Page 32 of The Heiress
I kept my Chanel bag on my lap, not wanting to appear too ostentatious in the small cafe. “You mean Phoenix isn’t a fan of shopping?” I joked.
Laura laughed, her hollow cheeks puffing out. “No, he’s a typical boy. Unless of course it’s a sports store.”
“I had a blast, too,” I said, my heart revving up as I prepared to make a confession. But first I needed to exert a little charm. “Thank you for bringing me...and for letting me stay at your house.”
“You’re most welcome,” Laura said.
“Laura,” I cut in quickly, knowing any delay would make me wimp out. “I know it looks bad that I lied about staying at the hotel, but I can promise you I wasn’t trying to make any trouble.” I dropped my head, talking to the table, “It’s just that when I learned I wasn’t going home for Thanksgiving, I was—” I drew in a shaky breath, my voice on the verge of cracking, “I was upset and I hated the thought of going to stay with strangers, and that’s why I went to the hotel.”
Laura’s hand covered mine, cold, but the squeeze was reassuring. No words were needed as I glanced up to see her smiling kindly. If our drinks hadn’t arrived right then, I think I would have gotten up and given her a hug.
“Two pumpkin spice lattes.” The waitress was a girl from my statistics class, someone I hadn’t made an enemy of—yet—but only because we’d never spoken. I sat at the back while she was always in the front. “Oh, hi,” she said on recognizing me.
“Hi, how are you?” I said, frantically searching through my memory bank for her name.
“Run off my feet,” she said in slight exasperation, depositing the cups in front of us. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Same to you,” I replied, and noticing the badge on her apron, “Izabella.”
“Thank you,” Laura said.
“You’re welcome,” Izabella said brightly, before mumbling to me, “Izzy.” Seemed like she was at a disadvantage with my name not being displayed on my sweater, giving me an iota of hope—maybe I wasn’t talked about as much as I thought. “Enjoy.”
We picked up our mugs and Laura tilted hers toward mine. “Cheers,” she said as I quickly tapped mine to connect with hers. “Here’s to a wonderful weekend and finding much to be thankful for.” She winked, causing my throat to seize. I missed Mom, Dad, Ya-Ya and home so much, but she was right.
I took a sip of the warm, spicy drink and said, “Well, right now I’m thankful that I’m not stuck in that hotel room.”
“And I’m thankful for this delicious latte,” Laura said, the cup pressed to her lips. “It really is good!”
“And not those gorgeous Jimmy Choo pumps?” I teased. Laura had found a pair of shiny black sling backs at a reduced price.
“Oh my,” Laura sighed, “what a steal! My best bargain all day!”
“They are beautiful,” I said, my mother having instilled in me the importance of classic, quality products. I’d known from Homecoming Week and the various casual clothes days that my clothing choice was a little more preppy than most girls, but Mom had taught me that fashion fads came and went like the wind, while style was forever.
“Thank you,” Laura said, and I noticed her eyes cast down to my watch. Yes, it was a genuine Rolex, a classic rose gold dial set with tiny diamonds, but it was practical with its delicate bracelet clasp, date window and water resistant to 100 meters. I pulled down my sleeve to cover it.
“Uh, what happened to Phoenix?” I blurted out in a swift attempt to avoid a comment about my watch. Mom always said there were two types of rich people; those that wanted you to know how much money they had, and those who didn’t. Bianca Holbrun had definitely fallen into the former category. I knew from experience that people could act weird when they knew how rich you were, and because of that I’d been taught never to flaunt our family’s wealth. Everyone at Covington Prep assumed I was a stereotypical snob, a poor little rich girl, but justhow rich,well, it was best no one knew.
Laura’s head jerked up. A moment ago she’d looked so joyous, but now her brown eyes blinked with a vacant stare.
“Uh, did he have an accident?” I asked.
Laura’s chest heaved and she blew out a breath through pursed lips as if she was gathering courage. Her voice was distinctly raspier. “Yes, it was a car accident,” she croaked, obviously recent enough that it still evoked raw emotion, “he broke his pelvis.”
I admit I was a bit stunned, in my head trying to picture the location of the pelvis and visualizing how you fixed that part of your anatomy. Surely you couldn’t put a cast around it like you did with a broken arm or leg. But I didn’t want to show my ignorance, and murmured, “I’m sorry. But he’s recovering well?”
“It’s been a slow journey, but yes, he’s doing great,” Laura said, but her enthusiasm didn’t shine through to her eyes. I guessed it was hard to see her son go through such adversity.
“And he’s a tennis player?” I said.
Laura nodded, her cheeks hollowed and her eyes darting around. She half jumped out of her chair, raising a hand to signal. Izzy came rushing over.
“Is our picnic ready?” Laura asked, suddenly in an urgent need to leave.
“Yes, Ms. Caversham, it’s all boxed up and ready to go.”
“Perfect!” Laura said, standing and layering her bags over her arm.
