Chapter 2
J ust seconds later, the blonde girl named Piper joined me in the hallway in front of the auditorium. Her expression mirrored how I often felt around Dr. R., a mixture of terror and hypervigilance. “Uh, hi.”
“Hi,” I replied. “I have the programs.”
“I think Dr. R. wanted to have you help me get everything set up out here. She expects people to start arriving around 5:30.”
“We have an early bird,” I said, referring to Sinclair Whittier.
Piper managed a smile. “I don’t think he counts.” Then she moved to the right in the big space between the two sets of doors leading to the auditorium where three long tables were propped against the wall. “We need to set up these tables.”
“Okay.” Putting the programs down on the floor, I grabbed one side of the first long folding table and let her lead where we were going to put it. My feet screamed at me.
After we set it on its side, we both pulled out the legs on our respective sides—and she started talking. “I’m Piper, by the way.”
“Lise.”
After we started setting up the second table, she asked, “Miller, right?”
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t until we were unfolding the third and last table that she ventured further. “I hate to ask…but is your dad Rowan Miller?”
My shoulders dropped because now I knew where this conversation was heading. When people found out who my family was, that was usually the end of any potential friendship. But I wasn’t about to lie. I loved my father and I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise, despite what the community thought of him. “Yes.”
After we set the table up, she said, “Just a sec.” When she walked into the other side of the auditorium, I reminded myself again that this day was almost over. Just a few more hours.
Moments later, Piper returned with an armful of silky off-white linen tablecloths. She threw the pile on the last table and picked up one, motioning with her head to the first table—and I followed. Quickly, she unraveled the cloth and gave me one end. Then we straightened and smoothed it over the table.
“This has to be pretty awkward for you.”
I had a feeling I knew what she was talking about, but I didn’t want to jump in a pile of dung when I might have had the opportunity to step around it. “What’s that?”
“Having to be nice to him.” I simply shrugged as we moved to the second table, spreading another tablecloth on top. I didn’t know if she was bored or trying to be nice, but she pressed, nonetheless. “If it was me, I’d have a hard time being polite, especially with Cruella de Vil kissing his ass.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
“Yeah, but—they raked your dad over the coals. At least, that’s what my mom told me. I can’t remember the whole deal. I was too young to know what was going on.”
I lied. “Me, too.” In truth, I remembered every agonizing day my father would come home, beaten down more than he’d been the day before. My mother had been there back then. And it was only a matter of time before I started becoming the target of bullies at school, kids happy for any excuse to ostracize, tease, and torment another.
“I bet you’ll be glad when this is over.”
“Yeah. Probably you too.”
Piper laughed. “True. At least this is the last thing I have to do before I can enjoy a short summer break.”
The girl seemed nice enough, and she and I organized the programs—stacks on both tables nearest the doors. There were other materials she again fetched from somewhere in the auditorium—general brochures about the college in general and the nursing program specifically. Just as we were finishing up, Jenna and a male student arrived pushing two carts. One was full of platters of meats, cheeses, crackers, and fruit. The other had beverages—big containers of coffee, tea, and water, as well as bottles of champagne.
Jenna said, “You can’t put all this stuff on the whole table.”
Piper asked, “What do you mean?”
“You’re only s’posed to use up half the table on both sides. We have to use the rest for all this stuff.”
Piper and I quickly condensed the programs and other materials so that Jenna could use the rest of the space, and I tried not to be irritated that she was being bossy, especially after slacking off the entire afternoon. The young man left again with one of the empty carts, bringing back more—paper plates, napkins, cups, utensils, and the like. We were finishing up just as people began arriving.
As if she sensed her audience, Dr. R. emerged from the auditorium, asking us to prop the doors open. Her expression—all smiles—was strange, a sight rarely seen in her natural habitat and I tried not to let it weird me out.
When we opened the doors to the auditorium, a classical melody poured out from that space, possibly the first time the new speakers had ever been used. I’d heard the—was it a symphony ?—musical piece before, but I didn’t know what it was. The only music education I’d had was in elementary school, so I was pretty much clueless.
Still…the strains of the music coming from the auditorium moved me. It was haunting and powerful and I wondered why people today didn’t make music like that. This composition produced feelings in me that I could barely explain.
As the wealthy citizens of Winchester began filtering in, I continued stepping back so I was closer to the wall. I didn’t understand rich people and the only thing I knew about them was that they had unchecked power. That was why my father, who’d only wanted to protect our town and the environment, had become a pariah. Today I doubted many people my age even remembered why, much like Piper—they only knew we were the undesirables. My dad had always said to give it time and it would pass, but being rejected by most people was all I’d ever known. I understood it could be different—and that was why I planned to get out, and I’d take my father with me.
