8 Days Left
I get maybe two hours of sleep before my alarm goes off, and it’s awful, those few seconds of consciousness when my brain tells me,Edie’s got it, you can sleep a little longer.
And then I remember that Edie is currently lying in a hospital bed ten miles up the road and once again, it’s just me. Alone.
But when I manage to drag myself through the back door of the inn just after six, it turns out I’m not alone.
Lo is sitting on the couch in the lobby, and for the first time since she’s shown up in St. Medard’s, she looks, if not her age, at least close to it. The early morning sunlight highlights the creases by her eyes, the deeper grooves framing her mouth.
She’s wearing a baby-blue satin robe over a white cotton nightgown, and when she sees me, she leaps up. “Oh my God, honey, how are you?” she asks, rushing over to me.
I let her fold me into a hug, but only for a second, hoping she doesn’t notice the way I tense up when her arms go around me.It’s easier in the bright light of day to believe that she couldn’t have had anything to do with Edie’s fall. That it was exactly what it looked like, a simple slip that turned into something more serious. But I can’t forget how she’d glared at Edie yesterday, how hard her eyes had been, even as her pink lips stayed curved in a smile.
“I’m fine,” I lie, going over to the front desk and wiggling the mouse to wake up the computer monitor. “I mean, I’m tired and I’m worried about Edie, but physically, I’m okay.”
“How is she?” Lo asks, her voice smooth like syrup. I look up, searching her face for some clue, for anything that might tell me if she’s being sincere right now.
But I don’t know her well enough for that, and even if I did, something tells me that Lo got very good at hiding what she might be feeling a long time ago.
I repeat what the doctor told me last night, adding that when I called the hospital earlier this morning, they said there hadn’t been any change, good or bad.
“As long as she’s not getting worse, that’s the main thing,” Lo says decisively, then glances out toward the porch, pulling her robe tighter around her. “I can’t imagine what she was doing out there. Especially in that weather.”
“Neither can I,” I reply, but the words come out too flat, too blunt.
Lo’s head swivels back to me, and I feel her eyes move over my face as I look back down at the computer. Then she says, “Did you talk to August when you got back?”
I’ve got nothing to feel guilty about, and yet weirdly, that’s the oily emotion that unfurls in my belly at her question. The memory of his mouth on mine is suddenly so vivid that I feel like I’m probably projecting it directly into her brain.
“It’s just that I heard him leave his room sometime aroundtwo, and he didn’t come back until nearly four. I wondered if he’d decided to wait up for you.”
“He did, yeah,” I say, letting my gaze flick back down to the computer like it’s no big deal, like I’m only half paying attention. “He was worried about Edie.”
“And you, I’m sure.”
My eyes shoot back up. Lo is still watching me with that faintly appraising gleam, and I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice when I say, “He was, yeah. He’s a good guy. We’ve become friends. Or at least friendly.”
“Is that all you are?”
There’s a sharpness in her tone that I haven’t heard directed at me before, and it makes me straighten up to my full height, my arms folded over my chest. The lack of sleep and the worry have left me jagged, an open wound. “Lo, if there’s something you want to say about me and August, please just get to it. I have a lot to do this morning.”
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea, is all,” she says, almost breezy as she shrugs and fiddles with the belt of her robe. “You and him.”
I almost laugh out loud at her frankness. “Wow. Okay. Any particular reason why?”
“For one, I know his type,” she says. “He’s charming and sweet, and smarter than any man that pretty should be, but at the end of the day, the only person he’s ever really gonna love is himself.”
“Are you describing August or Landon?” I ask, and she jerks her head back, blinking.
It’s the first time I’ve seen Lo caught off guard, but it doesn’t last long. “Ooh, Ellen Chambers’s Little Girl has somebiteto her. Good for you, baby!”
“I’m just saying, I’m not sure you know August as wellas you think you do,” I say. “You just met him, what? A few months ago? And only because you wanted someone to write your book. It’s not like you’ve been best friends or… orlovers, or whatever.”
Lo’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “I didn’t want him to write my book.Hewanted to writemystory.”
A lie, I know. August told me himself that she was the one to reach out, and why would he make something like that up?
But Lo is already waving it away. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, I’m telling you, you don’t want anything to do with that boy. I’m just giving you the same advice your mama would—”
