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CHAPTER22
As she droveSylvie’s Jeep, Lauren’s eyes drifted from the highway to the passenger seat.
Despite her protestations about being able to drive herself, Sylvie had fallen asleep before they’d crossed the bridge onto the mainland. Each time a patch of dark road was illuminated by a street lamp, it flashed over Sylvie’s face. Asleep, she looked so gentle. So beautiful.
Lauren smiled. Watching her reminded Lauren of her first job. As a teenager, she babysat for the kids next door. The toddler in particular was a nightmare when he was awake, but at bedtime he liked to cuddle up to Lauren’s side while she read him scary bedtimes stories. There was something magical about watching tornados at rest.
She only wished that Sylvie had been honest about whatever was making her act so strange. Well, stranger than normal.
Lauren hadn’t seen Sylvie drunk before. She always knew her limits. Her boundaries. The woman thrived off of self-control, for her to lose it like that . . . something had to be very wrong.
Was she going through a breakup? Lauren hadn’t seen Sylvie with anybody in a while, but it had been years since she’d seen her out socially at all. These days, she only saw her at work-related events. She was always alone.
As obnoxious as Sylvie could be, she was also bright, beautiful, and driven. More than one of their mutual acquaintances had voiced their interest in her some time ago. . . So it wasn’t like she couldn’t date if she wanted. Was she choosing to be single? Was she lonely?
With a sigh, Lauren settled into the seat. There was no way Sylvie was going to trust her enough to talk.
Miami Lakes was a small town, only roughly six miles around, but Lauren hadn’t realized just how close to Sylvie she lived. As she waited for the gate to Sylvie’s community to open, she estimated it was less than a mile to her house. Close enough to walk. A funny coincidence considering their parents lived on the same block. It was like their families were genetically programed for close proximity.
If the suggestion wouldn’t make Sylvie’s head spin around and projectile vomit pea soup, she’d put the idea of driving to the festival together out there. Lauren knew better than to be reasonable.
Following the GPS instructions, Lauren stopped in front of a cute villa that looked exactly like every other house around it. Chuckling to herself, Lauren imagined Sylvie at a home owner’s association meeting holding up photographic evidence of an unauthorized rose bush in a neighbor’s yard.
You’re definitely that person, Lauren decided as she hit the garage door opener on the sun visor.
The sound of the loud door screeching open roused Sylvie awake. Obviously disoriented, she glanced around to assess her surroundings.
“You’re home,” Lauren said, her hand on Sylvie’s arm to calm her.
With a sharp exhale, Sylvie nodded. It was jarring to see her so unsteady. She seemed to have gotten more intoxicated after her nap.
“Let me give you a hand,” Lauren said before slipping out of the driver’s side.
“I can get out of my own car,” Sylvie grumbled, but she waited for Lauren’s help.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re the only person on the planet that never needs help.” Lauren rolled her eyes. She stood by Sylvie’s open passenger door and made sure she didn’t stumble out from the high seat.
Under the floodlight illuminating the driveway, Lauren walked behind Sylvie through the tidy garage. If her Jeep wasn’t so tall, it would easily fit in the space. Something Lauren couldn’t say about her own garage packed with building materials and tools.
Instead of complaining that she could unlock her own door, Sylvie pointed to one of the keys on the ring Lauren was holding. When they reached the door leading from the garage to the house, Lauren unlocked it without any commentary from Sylvie.
On only slightly wobbly legs, Sylvie teetered into her dark house and hit the switch on the wall.
Sylvie’s house was exactly like Sylvie. Attractive but no nonsense. The contemporary living room was so neat, Lauren wondered if she had a live-in housekeeper.
“Where do you keep your Tylenol?” Lauren asked as she started for the kitchen in the open concept house. That’s where she kept her headache medicine at home.
Sylvie crumpled into her Pottery Barn couch. “Bathroom,” she muttered without extraneous protestations.
She must be really drunk, Lauren decided with a laugh.
Inside Sylvie’s fridge, Lauren discovered its contents were arranged by size, color, and shape. She took a water from the line of perfectly aligned bottles. Their labels all pointing the exact same direction. She knew Sylvie was particular, but she didn’t realize the depths of her perfectionism. Sylvie would probably faint at the sight of her fridge, which consisted mostly of old takeout containers and several half-drunk sodas she’d forgotten about.
While in the hall bathroom, Lauren expected Sylvie to shout at her not to snoop, but she didn’t. Not even when Lauren closed the medicine cabinet and moved to another bathroom since the guest one was empty.
Lauren would never snoop, despite being curious, but Sylvie had always accused her of the worst, regardless of Lauren’s propensity. After opening the door to an office she quickly closed, she found the master bedroom.
As she moved through the neat room and toward the bathroom, Lauren realized that Sylvie’s house felt like a staged model. With the exception of a few framed pictures here and there, it could easily be an Airbnb. It was like Sylvie hadn’t set down roots in her own house.
