Page 11 of Uncrowned

“Oh.” Expressions played out and her mouth twisted. Again, she wiped a tear. “I should go. My mother will be coming for me soon. I have a date tonight… with him.” She paused. “Do we know each other?”

“No.”

“Then how did you get my number?”

“Does it matter?”

“No. Will you call again, like yesterday?”

I paused, narrowing my eyes as I studied her. “Do you want me to?”

A long pause. “Maybe.”

“I don’t take well to uncertainty.”

“Oh.” Her head turned back and forth as she looked both ways down the street. “Then, yes.”

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You will sit in your window so I can see you, just as you are now. I will not speak. You will, and you will tell me of your life from the beginning.”

“My life? But it’s boring. There’s nothing to tell. I can sum it up in five minutes right now.”

I lifted my head. “Tell me.”

At my tone, Penelope’s head lifted as well. Worry crossed her face, and she looked back and forth down the road again. Her eyes moved to the townhomes across the street, and I could tell she was scanning the windows.

“I was born here. I lived a very unimpressive, very sheltered childhood. I had tutors. I speak three languages. Not impressive, I know. I tried playing the piano, but my father said I had no rhythm and clumsy fingers. I tried⁠—”

“Does he hurt you?”

Penelope’s mouth dropped open for only a moment before she snapped it closed.

“Who said that?” At my silence she continued. “That’s not an appropriate question to ask. I don’t know why you’d ask that. Did someone tell you he hurt me? I mean, surely—Why would you ask that?” Another sniffle. More wiping tears. A minute passed before time drug out even longer. Her shoulders sagged and her head went back to the window. “I usually deserve it. Just like with the piano. I just couldn’t do it. I think he only meant to—I mean, maybe I jerked my hand back too fast and the finger snapped because—I can never do anything right. I just— I h-have to go.”

The phone went dead and darkness took over as my lids dropped closed. Harder my pulse hit.

After all my research, I could see the young Penelope. The quiet, shy, frightened little girl trying so hard with her lessons. Her round blue eyes would be so big in true terror, and where I usually thrived in people’s pain, I got no satisfaction at the thought of hers. Quite the opposite. I wanted to show her father death was more inviting than agony. He’d come to understand that pain came in different degrees, and I was not merciful.

CHAPTER 5

Penelope

“Oh, Penelope. That dress is lovely on you. John is going to love it.”

“Yeah?”

I tried to hold in the tears as my mother turned me from the floor-length mirror. It was taking all I had to hold myself together after my talk with the mysterious stranger. Had I really divulged such a dark secret? What was I thinking telling him such personal information? Had I lost my mind? What if it was a reporter? What if he knew my father and told him what I’d said? Why did I do that? Because he had a nice voice? Because he actually listened?

I was jumping at every sound, so sure my father would come barging through my door at any moment.

“John will love it. Sit, let me pin back your hair.”

My mother pulled out the chair to my vanity. I sat down, watching her in the smaller mirror as she reached for my brush. She was never so generous. Never so… loving. I felt guilty for keeping my tone soft just so I could soak in this staged affection.

“I’ve been wondering, Mother, and I’m curious. Do you think John will want to marry right away?”