1. Eloise
1
ELOISE
EIGHT YEARS LATER
“Someone give her an Oscar,” I mutter under my breath as the exaggerated moans filter through the motel’s thin walls and spill into the parking lot. There’s a whole choir of enthusiasm going on in the Paradise Palms Motel tonight. A squirrel pokes its head out of a nearby garbage can, like the volume has finally gotten to him too. I laugh softly when I notice it double-fisting fries.
Anything to distract me from the scene unfolding in front of me.
I glance back at Judge Whitaker’s motel room. He’s not even trying to hide it—pounding into his secretary in front of the open window. I’ve seen enough of their affair for a lifetime. But this? This is just asking for trouble.
I’m not a prude. Hell, I’m not even against a little public exhibitionism if that’s your thing, but we’re going on hour three, and I’m over it. I’m over recording everyone’s dirty little secrets, the back-alley deals, the drugs, the countless affairs. It’s always the same old story, just a different cast of players.
Twenty-five years old, and I feel twice that.
I swirl the last of my iced coffee around in my reusable to-go cup; the ice clinking softly as I watch the squirrel dive back into the trash can. The sound of my phone ringing pulls me from my thoughts, and I answer as soon as I see who’s calling.
My sister’s face pops up on the screen, a wide smirk and blue eyes sparkling with her trademark mischief.
“How’s life as an amateur porn videographer?” Margot asks, the sarcasm laced in her voice as she leans into the camera, her chin resting on her hand.
“This is exactly why you don’t come with me on jobs,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
Margot laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Bullshit, Louie! I’d be the best goddamn sidekick ever. I’d be in your passenger seat, snackin’ on corn chips and narrating the harrowing sexcapades of whatever unlucky asshole pissed off Seven Pines.”
Named after the neighborhood the original crew was living in—the one they still live in—Seven Pines is one of the reigning crews in Avalon Falls. Not everyone in the neighborhood works for the crew, but everyone in the crew lives in the neighborhood.
Including me and my sisters.
I don’t mind the work I do, even if it’s unconventional.
When I left Ma, I didn’t have much of a plan other than getting the hell out of there. But when I showed up on one of my oldest friend’s doorstep, Nate opened up his home to us without hesitation. I moved us into our own place shortly thereafter, and after I graduated high school, I started working for Nate. He’s been working his way up in the Seven Pines crew for as long as I’ve known him.
He gives me a name or address and hands me an empty burner phone, then I pack it with secrets and hand it back to him. No questions asked. Compared to some of the other shit crews do, it’s easy work.
Affairs are easy to catch, and I’ve long since stopped worrying about what happens to the dirt once I’m done with it. The money pays for Margot’s college tuition and keeps Vivi in her private school. That’s all I need to know.
“It’s not for Seven Pines, you know that.” I snort, shaking my head. Margot has always been the boldest of us three Hawthorne girls, quick with a joke or sarcastic quip. There was a time where I was worried about her, anxiously expecting another situation like that fateful night we left Ma’s apartment. But I should’ve known better. Ma always brought out the worst in people.
She rolls her eyes and waves her hand away. “You know what I meant. C’mon, Louie, show me the goods. We can pretend I’m right there with you.” She laughs, waggling her eyebrows at me.
Against my better judgment, I flip the camera around so she can see what I’ve been parked in front of all afternoon.
She whistles low and adopts a terrible British accent. “The elusive middle-aged man has ventured out of his natural habitat and into the dangerous waters of what looks like a pay-by-the-hour motel. Notice how he puts his whole body into the mating ritual. The female doesn’t seem like she’s very impressed, despite her vocalization. To be honest, I’m not surprised, given the very average copulation.”
Laughter tumbles out of me, and I flip the camera around. “You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?”
“Yep,” she sing-songs, popping the p. “And that’s why you love me.”
“One of the reasons, for sure.”
“But for real, talk about French onion soup.” She jerks her chin left, toward the motel room.
I laugh again. French onion soup . It’s been an inside joke ever since we hit up a diner years ago and the waitress, bored out of her mind, told us the soup was “nothing special.” It stuck, and now it’s our go-to phrase for anything unimpressive. She’s not wrong. Judge Whitaker has been using the same move all afternoon.
“Yeah, yeah. How’s it going there? Anything you need to tell me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at Margot. My sister’s good at hiding things when she wants to, but I know her tells.