“Hello, Anna.”
It took everything in me to stop from gasping. There was only one person who ever called me Anna, and that was Mr. Sherwood, my history professor from last fall. Turning my back to the auditorium, I faced him. “Class over?”
“No. I haven’t had classes since this morning. I just wanted to see what the hubbub was all about.”
Had he been living under a rock all summer? “Tonight is the dedication of the—”
He nodded, his brown eyes full of mirth. “I know. The precious simulation lab. Maybe we can get back to business as usual around here after tonight.”
Despite the creepy vibes I often got from Mr. Sherwood, I understood how frustrating it must have been to teach any subject other than one in health or science. All other departments were looked upon as supporting players…always the bridesmaid but never the bride.
“Are you here for that?” It would explain why the man was dressed all in black, an odd choice for this time of year.
“No. Just passing through—but I never want to miss an opportunity to chat with one of my favorite students.”
It was comments like those that often made me uneasy around Mr. Sherwood. He was nice enough—and seemed to care about how students performed in his classes—but he sometimes got a little too friendly. It was nothing I could put my finger on, but there was always an underlying sense that he was a little too interested. At first, I’d thought it was because he was good-looking. His full head of thick blond hair and chiseled face—along with the fact that he worked out and showed off about it—had all the girls on campus drooling, excited that they had to take one or more of his classes to meet the social science or humanities requirements.
After a couple of months in his class, I thought maybe the attention had gone to his head, and he loved having a fandom. But when he invited me out for coffee before finals week, I started thinking that wasn’t the case. I took him up on his offer—seemingly innocuous, because it was at the college coffee cart—and we simply sat in some furniture in a lounge area in the main building. But he got a little too close and personal, asking all about my family and the tribulations my dad had undergone as a result of speaking out against what he’d seen as wrongdoing.
But even that I was able to blow off—especially when I got a B in his class instead of an A. He wasn’t playing favorites.
Still…any opportunity he had, he would pull me aside to chat—and he’d place a hand on my shoulder or arm, something he could flatly deny was inappropriate but felt so just the same.
And, because of that, I would often respond flippantly when he would indicate his fondness for me. “Oh? Where are they? There are lots of students here tonight.”
“You know I mean you , Anna.”
That was another thing—the first two weeks in his class, I’d told him multiple times that my name was Annalise , and if he had to call me by a nickname, I much preferred Lise . I got the feeling he liked calling me by a name no one else did. So I simply shrugged and looked toward the auditorium entrance where people were beginning to amass, picking up programs and talking with one another. Even though Mr. Sherwood made me uncomfortable, the well-to-do made me feel the same way but for different reasons. I had nothing in common with them. At least Mr. Sherwood seemed to have more of a middle-class background, something I could better relate to.
So I decided that, if he were going to be here for a while, I’d change the subject. “At least this is almost over.”
“What do you mean? It’s only beginning.”
“Yeah,” I said, shrugging, “but we’ve been working all day—actually, all month—for this event. I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
“Of course. That makes sense.” After a few seconds, he said, “Ah, that’s Dr. Jonas and his wife,” indicating a middle-aged couple coming through the door. “Do you know them?”
“No.”
“He’s my dentist.” Leaning closer, he dropped his voice. “Most people don’t know this, but he’s probably the richest man in Winchester.”
“Really?” I hadn’t heard that, but I didn’t gossip much—and, even had I wanted to, I didn’t have anyone close to talk with.
“Yep. He makes a lot of money at his business, but he does a lot of investing too.”
Which probably meant he was another hater of my father.
Mr. Sherwood said, “I suppose Leona will have her hands out at this little shindig tonight.”
Although he called her Leona around me, I suspected that he, like most people on campus, would only call her Dr. Rakhimov to her face out of deference. And despite what I thought of her lack of skills in talking with students, I had to give her credit. Turning my head from the people trickling in, I looked back at him. “She knows how to raise money.”
“That she does.” His expression suddenly changed, but I wasn’t sure why—until he spoke again. “I love when your eyes do that.”
“Do what?”
“I can’t explain it. I could stare into your eyes for hours.”
That was one of those borderline-inappropriate things he’d say on occasion. But it still wasn’t enough that I felt like I had a harassment case…and Mr. Sherwood seemed harmless. I doubted he’d ever do anything out of line to jeopardize his position at the college. Still, I flashed him a weak smile and turned back to watch the proceedings—removing him the opportunity of any more time staring into my eyes.
Dr. Rakhimov bounded out of the auditorium. She was a force to behold and, as long as you weren’t one of the objects getting torn up in her tornado, she was fascinating to watch. Based on how Mr. Sherwood clammed up, I suspected he felt the same way.
