“Almost twenty-four.”
“Almost twenty-four,” Dr Normal said patiently. “But Cheryl’s a bit older than you, isn’t she?”
Patrick’s face froze. Cheryl felt like a veil had been ripped away. Any hope she had that maybe Dr Normal assumed she and her son were about the same age, gone in a puff of smoke. Panic licked up her insides. The airplane was in a death spiral, impact imminent.
Patrick turned his back to her. “Does that matter?” he asked his mother.
She heard Dr Normal laugh. An easy kind of laugh. “No, I trust you. But Cheryl might want to get married and have kids soon.”
Her whole body shimmered like a mirage. She’d been wrong, there were more veils to tear away. Bones to be revealed. And then Patrick turned back and looked her right in the eyes. “That’s okay, Mum. So do I.”
As Dr Normal exclaimed in delight, Cheryl walked away from Patrick, her legs feeling like rubber. She dropped into her balcony chair, her lungs tight. She was going to New Zealand with Patrick Normal. As his girlfriend.
13
One year and a half before the yacht party
Rain battered Cheryl’s apartment windows, but inside everything was warm and cozy. As the credits rolled on The Haunting of Molly Hartley, she glanced across at Patrick. He looked like he’d sat on a thumbtack. “Even by our standards, that was dogshit.”
“It sure was. Popcorn before Book of Shadows?”
“Why not?” Patrick stretched, lifting his t-shirt and showing off his tanned abdomen. “It’s bulking season.”
Cheryl slapped his stomach. It felt like a brick wall. “Show-off.”
“What can I say? I’m a sexy hog.”
“One fine piggie.” She stood and stretched herself, knowing her knit dress covered all her sexy parts. “Back in a sec.”
“Sure. Actually, hang on.” He leaned over the back of her couch. “Why don’t we get dinner? Go to that Mexican place?”
“Sit down properly! The couch is two seconds away from breaking.”
“As if. Seriously, dinner?”
Cheryl buried her face in her pantry. She was supposed to meet Klaus, the divorced barrister, in his hotel bar at eight. “Um, I dunno.”
“The Mexican place does strawberry margs. You love strawberry margs.”
“No, you love strawberry margs.”
“Yeah, but when you’re with me, it looks like they were your idea.”
“Brave, Patrick. Real brave.”
“I know. How heroic can one man be? If you don’t want to go out, we can order in? Get the margs in those takeaway jars?”
She winced. All her instincts were screaming at her to ditch Klaus and have a cozy night in, but she had a rule about never cancelling a date to hang out with Patrick. She’d made it when they first started hanging out, and she’d never broken it. Ever.
“I think I was supposed to do something,” she told the inside of her pantry. “Just let me check.”
She pulled her phone from her pocket and found the message from Klaus.
I’m so aroused to see you tonight. I’m think I’m addicted to y9ou!
Cheryl wrinkled her nose. It was a common old guy problem—being bad at texting. But Klaus was pretty nice. Maybe she should go out with him, and more importantly, not break her rule.
“Anything on?” Patrick asked.