She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. “Jesus, Eloise. Relax. We’ve been doing this song and dance for how long now?”
I tilt my chin up and shrug. “Doesn’t mean I ever stop worrying.”
“Well, you should. I’m nineteen. I can handle watching our thirteen-year-old sister for a night. Even if she’s turning into an attitude alien in a Vivie-suit. Please tell me I didn’t have this much sass when I was her age.” She stares at me, her gaze flat.
“First of all,” I counter, “you’re not nineteen until next month.” I raise a brow. “And second of all, you didn’t—you had more. Vivie’s a walk in the park compared to you.”
I roll my lips inward at the shock coloring her cheeks pink. “I’m calling bullshit. I was an absolute angel. And I definitely wasn’t this boy crazy.”
“Speaking of . . .” I trail off, looking at her expectantly. She’s been a little preoccupied with her phone lately. One of her tells that she’s talking to someone new. My sister is a total stunner—and a total man-eater. She’s more likely to give a guy the praying mantis treatment than let them date her.
Her cheeks darken in color, and now it’s my turn to feel shocked.
“Anyone I know?”
Her eyes widen for a second before she smooths her expression into something more neutral. She shrugs, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about who I’m seeing.”
"Oh my God, who is it?" I ask, narrowing my gaze. "There’s only one reason you wouldn’t tell me—he’s Seven Pines, isn’t he?"
Margot scoffs, raising her brows. "Hypocritical much?" She glances at the window behind me. "You’re literally recording some dude going to town on his secretary for Seven Pines."
I bristle, sitting up a little straighter. "It pays the bills, doesn’t it?"
"It pays the bills," she echoes, but her tone softens. "This is why you should just let me get a job. I could help take the load off you, you know."
My chest tightens at her words, and I shake my head. “No. You know how I feel about that. You need to focus on school.” She doesn’t need something else added to her plate, not when she’s so close to making something of herself. “You’re getting out of Avalon Falls, Margot. You’re going to do something big. No distractions.”
I glance at Judge Whitaker through the blinds again. He’s still going at it. I almost feel bad for him. It’s not even subtle—going one town over to hook up with his secretary isn’t the brightest move, especially when he leaves the damn window open like he’s begging to get caught. Once the higher-ups get this, I’m sure his attitude will change.
“You coming back tonight?” She changes the subject, like she always does whenever we talk about her getting out of our small town.
I glance at the clock on my dash, realizing how long I’ve been sitting in this godforsaken parking lot. “Probably,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’ve been here so long I’m surprised no one’s kicked me out.”
That mischievous spark of hers lights up her face. “You should stay there instead. Do something fun.”
I scoff. “And stay where—at the Paradise Palms Motel? Pass.”
“Nah, you go home with someone,” she says it like duh .
“ Pass .” I can’t remember the last time I hooked up with anyone. Living in a small town makes dating complicated and one-night stands near impossible. Seeing Barron Sharpe in the frozen veggie aisle two days after I faked my orgasm was a new breed of awkward. No thanks.
“Jeez, Louie. Would it kill you to be spontaneous for once?” I hear keys tapping like she’s typing something, and a second later, she snaps her fingers. “Fine, no one-night stands. How about a drive-in? Go see a movie. Relax. You deserve it.”
I scoff, eyeing the motel one last time. "A movie?"
“Yes, Eloise. A movie. You haven’t done anything fun in forever.” She nods like she’s agreeing with herself.
I sigh, leaning back in my seat as I consider it. Maybe she’s right. I’ve been grinding for so long I barely remember what fun feels like.
“You sure you’re good to watch Vivie overnight?” I nibble the inside of my bottom lip.
“Babe. Of course. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t have it already covered,” she assures me. “Now go disco nap in your car or something, because you got a date at the drive-in.”
Somewhere along the way, we started calling little cat naps disco naps. I don’t even know how it started, but it stuck. And my sister definitely uses it freely.
Her enthusiasm is contagious, my smile spreading across my face before I realize it. “Alright, alright. I’ll go see a movie. But I’m coming home early tomorrow.”
“I’ll take it. Have fun tonight! Make bad decisions,” she sing-songs before ending our video chat.
A night at the drive-in seems fool-proof. And she’s right, I do love seeing movies. Looks like I’m staying in this town for a little while longer, but thankfully, Whitaker and his secretary are done.