Page 9 of Your Every Wish
Emma
Other than the fact that we have the same color eyes, we don’t look much alike, I think, as I slide a sideways glance at Kennedy. Yesterday, she looked like a movie star in her glamorous clothes. I could never get away with wearing a pantsuit. But unlike me, she has legs that go on for miles. Even in a pair of jeans and T-shirt, she’s a freaking supermodel.
One thing she’s not is a talker. We’ve been driving forty-five minutes and have barely said two words. Her face seems to be permanently planted in her phone.
“How was the Fairmont?” I’ve lived in San Francisco my whole life and have never been inside the storied hotel.
“Fine. Are we almost there?”
“No.” I laugh because she sounds like a little kid on a road trip. “We have at least another hour. It’s a really cool town. You’ll love it.” When she doesn’t respond, I ramble on, hoping to distract her from her phone and engage her in a conversation. “During the Gold Rush, this family that had staked a sizeable claim was murdered in its sleep. The legend goes that you can still hear them crying in the night. That’s why the place is called Ghost.”
“Sounds dreadful.”
“I think it’s more fiction than fact. You know, a marketing tool to get people to come and visit.”
“People are weird,” she says. “So, have you seen this development?”
“Nope. Not in real life, anyway. But I Googled it last night. I wasn’t even aware that he owned real estate in California. Were you?”
“No. I knew next to nothing about the man or his assets.” Kennedy shoots me a look as if I was somehow privy to the workings of the elusive Willy Keil.
“Our father was definitely a mystery,” I say.
“I don’t know that I would call him my father. DNA donor is more like it.”
“So you work for Caesars, huh?” I change the subject because shitty father aside, he’s dead now. What’s the use of dragging him? He did after all name us in his will, which is at least something.
“Yes. I’m a casino host. How did you know about Caesars?”
“I looked you up once.” More than once. I have kind of been keeping tabs on her from a distance but don’t want to come off as a stalker. “Were you ever curious about me?”
There’s a long silence, then, “A little, I guess.”
“Well, ask me anything you want to know.”
She waits a few seconds, clearly deliberating on what she’ll open with. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an advice columnist for an alternative newspaper.” I get the feeling she already knows this. My assumption is she’s been doing a little stalking of her own. “It’s a really fun job. Probably not as exciting as being a casino host but I like it. Dex thinks I’m wasting my time because the job doesn’t pay all that well, but—”
“Who’s Dex?”
“My boyfriend. We’ve been dating on and off for the last nine and a half years. How ’bout you? Are you involved with anyone . . . married?”
She snorts. “God, no. And I’m too busy to date. I can’t remember the last time I even had a day off. Well, today, I guess. And yesterday. And still I’m being inundated with messages.” She holds up her phone and waves it in the air.
Some might think Kennedy Jenkins is a bit too self-important for her own good. Or perhaps she’s masking some deep-rooted insecurities. I don’t know her well enough to judge, so I nod instead while I change lanes.
We drive the rest of the way mostly in silence, taking in the roadside restaurants, farmstands, gas stations, and the occasional motor lodge as we climb into Northern California’s scenic foothills.
“You mind finding the address?”
She reaches in her purse for the slip of paper from Mr. Townsend’s office and asks Siri for directions.
We have two more exits. It feels a lot like Christmas morning and the anticipation of unwrapping the large mystery package under the tree. I could only glean so much from the Cedar Pines Estates website. But what I saw made me smitten. Gorgeous log cabins, towering pine trees, and breathtaking mountain views. Even Dex was impressed.
My ears pop as we ascend higher, leaving the interstate for a windy road that dumps us out onto a two-lane highway where we pass a stretch of fast-food chains. I unroll my window and stick my hand in the air. It’s cooler here than it was in San Francisco.
Kennedy is struggling to keep her blond hair from whipping around in the wind, so I quickly send the window back up.
