Page 11 of Old Money
“But—how did she get permission?”
Caitlin smirked.
“Who says she asked?” She tugged the dress upward, trying the zipper again. “She could’ve replaced it with a burning cross and the whole village would be like,Oh, what a lovely barbecue.”
I swallowed, uncertain. Was I meant to laugh? Which part was the joke (or was she not joking)?
“I’m not saying they’re like that.” Caitlin held my gaze again. “But you know what I mean, right?”
“Totally,” I repeated, not having a clue.
“Good.” She smiled. “Breathe out, Alice.”
I did. In one quick motion, Caitlin pushed hard between my shoulder blades, using the other hand to yank the zipper all the way up. I lurched forward, gasping, then steadied myself. When I looked up, Caitlin was beaming at me in the mirror.
“I knew it.”
This time, I saw it too. The dress was too small, but still a hundred times better than my old one. I looked different. I looked mature—or nearly there.
“Okay, it’s official,” said Caitlin “You’re a babe.”
She pinched the back of my arm lightly, and I beamed, thrilled by the casual intimacy of it—like I was one of her real friends. Caitlin leaned down again, leveling her reflection with mine.
“Hey,” she whispered. “That thing about the lodge. I don’t mind if you tell your friends. But you didn’t hear it from me, ’kay?”
I nodded, still grinning. Caitlin put a hand on my shoulder. I remember the cool grip of her fingers. I remember the tiny chip in her baby blue polish.
“All right, babydoll.” She gave me an excited squeeze. “Shall we?”
Chapter Six
“More ice?” Jamie Burger asks.
I pull the bag away from my nose. It’s mostly cold water now.
“I’m fine,” I say. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Oh.” He looks at it, shrugging. “All good.”
There’s a beige smear of my makeup above the left lapel of Jamie’s suit jacket. The collar of my blouse is speckled with bright blood. We look like children who’ve been dragged into the principal’s office, for a fight that neither of us won. In fact, we are two thirtysomething adults who, quite simply, walked into each other. That’s it. In my haste to get away from Cory’s suspicious face, I’d stepped through the ballroom doorway just as Jamie was speed-walking past it, heading to the boot room to find me. It was slapstick—a classic Jamie Hotdog move.
Jamie shifts in the wooden swivel chair behind his desk—an antique behemoth that takes up two-thirds of the room. The walls are lined in 1970s wood paneling that bubbles out in spots, making the room feel even smaller than it is. Jamie himself almost hits the ceiling when standing. He was always the tallest kid in class, and now I bet he’s the tallest adult in most rooms. Physically, Jamie really is the scaled-up version of his sixth-grade self. Still lanky, same sandy-brown hair, and densely freckled skin.
“I forgot about that,” he says. “Your, uh, fainting thing.”
He says it lightly, as though it were a hobby I once had. In fairness, it’s not completely unjustified. If slapstick was Jamie’s annoying habit in middle school, then fainting was mine. It started about a month after Caitlin’s murder—I’d just pass out every few weeks, seemingly at random. Mom kept taking me to the doctor, who kept saying there was no evidentphysicalcause, but that much we all knew. All I could do was choose desks at the end of the row (my classmates learned to leave one open), so I wouldn’t fall on anyone. The fainting spells eased up with time, and by senior year they’d stopped entirely.
Until today, when I stepped into the gallery without looking, and crashed into Jamie Burger—his shoulder bone, specifically.
I’d come to only seconds later, but was still fairly dazed. Jamie had sent Cory for a first aid kit, then guided me to his office, where I’d briefly panicked again after he pointed into a closet and told me to sit down. This, Jamie explained,wasactually his office—although it had been a coat closet originally. So he wouldn’t take offense.
“I don’t faint anymore,” I tell Jamie firmly. “Really. That hasn’t happened since high school.”
Jamie nods slowly.
“And the office—you know, it’s great, but you might take the coat hooks down,” I say, gesturing at the wall. “That’ll throw people off.”
I smile at my own little joke, hoping he’ll follow my lead, but he stays quiet. This is the most uncomfortable job interview I’ve ever had, and it hasn’t even started.
