Page 45 of Opening Strain

Ignoring the voice in my head mocking my intrusion into her celebration, I let myself into the rental and change. A nice pair of pants and a button-down shirt should look good no matter what type of restaurant. Which I presume is a nice one, since they’re celebrating her birthday.

The clock above the stove reads seven-thirty. With thirty minutes to spare, I lock the rental and walk as fast as I can, which isn’t too fast, thanks to my injury, and enter a neighborhood stationery store. I choose a birthday card that’s not sappy, featuring flowers on the front. I check out the novelty items for sale, hoping to find a nice gift. Nothing snags my attention, so I simply pay for the card.

On the sidewalk, I check my cellphone and realize I still have fifteen minutes. There has to be another storearound here. Of course, everything’s closed. All except for the arcade. She did say she used to hang out here as a kid. Maybe this would be the perfect gift?

By eight, I stand outside my rental, rubbing my gloved hands together. Headlights turn down my street and pull over in front of me. Bending down, I wave at the two women inside, then take my time climbing into the backseat. “Hi, Jenna, Mrs. Westfield.”

“Please call me Faith,” her mother replies.

“Faith,” I repeat. A reminder to have faith she won’t be anything like my own mother.

Jenna waves at me, her blonde hair loose for a change. Looks fan-freaking-tastic. “The restaurant is about fifteen minutes away, so get comfy.”

Her mother turns on the radio to an oldies station. The two talk in quiet tones.

What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Fifteen

The hostess takes one look at me and ignores the rest of the customers, including Jenna and her mother. She scribbles something onto a notepad and rips it off, passing it to me. Without checking it’s her phone number—because all these notes are the same—I stuff it into my pocket.

“For later, okay?”

I’m used to this type of behavior, yet I know it’s not welcomed by Jenna or her mother. I lean toward the young lady. “We’re here celebrating her birthday.” I tip my head toward Jenna. “Can you please check your reservation book?”

“What?” Glazed blue eyes meet mine.

“Our reservation,” I persist.

“Oh.” Her pen slides down the book. “For Westfield, right?”

At least she remembered this part of her job. “Yes.”

Fake eyelashes bat at me. She picks up three menus and instructs us to follow her. If her hips swayed any faster, she could get a job as a metronome. She escorts us to our table and makes a show of giving us our menus. When she gets to me, last, she bends over and whispers in my ear, “I get off at eleven. I can make yourevening better than your sister and mother ever could dare imagine.”

I shake my head and tilt my head back to her ear. “She’s not my sister.” Her cheeks hollow and she scurries away.

Laughing, I take the napkin off the plate and flick it before putting it on my lap. When I look at the table, both my dinner companions are staring at me with identical expressions. I keep my mouth closed.

Mrs. Westfield—Faith—is the first to break. “I have to know. What did you say to that trollop?”

I like this woman. “Only the truth.”

She starts to open her mouth, but Jenna barges into the breach. “Believe me, you don’t want to know. Don’t forget, Bennett here is the reckless one.”

I scowl at my physical therapist. Her mother pats her daughter’s hand. “Oh yeah. I remember now.” They both turn toward me.

“I’m not reckless. I may have done some stupid sh— stuff, but I’m not irresponsible. I’m the one who handles all the band business, after all.” That’s the truth.

“Fine,” Jenna acknowledges. “You’re sort of the ringleader. The guys all follow your lead.”

Somehow, I’m not sure she means this as a compliment. I don’t get to question her because she receives a text. “It’s from Kara,” she tells her mother. “She wishes me a happy birthday.”

Her mother’s smile could be seen all the way to Manhattan. “Did you tell her you’re out to dinner with me?” Grey eyes, so like her daughter’s, swing toward me. “And Bennett?”

“I said we were out celebrating. I didn’t mention anything about Bennett.”

“The man is right here, Jenna. Tell your sister,” her mother tusks.

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