Читать книгу As You Lay Sleeping - Katlyn Duncan - Страница 18

Chapter 7

It had been almost a week since I’d heard from Kat or the other girls. The fireworks had come and gone. I doubted Kat or the girls had attended. It was too soon for any type of celebration after Joe’s untimely death. I hadn’t been contacted by the detective, though I had nightmares that he lived in my house and continued his interrogation of me. I wasn’t sure why I was so freaked out by him. There was something off that I couldn’t put my finger on, though each day without hearing from him made me a little more able to move on from the horrific scene that replayed over and over in my head. Joe had been laid to rest and I’d find some way to repair the friendship with Kat and the girls.

It wasn’t the first time Kat had shut any of us out and encouraged the other two to do the same. Last fall, we closed out Rachael for several days after she spilled her chai latte on Kat’s shoes. Kat got over it, but I suspected this situation was so much worse. She managed to see right through me and I wondered how long she had been waiting to turn the tables on me like that. Taking extra hours at the inn filled my time while I waited for Kat to stop being mad at me.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” some guy drawled from Table 5.

“I’ll be right with you,” I said with a forced smile. I was helping the busboys turn over the tables for the guests while serving coffee refills. The portly customer had already had three refills in the last forty minutes, and the line for tables grew exponentially in that time.

I hoped for a big tip, but I doubted he even noticed his rudeness.

I offered the carafe of coffee to the man. “More coffee?”

“Yes, please.” His thick, white eyebrows rose as his eyes settled on my chest.

I poured his refill and scooted away, hoping he burned his tongue. I normally didn’t mind sharing my time with the serving staff at the inn but I preferred the more solitary tasks where the tourists didn’t stare down my shirt.

I scanned the room and no one needed coffee for the moment. I hid behind the partition where the coffee and other drinks were prepared and buttoned my white shirt all the way to the top before checking my phone. All of my texts to Kat, Brittany and Rachael were unanswered. Even the group conversation I started with them.

I shoved my phone back into my pocket just as Dad entered the dining room. I busied myself with making another pot of coffee. He never played favorites, especially with me, and being on the phone at work was discouraged.

“How’s it going, Carebear?” he asked in a chipper voice. It was his “work” voice. He was a nice man outside of work but he was extra peppy to the employees, and apparently that meant me, too.

I cringed at the nickname. “Dad,” I mumbled. “Not here, okay?”

His smile didn’t falter. “Sorry.”

“What’s up?” I asked. Dad rarely left the front of the inn, oscillating between the check-in desk and his office.

“I spoke with Trudy this morning.”

“Mrs. Talbot? How is she?” Trudy Talbot—a four-time widow—had bought the inn five years ago with the money all of her rich husbands left. She had the building renovated and expanded the blueprint to include more rooms, a full bar and restaurant, and banquet hall. The inn now resembled a five-star hotel, but she kept the “inn” as part of the name for those who were long-time customers. She had a knack for details and insisted on a personal relationship with upper management, especially my dad.

“She’s in France this summer.” The relief on his face shone through. “I told her how well you were doing in this ‘floater’ position and, with the summer being our busiest season, she insisted that I hire at least one other person to help out.”

I slid him a glance. “As long as you don’t cut my hours.”

His eyebrows rose. “I’d never dream of it.”

“Good.” I had my eye set on a few used cars and I couldn’t afford the pay cut.

“Would any of your friends be interested?”

My finger paused over the brew button on the coffee maker. “In working?”

“Yes.”

Other than the fact they weren’t speaking to me, the idea of working at all, never mind during the summer, would be another nail in my coffin. “No.”

“Oh. Okay, then. I’ll put an ad out.”

He stood there for a moment and I looked up at him.

“Is there anything else?” I asked.

He took a breath before speaking. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Dad.” My parents had asked me that question numerous times a day since the funeral. I alternated between “fine” and “okay,” wishing they would get the hint.

“You haven’t been hanging out with your friends lately.”

He was observant. One of Dad’s best qualities was his ability to ignore the social obligations of his daughter. I knew Mom had something to do with this. Sometimes her obsession with my life bordered on stalking. She meant well, but I never understood why she didn’t obsess over Madison’s life like she did mine.

“Kat’s grieving,” I said, shrugging off his line of questioning. “I need to get back to work.”

He nodded and said goodbye.

When he was out of sight, I checked my phone again and stared at the empty screen for a few moments before shoving it and all thoughts of Kat out of my head.

That afternoon, I walked down the boardwalk that stretched the length of the beach. Innumerable tourists with their vibrantly colored blankets and giant umbrellas peppered the sand.

I avoided a near-collision with a fast-moving volleyball that someone spiked a little too hard. Two shirtless guys came bounding by, their bare feet stomping across the wood.

Skinny seagulls cried as they nose-dived for dropped food near the vendors. In a few weeks, they would be waddling across the beach, picking up scraps to fill their newly rotund stomachs.