Chapter 9
I stare through the stained glass at the center of the front door, my eyes following the curvature of the hand-carved designs. Someone stands on the other side, but who could it be? Everyone on Ava’s guest list has already arrived. Both Marmee and Mrs. Wilson are inside.
Don’t have too much fun without me.
It’s a warning. From Oliver.
“Who is here?” Constance asks.
Ava wanders back in from the dining room. “What’s going on?” she asks when she sees us all staring at the entrance.
“Someone just knocked,” Preston says. “Are we expecting anyone else?”
“I don’t think so.”
Fear overwhelms me. I grip the envelope inside my jacket pocket, thinking of the threat inside. I shake my head to expel my thoughts.
Preston sets his drink on the bureau, the heavy glass making a clacking noise against the wood. He straightens his tie a bit before approaching the door. He opens it, but not wide enough that any of us can get a good look at who is on the other side.
“Can I help you?” Preston asks, his voice confident and relaxed.
There’s a muffled response from outside. The voice sounds male, possibly familiar, but exactly what he’s saying is hard to make out.
“I think you have the wrong house,” Preston responds, still in conversation with the man.
Ava and Constance stare at me. It’s unsettling, having a stranger arrive here unexpectedly. We all know how isolated Marmee’s house is from any city or even town.
I walk ahead until I’m standing beside Preston, aiming to get a look at the visitor.
It’s a man. He’s around our age with dark hair and a scruffy beard filling out the lower half of his face. He wears dark pants and a burgundy coat over a plaid button-up. I don’t know him, and yet something about his face seems recognizable.
“This is my house,” I say. “Who did you say you’re trying to find?”
“I’m here for the party,” he says, a smile on his face. “I’m looking for Marlowe.”
“There you are!” Marlowe’s voice breaks through the tension, injecting some much-needed life into the awkward introductions. Preston takes a step back as she opens the door wider.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Damien,” she says. “My boyfriend.”
She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss on the lips.
The moment is alarming, not just because this man appeared to be a stranger only moments ago, but because I’m not used to seeing Marlowe express her affections so openly.
When she was married to Michael, they were never overly affectionate; I think the last time I saw them kiss was on their wedding day.
“Boyfriend?” Ava repeats the word as though it has left a bad taste in her mouth. “I didn’t know anyone else would be joining us.”
“It was a last-minute addition,” Marlowe says, turning around.
“I was supposed to be out of town this weekend,” Damien says. “Unexpected change of plans.”
“Don’t worry, he’s part of the theme,” Marlowe says, flicking her hand in a way that emphasizes what he’s wearing.
Damien steps back outside and leans around the corner of the house. When he stands upright, he has a black duffel bag in one hand and a fake axe in the other.
“Any guesses?” he asks.
“The Shining,” Constance says, and I’m surprised that out of everyone, she knew the answer.
“Heeeere’s Johnny!” Damien squeals proudly, before adopting his regular tone. “Sorry for the late arrival. My driver got turned around a bit.”
“You’re just in time,” Marlowe says, ushering him into the house. “We were just about to sit down for dinner.”
Damien steps inside the foyer, his eyes immediately turning to the tapered ceiling overhead, the hanging chandelier that seems to glitter even more after nightfall.
His gaze tours the room, expressing the same amazement I’m used to seeing on others’ faces when they arrive at Marmee’s house for the first time. His eyes land on me.
“Happy birthday,” he says, smiling.
“How did you know it was my birthday?”
“You’re Tippi, right?” He looks me up and down. “I can tell from your costume. The Birds.”
I nod, forcing myself to smile. Oliver’s card is making me jumpy. Paranoid. Or maybe it’s the fact that Damien looks so familiar.
He raises his arm for a handshake, my attention immediately drawn to the gorgeous gold Rolex on his wrist. I meet him with a firm grip, and his calloused hands chafe against my palm.
“If everyone will make their way to the dining room,” Marlowe says, “I’ll begin serving the meal.”
Damien follows her into the next room, a hungry Preston right behind them.
“Unbelievable,” Ava says, under her breath.
Constance crosses her arms. “Marlowe never mentioned anyone was coming?”
“I never even knew she had a boyfriend,” Ava replies, wounded she was left out of the gossip.
Constance is the one in our friend group who leaps from boyfriend to boyfriend, never being with one long enough for me to remember his name.
Marlowe recently divorced Michael, her longtime partner.
I didn’t realize she’d started dating. Of course, I’ve pushed her and everyone else away in recent weeks.
There’s no telling what crucial details might have slipped through the cracks.
“He brought a duffel bag. I guess he’s staying the rest of the weekend?” Ava rolls her eyes. “Marlowe is always doing whatever she wants. The least she could have done was give me a heads-up.”
“It will be fine,” I say, sensing the tension between Ava and Marlowe isn’t quite resolved after all. “Let’s eat.”