“But?” Bea leads the conversation to where I don’t want it to go. But for her, I owe her truth. Always the truth with Bea.
“But I met him. I met himthatnight. At the bar. Before.”
“And? I know how that night panned out for you, so I’m going to assume you didn’t sleep with him.” She looks at me like I’m bullshitting her when I shake my head.
“I didn’t sleep with him, but we talked. Most of the night, we talked, and we had this attraction that was so…” I look up at the ceiling and groan. “Ugh, it was so swoony, and I kissed him. Or he kissed me, I can’t remember.”Yes, I can. He kissed me, and it was everything, but that’s more detail than Bea needs right now.
“Okay. So, when he approached you, what did you tell him?”
“Not much. I couldn’t deny that I was, well, me. Unknowingly, I crashed his engagement party. So really, he shouldn’t think about me again. He confronted me and I didn’t really confirm or deny anything. Maybe there’s a level of curiosity, because I’m clearly lying about my name, I sound different, and I’ve obviously changed my appearance. Maybe he doesn’twantto know anything and forget about me, especially if he’s blissfully happy with his fiancée.”
“Is he?”
“Is he, what?” I ask.
“Blissfully happy.”
“I don’t know. I don’t see why he wouldn’t be”
I continue blending my charcoal gray eyeshadow and add a bit more to the edges to darken it up. Bea sits on the end of my bed, eating her pistachios and fingering through files.
Blissfully happy.Who the fuck is blissfully happy, anyway? The words themselves are the most significant example of over-promising and under-delivering. With that thought, the wind picks up, and the long linen curtains hanging from the windows overlooking the main drag of downtown Strutt’s Peak fan out and into the room. It cools my skin, which has gotten a bit overheated. Talking about this has me nervous, the possibility of what it could mean. I know that I want to stay here; it feels like it’s where I’m supposed to be.
This town is its own version of perfection. The views from just about every spot I’ve been are incredible. I can only imagine how stunning it all looks once it snows. Right now, we’re living the best late summer life where not a single day is humid. And hot for this town is when the temp spikes to the high seventies. As soon as the evening hits, though, it gets chilly.
It’s such a welcome change compared to sweaty, humid summers on the East Coast, where late August means we dip into the nineties and stay there well into September. Subway grates and congested sidewalks would help it swell into the hundreds. I don’t miss the heat, but I do miss the small details of New York, the easiness of getting around the city, and the way the seasons changing meant something new and exciting was coming. Fall brought the promise of cozy food festivals. Winter brought Christmas at its absolute finest, from decorations to celebrations that lined every neighborhood. Spring brought the promise of warmth and summer, while summer in the city meant parks and outdoor movies. I never got to enjoy the last summer I was there. Never made it to the outdoor movie.
“Well, kiddo,” Bea says, snapping my attention back to what she was asking. “I can tell you right now that if it becomes an issue, then I’ll need to know about it. If he makes it a problem, you text the burner. I’ll come any time you need. It may seem insignificant, but all it takes is one person to know more than they need to know, and this starts to unravel. I’ve seen it. Lived it.” She finishes chewing her nuts and stands up. “I’ll do some more background work.” She fingers through her file. “He was Air Force. Top guy, too. Fairly decorated. Boys like that tend to follow rules.”
I outline my eyes with a black gel liner for the perfect wingtip. The secret is always in the tiny brush and the confidence of the movement. If you second guess it, it’ll look less pointed. It’s the same with thin lines for tattoos. Confidence in the movements mixed with the right level of pressure.
“What else does it say about him?” I nod toward her stack of files.
She flicks her eyes up to me. We look at each other in the reflection of the mirror. “No.”
I just laugh at her and try to brush off the fact that I’m as curious about Henry Riggs as he is about me.
“No. Don’t get involved with someone like that. He knew you. And while I’ll bet he won’t make problems for you right now, I can’t guarantee he won’t ever, if you decide to mess around. People are unpredictable after sex is involved. Not to mention, he’s in the news a bit. Granted, it’s minimal gossip sites and local, but you don’t need to be caught up in any of that.”
She stops talking, and that has me looking back at her. I know she wants to keep me safe, and I want that too, more than anyone.
“You need to hear me on this, G. Be careful with that family. They’re well-known, connected, so be smart. Keep your stories about your past as close to the truth as you can. And for the love of all things sane, do not fall into bed with any of them. Literally or financially. You need to keep them at an arm’s length.”
I nod. I can do that. And I can be smart about being friends with Everly. She’s the least gossiped about out of all the Riggs family.
“Now, I have some transcripts and photos that you need to look at for me pertaining to your case. If anything jogs a thought or memory, write it in the margins and we can talk about it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill,” I say as I line my lips with a nude-colored liner.
As part of an ongoing case and the kind of memory I’ve been cursed with, I’m their best option for finding who is responsible for the night that my life changed.
“My hunch is still telling me that it’s the Russian crew your dad had done some off-track betting with, but a hunch is nothing more than a feeling. And I can’t lock any bad guys up with either of those.” She moves toward my living room, and I follow her to the front door. “I’ll be back in a month. I mean it, kid, if anything feels off, you text or call. You’ve only been here for a bit. Don’t get too attached yet. We don’t know what the tourist situation will bring come the winter months.”
Knock. Knock.
Bea looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were meeting your date at the bar?” She tsks. “You know better.”
The light double tap knock happens again, and I realize I’m going to have to lie to whomever is on the other side about who Bea is to me.