Chapter 18
Can’t Get You Out My Mind
Knox
All the way through the cemetery, I felt like I’d taken leave of myself. I feel lonely and abandoned in this town, the town I loved so much until it decided to welcome death.
My hands buried into my coat pockets, I leave the cemetery behind and take the street to the right, heading downtown.
One of William’s carriages is coming toward me, on the horse one of the girls that helps him out at the stables.
Smiling, she lifts a hand to me in greeting as she zips past with tourists in the back.
At the bell tower I stop. Spirit Susan, Aspen’s spiritually touched dance teacher, is in a penguin outfit, just like the group of kids behind her.
Seeing me, she shoots a smile and nods in the direction of Vaughn, our local street musician.
He nods, strums his guitar, and begins to sing “Little Drummer Boy.” I join the group of glittering-eyed onlookers who have gathered to watch the show.
Spirit Susan is a talented dancer, her movements are elegant, like liquid silk, weightless, while the kids give it their best. Vaughn gives the first pa rum pum pum pum pum, the kids turn their heads in time, right, left, right, left, while a little boy with a long open beak framing his entire face gets caught on the tips of the penguin queen’s tiara.
Attempting to bat off his beak with her underarm, he starts crying and the whole formation falls apart.
Only Spirit Susan is in her element, her lids heavy, the movements full of passion, as if this little square was her Broadway.
It’s all so absurd, I can’t help laughing until someone elbows me in the ribs.
I look to my side and see our old Patricia—the baker from the little pastry shop.
Her watery blue eyes tunnel into mine, then she nods her wrinkly chin to the right.
Following her eyes I discover Wyatt’s sister Camila.
She’s standing at the edge of the square, arms wrapped around herself, watching the show.
“It’s a shame she doesn’t dance anymore,” Patricia says. “She was so good.”
“Yeah,” I answer, without taking my eyes off Camila. “She was.”
A few of Patricia’s thin hairs fall onto her forehead, as she shakes her head sighing.
“It’s just terrible what all the Lopez kids have been going through ever since their mother Inès left us.
” Her sunken lips form a thin line. “You as well.” She casts me a brief sidelong glance.
“Cut the crap, Knox. Don’t give up. Life is too precious. ”
Once again I feel a weight on my chest. I absentmindedly run my hand across it, as if I could make it disappear. I look from Camila to Spirit Susan and her penguins, who have brought themselves back under control and are now dancing in time.
“Maybe it will get easier at some point,” I say quietly.
Patricia nods. “It will, my son.” She reaches out a delicate, papery hand and caresses my head. She used to do that when I was younger, and for some reason the gesture gets rid of the pressure and makes me feel warm. “It will when you let it.”
Dad is sitting at the table when I get home. He’s digging through a pile of papers and only looks up when I enter. His eyes are red. For him in particular this is a tough day.
His forehead is deeply lined. “I didn’t hear your car at all.”
“It’s still at the foot of Aspen Highlands. I was in the mood to walk.”
My father’s eyes rest on me for a moment too long. “I understand.”
I point to his papers. “Can I help with anything?”
He sighs, gathers the papers together, and puts them into a single pile. “No, it’s fine. But you could do something else for me.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“It’s about Paisley.”
My stomach goes into knots. I was just getting out of my snow gear when I stop. “What’s going on with her?”
Dad’s glance darts to the left, and I know that he’s not looking at our fireplace but is beyond the wall with the tourists. “You know how important the event is tomorrow night. Your most important sponsors are going to be here, Knox, and I want everything to go off perfectly.”
I slip out of my snowboard pants real slowly and hang my jacket up. Melted snow drips onto the ground. “And what’s that got to do with me?”
“Paisley’s new here,” he says, putting his elbows onto the table and tenting his fingers.
His smartwatch lights up with a message.
He ignores it. “I realize that I cannot expect her to understand the rules of the upper class from one moment to the next. But you can help her, at least with the basics. Show her the different kinds of champagne we have, how to pour them properly, and what all she needs to pay attention to during dinner. Oh, and take her to a boutique. She needs a dress.” His mouth twists in sympathy.
“I noticed that she showed up with a single jute bag. The poor girl.”
With a jute bag? Jesus. What the fuck happened to her?
“Dad,” I answer slowly. “I don’t know if I’m the right guy…”
At that very moment the front door opens, and Paisley comes walking in. Her hair looks disheveled, and there’s a big brown spot on her shirt. It looks like a baby puked on her or something. Her annoyed expression confirms my suspicion.
“Paisley, good to see you. Are you finished upstairs?”
She nods. With a tired smile she nods at the spot on her shirt. “My nerves are too.”
Dad laughs. “I bet. You’re doing a great job. We’re really happy to have you with us. That’s why Knox just said he’d be happy to take you under his wing tomorrow. He’ll help you out with a few things, and you all can go look for a nice dress for you. Okay?”
“Ummm…” Paisley looks over to me. Her eyes grow wide and the displeasure in them mirrors exactly what I’m feeling.
“Great.” Dad gives her a big smile, looks at his smartwatch, and pulls his phone out of his pocket to send a message.
Without looking up, he walks past us, gives me a pat on the back, and then takes a call.
He casts me one more glance over his shoulder.
“Thanks, son. Don’t wait for me to eat. I’m going to be late tonight; I’ve still got a number of things to do.
” With that, he disappears through the door.
Paisley and I look at each other, but neither of us says a word.
Eventually, I let out a sigh. “Give me ten minutes. I’ve got to shower.” My eyes fly to the spot on her chest. “You should, too.”
Paisley makes a face like she would rather be spit on by a hundred newborns than spend any time with me. But she knows that she doesn’t have a choice if she doesn’t want to lose her job. And I know that I don’t have any choice because, damn it, I simply cannot tear myself away from this girl.