I see his mouth move as he asks the question, and it seems like I hear the words in my head a little later, like when the soundtrack on Netflix gets buffered and you have to reset your connection.
Beau doesn’t take his eyes from me. “Let’s sit down.” And then he’s pushing me. Pushing me backward until the back of my knees hits a chair. It’s one of those wooden chairs with a round seat and a back in the shape of a heart, and for a minute, I picture Beau Landry dancing with it in a tap routine, and I giggle.
My giggle turns his frown into a scowl. “I suppose you’re going to tell me again how you’re not high, right?”
Chapter Ten
BEAU
As soon asthe question leaves my mouth, I regret it. Because Iris Adams goes ghostly white, and I have a sickening feeling it's not because I called out her drug use.
“Is she ODing?” I ask, squeezing her hand that’s now clammy in mine.
“No, you jerk!” Her friend Sally shoves me aside—hard—and drops down in front of her. “Iris, honey, when did you last eat?”
“Umm…” Iris squints, wearing a look like she’s trying to solve a calculus equation. While stoned.
Ramon flanks my other side, hovering over us. “She had a smoothie at lunch. I know that much.”
“That was at eleven,” Sally says, sounding flustered. It’s almost six-thirty now. I’ve eaten twice since then.
Ramon squats down so now all three of us are at Iris’s feet. “Did you eat the apple and almond butter I packed for you after we broke this afternoon?”
Iris puts the heel of one shaking hand to her forehead. The other, I realize, is still in my grasp. I let go.
“No,” she says, shaking her head.
“Why not?” Ramon asks, but there’s no accusation or censure in his voice. Just the question.
The actress shuts her eyes, but with her hands still shaking and her skin a pasty white, I know, for once, she’s not acting. “Moira was in my trailer after we broke. She wanted to go over some things.”
“Yeah, but—” Sally starts.
“You know I can’t eat in front of her.”
The three of them get very quiet.
And I take this as my cue to leave, so I stand and slip out. The kitchen is empty.Noncmust have gone back upstairs.
I open the fridge and do a quick sweep. There’s the ham she just brought, but I’m thinking she needs something that’s going to fuel her fast. I grab the Mayhaw jelly,Nonc’sfavorite, and take down the peanut butter from the cabinet.
A few minutes later, I carry the PB&J back into the parlor. Iris’s color is better, but she looks exhausted. Guilt reaches into my guts and gives them a twist as I think about my assumptions.
And my accusations.
“Here,” I say, offering her the plate.
She looks down at the sandwich cut into quarters. “Oh… You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice sounds washed out. Wrung out too.
“I did,” I say. “I like my students to be conscious. Preferably, nourished.”
Her gaze lifts to mine. This close, I notice that her eyes burn with the most startling blaze of gold, green, and rust. A glinting hazel fit for any wicked witch.
Or good witch, as the case may be. Because the color rushes back to her cheeks, and I don’t think even the best actress in the world can blush on cue.
Maybe Nonc is right about her.
I put aside my questions about Iris Adams and nod toward the plate. “Take it.”
