Autumn’s cheeks flush pink. “It would have been a fun night. But we’ll reschedule. Jenny will get her moment.”
“Este needs your help,” Nora chimes in.
Right.
“Sure.” Autumn nods. “One second. I don’t think Ms. Dowling got the cancellation email.”
She’s looking past us now to a figure standing in the door, and at the mention of Ms. Dowling, I spin around.
Polly.
I haven’t had time to think about how Polly’s doing rightnow. As Autumn goes to greet the stern-looking woman, I’m quick behind her.
“Hi, Ms. Dowling,” Autumn greets her sweetly. “I’m so sorry, but we had to cancel because of the storm. There was an email, but it might have gone to Ford.”
Ms. Dowling is holding a gift bag, and the multicolor tissue paper sprouting from the top is an ironic contrast to her permanent scowl.
“Oh,” she says, and I get the impression Dowling even reads nursery rhymes to infants in that stern tone. “Well, that’s too bad for Jenny. I was coming to share a gift from Polly along with her regrets. There was a death in the family last night. Mr. McGinnis and Polly are home today.”
Somehow the words—formal and sterile, as Ms. Dowling is wont to be—hook into me and tear a hole in the center of my chest.
I can still picture the hopeful pride Polly looked up at Simon with, and she had to sit next door while the police studied the finality of finding him in my pool.
I hate knowing Polly is curled up in a ball somewhere right now grieving. At least she’s with Ford. He’s a good dad. That much was apparent in the way Polly kept looking to him last night—for a joke or some signal of approval.
I was probably a little too hasty to suspect him.
“I’ll make sure she gets this.” Autumn graciously accepts the bag, and Ms. Dowling says her goodbyes.
I stand there for a moment, watching Nora and Autumn go back into the ballroom while Ms. Dowling walks out. And I know I need to get to Carol’s house quickly, but I can’t resist chasing after Polly’s nanny.
“Is she okay?” I ask as I catch up to her in the hall. “Polly? She must be devastated.”
Ms. Dowling takes a moment, and the pause feels heavy, like she’s considering what it is to watch a child be confronted with the cruelty of the world.
“She’s going to be okay,” she says finally. “You should comeby the house and check on her when you can. I’m sure she’s going to need you.”
“What?” I blurt out, my thoughts faltering. “You’re not mad at me? For breaking into Ford’s garage?”
This makes her laugh. “You certainly dance to the beat of your own drum.”
What a very nice way to say “I think you’re batshit crazy.”
“But so do most people around here,” she continues. “And whatever your reasons for poking around in Mr. McGinnis’s golfing equipment, I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for you after you took Polly out to TP Carol’s house.”
She knew?! While I was trying to keep Ford from finding out, Dowling knew.
“Does Polly know you know?”
“No way.” She rocks back on her heels. “I can’t let her think it’s okay. Someone’s got to be the stick-in-the-mud that keeps her going to bed on time and turning in her homework. But a little trouble is good for her. It helps build character—and grit. And after seeing the things people around here get up to, you could do a lot worse than nicking a few ball markers.”
A smile blooms across my lips. “She had a lot of fun.”
“Good.” Then, her face hardens, and she wags a strict finger. “Just promise you’ll never do it again.”
“Adding it to the list of things I won’t do again.” I salute.
“And do check on Polly.”
