Page 15 of Kept in the Dark
I shrug. “Greece, I think. She and Steve and the kids have had this big Euro-trip in the works for a while.” And my mother is not one to prioritize her old family over her new one.
“Why aren’t you with them?” she asks, aghast. “Didn’t you want to go to Greece?”
So badly. But I’ll get myself there one day—no reason to tag along on a family vacation where I’m not wanted. “I have work,” I lie.
“Oh,” she nods, like she understands my struggle, and brightens just as quickly. “Speaking of which, I was hoping you could take a look at this cyst I have.”
Without waiting for my answer, she leans forward and tilts her neck. The papery skin succumbs to gravity and dangles around the front of her throat. There is indeed a pencil-eraser-sized lump on the back of her shoulder that’s rubbing raw from the neckline of her beaded dress.
“I’ve had it for a few months now. I’m just not sure why it keeps coming back after I drain it… and the smell—”
I clear my throat. Being a nurse is a minefield sometimes. “I can’t be sure without properly inspecting it, and I don’t have any gloves or anything, so I wouldn’t want to do it here. I recommend finding a dermatologist. It would help put your mind at ease to have a doctor look,” I say, my party line.
She purses her lips in chagrin and shakes her head, a motion which doesn’t even budge the steely gray pin curls. No one enjoys being told they should see a doctor when they were hoping to get free medical advice. “I suppose. Do you know a good doctor?”
“I believe that St. Luke’s has a few on staff, if you wanted to come in,” I say, doubling down on what I know she thinks is unhelpful advice.
“That’s in the city?”
“Fifth and Vine.”
Her nose curls as I name an area of the city she’s likely scandalized just to think about. “No, that’s… that’s all right. I’ll ask my family doctor for a referral.”
“I think that would be best,” I say, donning my best neutral face. “Would you excuse me? I need to find my purse.”
Before she can think of another ailment to solicit my opinion on, I scoot away.
I find my table and circle it once. I thought I left my bag next to my plate, but all I see is Kyle’s room key, several half-empty water glasses, and some crumbs of cake. It’s not on the floor either. A mild panic builds in my gut—it’s a clutch, so most of what’s in there is, like, lipstick and some cash in case I needed it for the bar, but it’s also got some stuff that’s harder to replace, like my glasses, my personal phone, and the work phone they just gave me at St. Luke’s. I only brought it tonight to build the habit of bringing it with me everywhere—my manager is going to be pissed if I’ve lost it after two days.
This event has more security than the White House, and people are dripping in diamonds; who would steal a purse?
Maybe a server saw it sitting here and swiped it for safekeeping, or maybe someone dropped it off with coat check…
“Oh, Nicoooole.”
I can barely hear it over the pounding bass of the band’s latest banger, but it still sends a chill down my spine. I spin, cringing at the childish call that drags my name into multiple unnecessary syllables. Kyle is standing by the wall, holding up my purse. When we make eye contact, he waves the beaded bag at me, like he wants to make sure that I know he has it.
And then what does that asshole do? He fucking runs.
He hugs the wall, skirting around the dance floor, and darts out towards the gardens where I just was.
“What the hell?!” I cry out, barely able to believe what just happened.
Did a grown man just steal my purse and run like he wants me to chase him? What kind of moron thinks the best way to get a girl’s attention is to steal her fucking purse and run? Is this grade school?
A few people around me shoot me strange looks at my outburst, so I grit my teeth and follow him back out onto the veranda.
“What the actual fuck,” I grumble, staggering on my heels as I follow him through the garden. I miss Lev’s steadying hand—the gravel was so much easier to navigate when I knew he’d catch me if I stepped wrong in my heel.
Kyle stays within sight until I hobble to the edge of the path, then darts through a line of trees. Almost like… fuck. Is he headed for that hedge maze?
“Kyle!” I yell, glancing around as I do. A couple kissing on a bench turn at the sound of my voice, so I lower it when I call out again, “This isn’t funny or cute. Give it back!”
“Come and get me, Nicole!”
He sounds deranged—there’s an edge to his voice that’s so excited it borders on sexual.
Oh, gross.
