Page 37 of Halstead House

“I know what I’m doing,” she replied.

I sat down in the chair she’d pulled over and tried not to be too tense. Before I knew it she had brushed and ironed and curled my hair into soft waves that fell around my face and brushed my shoulders. I hardly recognized myself.

“Wow,” I said.

“I know. You have great hair,” Ana replied as she unplugged her flat iron. “You’re lucky. A lot of people spend a lot of money to get platinum hair.”

My face warmed at her compliment. I’d often felt washed out and plain, a fact my own dark-haired mother had also lamented. My father had been fair, but somehow I had been considered a disappointing anomaly. Forget the fact that Grace Kelly had been blonde. My blondeness had gone too far.

“Let’s go,” Ana said before I had a chance to reply.

“I’m driving,” I called after her as I hurried to grab my purse and follow.

“Fat chance.” Ana grinned when I caught up to her at the elevator door.

“This is supposed to be my special night,” I reminded her as we stepped inside. “Cheating death doesn’t make me feel special.”

“Oh, it’s going to be perfect. Trust me.”

Ana’s words caused a few nerves to race across my heart. I knew it. Ana was turning this into a therapy session. She was going to force me to face something I wasn’t prepared for. I almost bailed. Almost. Yet memories of a beach day and an action film kept me going. Both of those had turned out pretty well. Maybe this would be the same.

She didn’t let me drive, but at least this time I was prepared for her crazed auto-gymnastics. I also figured we’d be staying on the island, which meant the drive wasn’t going to be terribly long. I hoped. Assumptions didn’t always play out, but I was too apprehensive to ask many questions.

Thankfully I was right about the drive time. We passed through the historic district and made our way out to the wharves on the north side of the island. I hadn’t been here but had noticed the taller warehouses peaking up from my bedroom window. The buildings were gray and brown, victims of being so close to the ocean. To me they had a menacing feel, unwelcoming and strange when compared to the colorful historic homes nearby.

“Where are we?” I asked as Ana parked in front of the largest building in the group.

“It’s called the Warehouse,” she replied. “Us locals pride ourselves on keeping the place a secret from tourists.” She pushed her car door open and got out.

“How cleverly named,” I mumbled.

“They have the best true Southern food on Lavender. Plus, it’s Friday night so there will be dancing. A lot of people come around. You’re going to have a great time.”

I remained quiet as I followed Ana through a dark alley that felt like a murderer’s paradise before we came around to the dockside front doors where the cheerful sunlight returned. The sound of ocean water slapping up against the cement walkway was nearly drowned out by the music coming from inside the weather-worn building.

Ana paused for a moment, her hand on the door. “You ready?”

“Probably not,” I replied.

She chuckled. “Come on, you chicken. Remember who you are. You’re the power suit wearing, substitute tour guide at Halstead House.” She grabbed my arm and tugged me in behind her.

The Warehouse was just as off beat as its outer shell had promised. Tools of the fishing industry hung haphazardly above our heads. Tables were strewn here and there with no immediate sense of order. In the back was an already crowded dance floor. Loud music blared from a DJ stand in one corner, its heavy beat echoing the pounding of my heart.

It didn’t appear that any walls had ever been painted. Everything was gray or brown, with occasional rust, and a lot of steel. No tablecloths, china, or glassware softened its rough-hewn appearance. Everything was serviceable and not one inch more. Not exactly cozy, and definitely not my usual style. I felt immediately out of place but did my best to keep from folding in on myself.

“Come on,” Ana tugged. “Let’s get a table.”

I followed along, my eyes barely able to take everything in. Ana’s hand pulling on my wrist was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. If I hung around with her much more I was going to crack.

She found a small table pressed against the wall near the dance floor. I was grateful for the sense of security the wall afforded me. Something solid to lean against, and possibly hide next to if I needed it.

“Here’s your menu.” A piece of laminated paper was pushed toward me. “Literally everything is good.”

I perused the menu and was pleased to see that she had been right about the food options. Everything had a distinctly Southern flair. I wasn’t sure where to start. My experience with that type of food was lacking.

“What do you recommend?” I lifted my eyes to find Ana looking at me. “What?”

“Just making sure your head doesn’t explode,” she replied.

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