Snatching a Twix while keeping as much of her face turned forward as possible to avoid him, she couldn’t resist a quick glance.
He was staring right at her, and recognition lit up his eyes. A genuine smile joined it, as if he was truly glad to bump into her.
“Hey,” he said. “Glad you’re all right. Your cookies were amazing. I wondered how I’d find you to return your container. I’ll have to start carrying it for when we run into each other again.”
Again? She hoped not. How did he have so much to say? Did he expect her to respond in kind? Wait . . . he had been thinking about her? Against her better judgment, that pleased her.
The cashier had scanned her two items, so she used that as an excuse not to answer him, instead pulling out a credit card. A few singles that had been jammed in next to the card fell to the ground. She just wanted to pay and leave. She quickly tapped her credit card before picking up the dropped bills, forcing a tight smile. Was that enough of a response?
The cash register made a sad beep, and the cashier turned her head to the screen.
“I’m sorry, your card was denied.” She said the words the same annoyed way a frustrated parent might scold the ice cream shop worker who didn’t add enough sprinkles to their spoiled child’s sundae.
Sabrina’s heart chugged, and a line of sweat formed on the back of her neck.
“I’ll try again.”
This time she shoved it into the chip reader. Maybe the tap didn’t work? Or there was a blip in the system somewhere? But the growing pit in her stomach knew better. She’d relied on her credit cards too much in DC. Did it have to catch up with her right here? This time, she and the cashier both stared at the screen, while Ray tactfully studied the gum selection. She wanted to pretend he wasn’t there, but he was like a giant handsome elephant in a tiny room.
The sad beep dinged again.
“I’m sorry. Do you have a different card? Cash?”
She looked at the two bills wadded up in her hand.
“Here,” Ray said, his card extended toward her.
Oh my God. He was going to buy her things, acknowledging that he was fully aware that her card had been rejected. Her wobbly knees made it clear she needed to leave before she lost all muscle control, but the good manners drilled into her by her mother won out.
“No, thank you.” Sabrina hoped she’d said the words loud enough.
She couldn’t meet his or the cashier’s eyes. With her gaze on the ground in front of her, Sabrina left the store, bumping into one other shopper on the way to the exit. She should have known better than to tempt her luck today. Bad things always happened to her in the Dells, though it seemed so much worse with a handsome stranger as witness to her humiliations.
6
Ray breathed through his mouth as he stood in the doorway of his uncle’s hospital room. Hospitals smelled the same, no matter where they were, the same antiseptic odor covering up the sadness and heartbreak, suffering and hope. It could have been lilacs bathed in rainbows, and Ray’s mother, Claire Jasper, would still make the same pinched expression as she looked around the small hospital room where Uncle Harry lay flanked by Ray’s parents and beeping machines. It wouldn’t be long now. His liver had finally flown a white flag after a lifetime of rich foods and frequent brandy, and it wasn’t pretty. Sometimes he’d be lucid, and other times he wouldn’t know where he was or who was there.