Carrie glanced at her from where she was inspecting the fabric of the couch pillows. In her older, more sedate years, Carrie Page had gotten severely picky about her surroundings. All the art frames in her house with Jack were white or cream colored, the walls never darker than a storm gray, and every linen had to boast a thread count of at least a thousand.
Serene surroundings, serene mindwas Carrie’s mantra, which Dylan supposed was an improvement over the cacophony of Carrie’s younger rock and roll days, where eighty percent of the photos capturing Dylan’s mother featured smeared red lipstick and flaky mascara.
“You haven’t eaten?” Carrie said now.
Today was a rare day off from shooting—Gia’s wife being in town and all—and Dylan had no idea what time it was, but the light outside didn’t look brighter than nine or so.
“We ate on the plane,” Jack said, “but I’d love to get a cup of terrible coffee in this little hamlet.” He rubbed his hands together, and now Dylan panicked about where to take them.
Couldn’t go to Clover Moon, which was closed for a few days due to filming anyway.
Definitely couldn’t ask Ramona—couldn’t risk her parents realizing Ramona was all but twenty feet away. The last time Jack and Carrie met someone she was seeing, that someone got a recording deal and Dylan ended up saddled with a ten-thousand-dollar fine in damages.
She’d find somewhere—she knew there were a few other places to eat on Lake Street, though the idea of walking through downtown Clover Lake with her infamous parents made her want to puke. Still, she had to get them out of here.
Now.
“Five minutes!” she said, then rushed quietly to the hall bathroom,where she’d never been so thankful in all her life that she’d left some clothes on the floor when she’d changed for a swim the other day. She threw on the dirty cutoffs, bra, and a T-shirt featuring a skeletal hand on a tarot card with its middle finger lifted in the air. But even in her desperation, she couldn’t bear to pull on dirty underwear, so she just went without, hoped her morning breath wasn’t too noticeable, and yanked her hair into a messy top bun.
“Let’s go,” she said when she emerged.
“Brunch!” Carrie said, looping her arm through Dylan’s as Jack opened the front door.
“Whatever,” Dylan said. She looked back at her closed bedroom door, her heart crawling up her throat, but there was nothing for it. It was this or let her parents ruin everything.
“I’m so excited to hear all about your big movie,” Carrie said as she pulled Dylan out the front door and onto the sidewalk. As they walked under the summery morning sun, Dylan tried to focus on her mom and dad prattling on and on, but even with her lakeside house half a mile behind them, she couldn’t stop thinking about leaving Ramona.
It would be fine.
She’d text her. She’d text her right now. She dug into her pocket—
Her hand froze. Then dipped into her other pockets, front and back, but she already knew—she’d left her phone on the dresser in her bedroom.
“Fuck,” she said.
“What’s that, love?” Carrie asked.
Dylan didn’t respond as they turned onto Lake Street.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Ramona opened thedoor to Dylan’s bedroom, the flat sheet from the bed wrapped around her naked body.
She could’ve slept for hours longer—she didn’t think she and Dylan had fallen asleep until around four in the morning—but when she woke up to an empty bed, she didn’t want to be that girl who slept till noon the first time she stayed over. Besides, it was nearly ten already, and her stomach was growling.
“Dylan?” she called.
She blinked into the bright morning sun streaming through the front windows. Looked around for Dylan but didn’t see her anywhere. It was a small house, only two bedrooms and one hallway bathroom between them, and the kitchen, living room, and dining room were all one open area. There were only so many places Dylan could be.
“Dylan?” she called again, checking the other bedroom. The bathroom door was open, the space dark inside. She went to the front door, sheet dragging behind her like a badly designed toga, and stepped onto the empty front porch, nothing but two wicker chairs and a table between them. The morning was warm, a slight breeze that always blew this close to the lake.
Dylan’s rental car was in the driveway.
“Dylan?” she said, a little louder this time, just in case Dylan was out in the yard or checking yesterday’s mail or…
But the tiny cul-de-sac where the house sat was quiet, void of any neighbors out and about, and certainly void of any famous movie stars picking flowers or petting a neighborhood dog.
