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“I think that’s my favorite style, but I like it in green better,” Carson says. She looks at us both and we give her double thumbs up, all in agreement on her choice.
With the dress decided on, we move on to accessory shopping. “So, are you looking forward to the dance?” I ask.
“Well . . .” Carsen says before blushing. “I think Max will be there. I hope he asks me to dance.”
“Max?” I ask, catching Sarah’s shrug out of the corner of my eye. “A boy from school? Does your Dad know about this Max?”
“Of course not!” Carsen says. “Daddy would freak out if he knew Max gave me a card for my birthday. He said I’m cute. And he’s like, the cutest guy in my class. And it’s not like Dad can come to the dance and do the whole intimidating dad thing anyway.” She raises a finger to her lips, “Ssssh, it’s a secret.”
I smile. “Who’s a secret? Your dad or Max?” Carsen smirks, and I can read her answer all over her face. “Ah, so both of them are top secret.”
Sarah smiles, but shows that she’s heard every word. “I’d just like to point out, you shouldn’t use your dad’s desire for secrecy against him, you know?”
Carsen nods, trying not to look guilty. “I know. I know that if everyone knew, we couldn’t do stuff like this . . . walk the mall and shop. Unless the big scary guys came with us.”
I’m struck by how mature Carsen really is because most kids would be shouting about their famous dad all over Instagram and demanding special treatment. Hell, I know some adult children who act that way. I’ve written stories about some of them. Instead, Carsen is chill, understands the risks of fame, and seems content to be exactly who she is, secrets and all.
Accessory shopping is quick and easy. Carsen might be on the budding cusp of womanhood but her tastes are simple and elegant. A thin necklace and set of earrings later, and we decide on an afternoon snack at the food court.
I’m about halfway through my ice cream cone when I get a prickle on the back of my neck. Wiping my mouth with a napkin, I glance around discretely.
“You okay?” Sarah asks, sipping a Coke. “You look like you’ve seen the boogeyman.”
“No . . . but I do feel like I’m being watched,” I reply. Across the food court, I see why. Francesca is sitting near one of the pillars, a wide, floppy hat on her head but still, I know her too well to be put off by a simple hat. “Shhh-oot.” I manage to correct myself. “We should go.”
“What’s wrong?” Carsen asks, instantly on alert.
“My co-worker,” I reply, giving Sarah a pointed look.
Sarah catches my meaning. “Alright, honey. Grab your stuff and we’ll go shoe shopping somewhere else.”
Carsen doesn’t dilly-dally, but Francesca seems to be faster. Just as I’m grabbing my purse, she comes over, a big, fake smile on her face. “Elise, it’s so good to see you again!”
I glower, annoyed at her intrusion . . . again. “Francesca, figured you’d still be at the office today. Cut out early?”
Francesca laughs, an obviously fake tinkle like a bell. “Oh, I’m just out shopping for a gown for the premiere next weekend. Thought I might treat myself, you know. I was just grabbing a half-caff frappe when I saw you out with . . . sorry, I don’t remember your names.”
“Sarah and Car,” I answer, praying I can keep this short and not have to give Francesca any more information than I have to. She might cut corners to get ahead, but she’s got good instincts.
Shit, I should have used fake names. At least Francesca will likely assume Carsen is Sarah’s daughter.
“So, what’s got you out?” Francesca asks, her eyes clicking from bag to bag on the table like she’s taking mental notes. Fuck my life, she probably is.
“Just out for some girl time with my friends,” I reply. “Listen, I’d love to stay and chat, but we really need to roll.”
As we walk away, Carsen doesn’t seem to realize the significance, but Sarah gives me a worried glance. “Is everything okay?” she asks quietly while we close the trunk of her car and Carsen’s getting into her seat. “Should I tell Keith?”
“No . . . no, I don’t think he needs to worry,” I answer softly. I give her a nod, attempting to convey that I think we’re clear and that I understand how important this is . . . to Carsen, to Keith, to Sarah, and now, to me. There’s a wiggle in the back of my mind that finds it odd that I’ve seen Francesca twice recently, considering we never run into each other, but I let it go considering the place is popular and is near some of the busiest streets in town. Francesca could have been legit dosing on caffeine and shopping, just like us. “I’ll handle it.”