Unfortunately, after hobnobbing with a couple and then chatting with a couple students, she turned my way as if sensing where I was, her eyes zeroing in on me. Quickly, she strode over. She had words for me but restrained herself, shifting her gaze to the man I stood next to. “Mr. Sherwood, to what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Dr. Rakhimov,” he nodded. “Much as I’d like to stick around, I have other obligations—but I wanted to see what kind of crowd you drew.” Glancing around the lobby, he added, “Impressive as always.”
“Thank you. We’re fortunate to have such magnanimous donors.”
“Best of luck.” Then he looked at me. “Always nice catching up with you, Anna.”
Against the flow of the growing crowd, Mr. Sherwood made his way toward the outer doors. As soon as he was out of earshot, Dr. R. snapped at me. “I don’t know why you’re loafing about, but get over there now. You need to be smiling and offering assistance to anyone who might need it.”
I doubted any of these people needed someone to tell them to take a program and be seated. Even though appetizers and drinks were already on display, the way the food was covered—and the fact that the students hadn’t put out the utensils or any plates or cups made it clear that the refreshments were for after their time in the auditorium. And my fellow students didn’t seem to need help—but I was not about to argue with Dr. R. As I nodded, ready to rejoin the group, she growled at me, her face looking flush against the backdrop of coiffed white hair. “And take that stupid walkie-talkie off and give it to Jenna. You look like a redneck.”
A redneck ?
I wouldn’t have minded hanging out with Piper. She seemed nice enough. But the only place where there was a gap was next to Jenna. I supposed that was fine since I needed to all but report to her. That made no sense to me at all.
So there I stood, handing her the walkie-talkie and belt when she made eye contact. I asked, “What are we supposed to be doing?”
“Just answering questions,” she said, lifting the backside of the long tablecloth and sliding the walkie-talkie underneath the table—a place I was sure Dr. R. had not wanted it to be. “Handing out brochures if someone walks past without taking one. Smiling if someone makes eye contact with you. You know.” Then she tilted her head toward me, lowering her voice. “Pretty boring shit, actually.”
I simply nodded, forcing a smile for the people who looked my way but somehow seemed to see past me, as if I wasn’t even there.
After another minute, Jenna leaned in close again. “Have you gotten a look at the guy who funded all this shit?” Apparently, she’d forgotten already salivating about him last time we’d talked.
I could barely tolerate saying his name. “Whittier?” It still stung that, for a moment, I’d been enamored of him as well, not realizing who he was.
“Yeah. He is hot as hell.”
Normally, I would have stayed quiet, but between the irritation I felt with myself for not knowing who he was and fatigued at having to deal with this girl all day, I said, “He’s all right.” Rationally, I knew that wasn’t true—he really was attractive—but I also knew I shouldn’t be beating myself up for not knowing who he was. After all, the only one I would know on sight—if he hadn’t changed over the past twenty years, anyway—would be his father, Augustus. His face had appeared in the local newspaper as much as the U.S. President’s, and my dad read the news faithfully back then. Even still, it had never been a fair fight.
“ All right? Girl, is something wrong with your eyes? That man is yummy as fuck.”
My cheeks flared again as I surveyed a couple of faces on the other side of the table—but I needn’t have worried, because they obviously hadn’t heard Jenna. In fact, most of those people didn’t even seem to recognize that we even existed. Even when we held out a program for someone to take, it was like they couldn’t see the hand holding it.
All I could come up with in protest was a platitude. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” And, while it was true that my eyes had indeed found him extremely good looking, Jenna would never hear that from me.
“Then you need to get your eyes checked. That man is fine.” We stood in relative silence for a few seconds while I hoped this topic of conversation would pass. Instead, she continued. “See, I like a man in a suit. A suit covers up a lot of sins—but when you know the man wearing it has a tight ass and washboard abs, it’s like gift wrapping. You peel off the jacket—and the tie’s like a bow.” By now, the lobby was full of people in various stages of moving toward the auditorium where they could be seated.
I tried ignoring Jenna, but she went on and on about how she would lick him from head to toe if she ever got him naked—and she progressed from there. I was sure she did it because she knew how uncomfortable it made me. So I tried focusing on straightening up the dwindling piles of materials on the table in front of us and looking at the better off citizens of our fair town—ones who refused to look back at me. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t bother me, because that happened a lot, simply because of who I was.
This, though…this was different. These people thought I and the other students here were beneath them, and that gave me yet another reason to despise them and Dr. Rakhimov—but, most of all, it fueled my hate for Sinclair Whittier.
Once again, I reminded myself that the torture of this night was almost over. But little did I know that my torture was just beginning.