She told herself she was looking for Chat, yet as she moved down the hall, she acknowledged a pull she couldn’t explain—as if there were answers and clues out in this mansion that could unlock something inside her, make sense of everything that hurt.
Intuitively, she knew where to go.
When Augie pushed through the double doors to the main suite, she felt momentarily weak, her knees buckling slightly, like when you’re dreaming and you fall. The room felt like a penthouse. The bed was huge and white with fluffy yet crisp pillows. The headboard was not a headboard but rather a pale blue expanse of wall that reached the high ceiling, an intricate chandelier hanging above like a web of Christmas lights. Low white tables anchored each side of the bed, and more delicate lights adorned the walls. There was also a sitting room with luxe cream couches and a glass table with lilies, a glowing vanity with rounded mirrors, and finally, an arched entryway to the bathroom, which reflected more glass and light.
Augie walked around the room in a somnambulistic state, touching vases of perfume, velvety throws, skimming her fingertips along the smooth white dressers. When she reached the bed, she sat down and fanned her arms out, stroking the impossibly soft duvet. As she lay back and stared up at the chandelier—a galaxy all its own—she felt Chat appear at the door.
He called her name, but she didn’t respond. Then he asked what she was doing.
Augie waited a few more seconds before she dragged herself to sitting. She looked at him as the lights above twinkled, refracting out around them.
“Sorry. I wanted to see everything.”
“This room is pretty cool. She showed me once on our first tour.” His tone was casual but forced as he stepped farther inside.
Sitting on the bed, staring out at him, the smooth white carpet between them, Augie couldn’t stop herself. “Do you like her?”
Chat moved forward. “What do you mean?”
“Do you like her? Mrs. Crawley. Do you think she’s a good person?”
“I don’t think she’s a bad person.”
Augie glanced to her side, catching her reflection in the mirror. She imagined Mrs. Crawley’s reflection in the exact same light.
“I don’t think she is. A good person.”
Chat ran his hand through his hair. He walked to Augie and sat down next to her.
“I know she can be cold at times.” He gripped the edge of the bed. “I get why you’d think that. She’s been through a lot.” He hesitated. “Her dad died when she was young, and she’s been divorced... and I get the feeling she’s just been hurt a lot. I think that’s why she acts like she does sometimes. Why she’s not overly friendly. Why she’s kind of anxious at the Club.”
Augie focused on her lap, tensing. She didn’t want to know any of this; she didn’t want to feel bad for Mrs. Crawley. And Chat was wrong: There was no way she wasanxious at the Club.
“I really shouldn’t be saying anything. Bill doesn’t know about the divorce, he’s religious, so please don’t say anything.”
Augie was, again, bothered by his concern.
“I trust you,” he added as if this was some big compliment.
Augie felt her mind and heart all tangled up, like the light fixture hanging above, and she followed the one instinct that felt crystal clear. She leaned forward and kissed him.
It felt like everything unlocked in that moment, the room disappearing around them. Their mouths were all over each other, their hands were all over each other—and soon both their shirts were off, Augie rolling on top of Chat as he lay back on the bed, his hands climbing over her jeans and up her spine. They moved in tandem as they kissed more intensely, inhaling each other.
But at the very moment she reached for the waist of his shorts—deciding she needed to be as physically close to him as possible—Chat’s wrist buzzed once more. They paused, still pressed together, before Augie pulled her hand away and they searched each other’s faces, waiting, listening. In their panting silence, they heard not Max’s, but Cooper’s voice from the hall. And, a second later, they heard what he was saying.
“Mommy! Mommy! You’re home!”
Chat stared up at Augie, his face blank, before suddenly, he scrambled out from under her, racing off the bed. Augie reached for her shirt from the floor as she stood, swiveling her head as Chat tugged on his shirt and rushed toward the door.
“Shit, shit, shit.” He raced back to the bed and used two hands to smooth the duvet, studying it with intense focus, before he finally looked to Augie, who’d realized her shirt was on inside out. She crossed her arms. Outside, they heard Mrs. Crawley tell Cooper she was sorry for waking him. Her voice was distinct—the door to the room was half open.
“Oh, fuck,” Chat whispered before inhaling a stifled breath.“Okay, it’s fine, come here.” He seemed to shift to flight mode as he grabbed Augie’s hand. “Okay, here’s what we do: You stay in the closet, and I’ll go talk to her. I’ll tell her to take Cooper to bed while I check on Max.”
Augie sensed he was talking to himself more than to her.
“Then when she’s gone, I’ll come back for you, okay? We’ll go down the back stairs.” Quietly, he opened a door to their side.
Augie could barely think as he guided her into the closet. She usually responded well to a crisis—once, when Augie and her friends were caught in a storm out on Lake Minnetonka, Augie had been the one to keep everyone calm and direct them to the closest dock; another time, when they were carving pumpkins and Fiona Palmer sliced her finger, Augie had been the one to wrap it up and drive them to the ER. But this was different. This time, it was her fault.
