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“It might have been better,” Abby pointed out, as Tildy unbuttoned her shirt and slid it down. “Without the wrap of course,” Abby added. “Too hot.”
It was then that Tildy’s gin soaked brain remembered what the wrap was for, why she’d chosen a long-sleeved shirt, and how she’d simply rolled up the sleeves. “Oh, crap,” she mumbled and tried to yank her shirt back up. But it was too late.
“Tildy?” Abby asked, eyes wide.
“Crap,” Tildy whispered. “Crap, crap, crap.” She struggled to get the shirt back up, but Abby grabbed one of Tildy’s wrists, stretched her arm out straight, and pulled the shirt back down with her other hand.
“Tildy, what happened?”
Tildy glanced down at the rainbow of different colored bruises in various stages of healing on her upper arms. “Nothing,” she replied calmly. “I bruise easily.” She pulled her arm out of Abby’s grip and her shirt up at the same time. “It’s nothing,” she insisted. “It’s not-”
“Did you do that to yourself?”
Tildy gaped at her. “What? No! Of course not! I-”
“Matilda?”
Tildy froze as her mother’s voice drifted up from downstairs.
“Matilda, are you home?”
Tildy broke out of her half-drunk stupor, and her fingers started flying over the buttons of her shirt. “No, no, no, no, no,” she whispered frantically to herself.
Abby turned and looked at the open doorway and then back to Tildy.
“Matilda, there’s a strange car in front of the house.” The voice was getting closer. Tildy swallowed the rising bile in the back of her throat and looked at Abby.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Tildy?”
Tildy shook her head wildly. “No! Please. My name is Matilda. Not Tildy. And don’t say anything about the bruises. Don’t let her know you know about them. Please,” Tildy begged.
Before Abby could respond, Tildy’s mother appeared in the doorway. Her shrewd eyes took in first Tildy, then Abby. Tildy felt panicked but, Abby only smiled. “That’s mine,” she replied.
“Have we met?” Deirdre Fletcher asked carefully.
“No, ma’am. I’m Abigail Raines.”
Deirdre turned her gaze to Tildy. “Matilda? You didn’t tell me you were having a friend over. You said you didn’t feel well. You skipped brunch.”
“She doesn’t,” Abby answered. “Feel well, that is. So, I just came to check on her.”
Tildy swallowed hard, unable to say anything, which was probably best anyway.
Deirdre smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m certain we haven’t met.”
Abby shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Deirdre looked from Abby to Tildy. “Are you one of Matilda’s friends from school?”
Abby shook her head again. “No, I just moved to South Dakota this spring, from Las Vegas.”
“Las Vegas,” Deirdre replied incredulously.
Abby just smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I bought the Custer Hotel just recently.”
At this, Deirdre Fletcher’s entire demeanor changed. The temperature in the room spiked considerably. “The Custer? Oh, we’d heard Aaron sold it, but we hadn’t heard who bought it.” She positively beamed at Abby. “The Custer,” she said again. “You’re so young!”
Abby nodded. “I graduated early, and I had some family money. The Custer was the perfect investment property.”
“Well, of course! It’s just beautiful. It’s a shame Aaron let it get away from him after his father left it to him. But you know Aaron never had the head for business that his father did. Perhaps it’s best he didn’t live to see Aaron lose it.” Her eyes then cut to Tildy, and she felt herself shrink under her mother’s scrutiny. “It’s always hard when children are a disappointment.” She turned back to Abby. “How do you know Matilda?” She emphasized Tildy’s name as though Tildy was a piece of toilet paper clinging to Abby’s boot, rather than an actual friend.
Then Tildy reminded herself that she and Abby Raines weren’t actually friends. She started to panic a little. Her mother could never know about Hawk, Maria’s or the barbecue.
“Skylar,” Abby said matter of factly.
Deirdre considered it and nodded. “Skylar’s cousin had her wedding at the Custer in May.” She wrinkled her nose. “Frankly, we weren’t that impressed. Aaron really let the place go. We were going to have Matilda’s reception at the Washington.”
Abby pressed her lips together, hiding the fact that this was the first she was hearing of Tildy’s impending nuptials. “I know,” she replied. “I’m hard at work now on renovations. The Custer should have its official historic status on the first of the year.”
Deirdre smiled. “Well, we’d love a tour when it’s complete. I was thinking of a spring wedding.” As though she’d just officially realized she was chatting with a hotel mogul, rather than one of Tildy’s college friends, she said, “I’m sorry. Would you like some tea?”
Tildy held her breath. The longer Abby and her mother talked, the more chances there would be that something might slip. Thankfully, Abby shook her head. “Oh, I can’t stay. I have plans. I just came to check on Matilda.”
Both women turned to Tildy.
