Sophie hurries into the kitchen, where she picks up a chair and shoves it under the knob of the back door. Just in case.
When she comes out, her dad walks over and leans down so he can look her in the eye. “I promise you, we’re safe.”
She studies his face, and she can feel her heart rate slowing just from the weight of his hands on her shoulders. She collects herself and says, “Whose things are in my closet?”
There’s a moment when Sophie can see him thinking. He gives her an extra hard squeeze that feels unintentional, a kind of instinctual reaction to ground himself at her words. “They’re yours, aren’t they?”
“No.”
“Huh,” he says.
“What about the journal?” she asks. “How did that get there?”
“Journal? I don’t remember a journal.” He rubs at his neck, searching her face. Then he digs his fingers into his eyes, looking suddenly exhausted. The creases on his forehead that were once the cornerstone of his whole expressive personality have deepened over time into permanent folds. Two pockets of skin rest on top of his cheeks.
“Are you okay, Dad? I mean here, on your own?” She asks it gently.
With no hesitation, he pulls her toward him in a robust embrace. His barrel chest and strong arms grip her so she can’t move.
“I’m the dad. Let me do the worrying.”
She allows herself to relax into him.
Later, though, when she’s lying in bed, something occurs to her. The way he rubbed at his neck. It’s what he does when he’s hiding something.
24Elena
Early-morning light heaves through the naked window.
Phillip Granger lies next to Elena on his back, blond furry legs tangled in silvery sheets, dehydration crusting the corners of his lips. She slips out of bed, praying he doesn’t wake.
Last night, after she spoke of Quinn to a room full of strangers, Elena felt herself check out. She tried to refocus, keeping Phil interested in her with her questions about his favorite topic. Himself. She even mentioned the wordgeniusand nearly gagged. By then, she still hadn’t mentioned her demo reel. More whiskey was poured.Fuck it, she thought. If there was ever a night to get drunk and see what happened, this was it. She texted Gael to make sure he was okay and Barbara to apologize.Stay, Barbara wrote back.Enjoy. Gael and I are fine.
She checks her phone now, grateful she doesn’t see anywhere are youtexts from her son. Joey and Sophie messaged the group thread, though, both saying they have something they want to talk about and agreeing to meet at the coffee shop. Elena punches out a reply. She needs to see Gael and shower before she goes anywhere. It takes her a minute to find her underwear, which is tucked beneath a pillow. The rest of herclothes are in a pile by the door. She tugs them on quickly, wincing at the sudden throbbing in her head. Way too much whiskey. She fishes through her purse and plucks out two Advil. Extra strength. She gags but gets them down eventually. She would kill for some water right now.
She pads out of the room and closes the door silently behind her. Daylight crashes through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
In the kitchen, she fills a glass from the tap all the way to the top and drinks it in one go. Her stomach sloshes, but after a minute, she feels an ounce better. She fills it up again, taking her time with this one, confident Phillip Granger will not be waking up, offering to make her breakfast. She remembers snippets from the night. His woolly hands on her waist, his wet lips, the way he pulled her hair a little too hard. He was clumsy and overconfident, the worst combination. Nausea moves through her, and she takes a steadying breath.
Glass in hand, she wanders over to the bookshelf near the leather couch. Her finger traces the spines of old books. Some look like first editions. She’s not very literary, so she doesn’t recognize any titles, but these old books are out of place in a room that could otherwise be a contemporary art museum. She finds the glass sculpture she saw last night and admires it again. Three peaks. It really is beautiful, she decides, the cloudy pastel colors like mountains cast in the glow of sunrise. That’s when she realizes it’s not made of glass but crystals. Quartz, topaz, maybe aquamarine too.
“Good morning.”
Elena turns. Cal Pierce stands behind her, leaning on a barstool. His cool blond highlights and pale blue T-shirt give him a good-boy look that she would normally roll her eyes at, but right now, he’s an angel because he’s not Phillip Granger. She smiles weakly and brings her glass to the sink.
“Let me get that,” he says, taking it from her and sticking it in the dishwasher. It’s a bit unexpected, this act of domestic gallantry, andshe wonders briefly why she set her aim at an egotistical director when she could have focused on someone who might actually be willing to help her. She tells herself she will make her move as soon as she sees Phillip Granger on set. Right now, though, she is suddenly ravished with hunger, feeling an urgent need for Barbara’s blackberry pancakes. She hopes she can still get back before Gael wakes up.
“See you,” she says, pulling her purse over her shoulder.
“Can I give you a ride?” He gestures to her footwear.
“It’s fine,” she says. “They’re hiking grade.” She doesn’t even know if that’s a term. The Advil is working its magic, and her headache has dulled enough for her to think straight.
He clears his throat as she is about to turn toward the front door. “Hey, I wanted to say…I’m really sorry about your friend. Who died.”
Elena stares at his hands resting on the kitchen island. Her heart thrums. She was hoping they had all forgotten. “How did you know she was my friend?”
His smile looks like an apology. “I lost someone too. Just recognized something in the way you said it.” He examines her face as he begins to turn pink. “But now I can clearly see that I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry, I—”
