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Three
Then
From: Emilia Bonacci
To: Emilia Bonacci
Subject: Even more excited!
Hey,
Remember that boy I wrote about? The one who bought a pink sapphire butterfly bracelet for his sister’s sixteenth? Of course, you do. Well, he came back!
I don’t think he knows I used my own money to pay for the difference on that bracelet. I think he figured I wrangled a store discount or something, which is perfect. I don’t want him feeling bad about how much that thing cost. Besides, how was he to know my dad’s store is way pricier than the average jewelry chain? Anyway, the boy’s name is Blaine, and he must have been super happy about that discount because he came in bearing a blueberry bagel and hot chocolate just for me. How sweet, right? I couldn’t believe it. I totally just wanted to faint from excitement. He’s so cute.
It’s a good thing he waited a week to come back to the store too. You know, since I only work on Saturdays. Must be fate, right? Ha! Anyway, I took an early lunch break with him. Bethany wasn’t too happy about that, but hey, I’m the boss’s daughter. What’s she gonna do? Fire me?
Blaine’s nineteen, just a couple of years older than me. He said he wants to see me again, and I can’t wait. He seems so sweet, so I was cool with swapping numbers. I’m totally not going to tell him that Bonacci Jewels belongs to my dad. Not right away, anyway. I don’t want to scare Blaine. Better he thinks I’m a shop girl or something. Honestly, I like it better that way. I want someone to get to know me for who I am.
I know I’m getting way ahead of myself here, but this is me writing to me, so why not? Maybe one day I can let Blaine and Dad meet. Dad would have to see that Blaine is a big improvement on Anthony. God, I can’t believe anyone thinks we should be together. Puke! Anthony is a total leech. Why can’t anyone else see that?
I don’t like Anthony, never have, and I already really like Blaine. Well, what I know of him so far. I want to see where this goes. Maybe If things work out with him, I won’t have to worry about Anthony OR the Stuccos ever again.
Emilia awoke to an eerie symphony of creaky old walls and leaves scuttling across the ground outside, the morning sun already bright through her bedroom’s thin, white curtain. A bedroom without a bed.
The hairs along her neck prickled. Not a new sensation since being on high alert had become her natural state. For a city girl totally unaccustomed to quiet, there was an irony in how these tranquil country sounds set her on edge.
Maybe Harlow hadn’t been the best place to stop.
Too late now. Far too late.
On top of all the fear, her body ached from a night spent sleeping on the floor, nothing to support her but the solitary blanket and pillow she’d taken from LA. Still, she couldn’t spend one more night curled up and exposed in her car, so she’d decided to tidy this room before any other and slept on a blanket-covered floor.
She sat and rubbed her pained shoulder, twisting to stretch out any stiffness in her back, all while her mind drifted to the documents she’d faxed her father almost immediately after her escape. The documents proving she’d been right all along.
She’d left a copy of those same papers for Anthony to find. He’d be fuming, belligerent, probably more so than if she’d simply left.
She had guilt, but not enough to undo what she’d started.
A heavy knock on her front door startled her. She hugged her pillow and hoped that if she stayed quiet, maybe the person outside would go away. The pounding didn’t stop, and now a female voice accompanied the knocking, the words too distorted to decipher.
Emilia pried herself from her makeshift bed and yelled, “Just a minute.”
Not a bright move for a woman meant to be on the run. Then again, the voice outside didn’t belong to Anthony, so maybe she’d be safe.
The mirror inside her near-empty wardrobe door showed pillow marks crisscrossed over her face, concave lines that exacerbated the dark circles under her eyes. She wrinkled her nose at her haphazard image. The people of this town had a knack for catching her looking a mess.
Her white cotton robe lay folded on a shelf, and she pulled it out, covering the underwear she’d slept in since she’d forgotten to pack pajamas.
The breeze from her hurried stride to the door blew tangled curls across her nose. She shook the tickling strands away, unbolting the front door and using the time to consider that if she was lucky, her deranged appearance might scare her visitor away. Or at least shame them into thinking they’d woken her.
“Oh, hey there! Welcome to Harlow.”
She jolted at the overly enthusiastic woman outside her wire screen, ice-blonde hair and light-blue eyes sparkling over a beaming smile. The woman was maybe a few years younger than Emilia and clung to a wicker basket with a blue-checkered tea towel covering the top. She extended the basket now, like some kind of religious offering.
“I saw from Blaine’s notes at the workshop that Frank and Maureen had a new renter, so of course I had to swing by and meet you.” The woman bounced where she stood, her sunny yellow dress brighter than the spring day behind her. “I figured I’d also save you the trouble of making breakfast.”
The woman’s smile shook just a little, and Emilia felt her eyelids flare, her mouth wavering open and closed a few times with no semblance of sound escaping.
