“Last night?” I ask confused.
“Yes, is everything okay?” Mrs. Scott approaches me looking concerned.
“No. Chris hasn’t been here for about four days…”
“What do you mean, Lauren?” Mrs. Scott asks.
“Hey sweetie, would you like to see all the cool stuff Caylen has in her room?” I ask Willa, and she smiles and nods.
“Come on Caylen,” she says happily before taking off and Caylen bobbles behind her.
I sit down and begin to explain to them what’s happened—with Cal taking over from Chris and not telling me and Collin, and the new myriad of issues and possible medication abuse—and when I’m done tears are flowing down my face, and Mrs. Scott is rocking me in her arms.
“Oh honey, you’ve been dealing with all of this yourself?”
“We’ve got to do something. This is something we should be handling not the Crestfields,” Mr. Scott says, that old tone of authority back in his voice.
“I should cancel the show.” I grab my phone to call Hillary.
“No. No, you shouldn’t. You’ve worked so hard for this. Your deserve this.” Mrs. Scott squeezes my hand giving me a soft smile.
“We will all have to watch him. Someone will be here with you around the clock,” Mr. Scott says. “We’ll also tell Aidan to help out.”
“I just don’t understand why Collin would tell you to come here. Do you think it could have been Chris briefly?” I ask more to myself than them.
“I was shocked, to say the least,” Mr. Scott looks down guiltily. “I had such high hopes that things were about to change.”
“Have you seen him today?” I ask Mrs. Scott.
“He kissed me on the cheek while I was making breakfast and said he had to get to work. I should have known it wasn’t him when he didn’t steal any food.” She lets out a joyless laugh.
He always leaves before I wake up. Actually each of them do.
“Lauren, you should go get some rest before your big night. You look so tired,” Mrs. Scott says worriedly, and I realize I completely forgot about my hair and makeup appointment.
“I’m going to look like a zombie tonight—a stressed out zombie.” I laugh to keep from crying.
“No, it’s going to be fine. It’s all going to be fine,” Mrs. Scott reassures me taking me by the arm. “It’s one o’clock now. Go lie down until three and when you wake up, I’ll have everything you need to get ready here. I promise,” Mrs. Scott sounds so confident and sure that I immediately feel better.
When I hit the bed, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to sleep with so many thoughts running through my head, but somehow my eyelids feel as if they weigh a thousand pounds and sleep hits me like a truck.
“Hey, sleepy head. Time to wake up.” I open my eyes to see Hillary and Angela sitting beside me.
“What time is it?” I feel groggy and could sleep a thousand more hours.
“Time for you to hit the shower so we can make you glamorous.” Hillary grins with her five-pound beauty box at her side and a Red Bull outstretched to me while Angela waves her blow-dryer and flat irons at me.
“You guys are the best,” I say feeling myself tear up.
“Get all your crying out now because once I put your mascara and lashes on, I’ll have to kill you if tears wet them.”
I gulp down my Red Bull in between showering and putting on lotion and when I’m done Angela starts on my hair.
“Did I tell you I met my next one night stand?” Hillary asks, eying the size of her butt in my full-length mirror.
“Grow up Hil,” Angela playfully scolds her.
“Oh no if you saw him you wouldn’t say that. He’s so hot, and he’s an artist. He’s so broody and looking for a release.” She falls back on my bed and pulls up his picture on the phone. She shows it to Angie.
“Yeah, he’s cute but why does he have to be a one night stand?” Angie asks and Hillary smacks her lips.
“It’s an expression,” Hillary says defensively.
“What about Aidan?” I thought they seemed to be getting closer, so I am surprised that Hillary is looking at other guys, actually I’m not.
“Ugh, we’re not together. We’re just having fun and until he says otherwise, I am on the market,” she giggles. “What about you and Mikey,” Hillary teases Angela, and she smiles bashfully.
“We are hanging out,” Angela says while wrapping my hair around the curling wand.
“Hanging out or having fun?” Hillary says dramatically.
I close my eyes and take in the moment, remembering the days where we’d help each other get ready for dates, and had sleepovers after boys broke our hearts. Well, what I thought was heartbreak then. Nothing compares to what I’ve felt with Cal. The lows are to the bottom pits of the earth, but the highs are like the most coveted spot in heaven.
“Thank you for being here,” I tell them. Angie kisses my cheek and Hillary tosses a pillow at me.
“Watch the hair!” Angela scolds her. For a small moment in time my mind isn’t on all that’s happened between me and my husband—the lies, secrets and hidden agendas—it’s just on me hanging out with my girls before one of the most exciting nights of my life.
“Here is your suit for tonight and the files you requested.” She hangs up the suit on my door and then sets the folder on my desk.
“Jennifer, what are these?” I ask looking up at my assistant and going back to the files in my hand.
“You asked for them, sir.” She smiles awkwardly at me. She’s pretty in the old-school movie star way—not thin as a rail but shapely, big doe eyes, and full lips—but I question if that was one of the sole factors of her getting this job.
“I asked you?” I reiterate. I notice her gulp.
“Yes, this morning.” She crosses her hands in front of her, the half-smile disappearing. I pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s the second time I’ve lost time, little moments stolen from me like taunts. First was the paper taped to my computer monitor that said “your time is running out,” and now this.
“What are these exactly?” I flip through what looks like personal documents, electricity bills, and a birth certificate.
“They were delivered by courier Mr. Crestfield,” her voice is wavering, and she’s nervous or uncomfortable, but it’s me that should be. When my eyes land on the name, I drop the file from my hands. It’s Clayton Rice’s life on my desk.
“Cal.” I mutter.
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“Nothing Jennifer. Will I see you at my wife’s opening tonight?” I change the subject, and her smile widens.
“Yes. We’re all very excited. I’ve never been to a gallery opening before.”
“Good,” I tell her, and she nods before leaving and shutting the door behind her.
I pull out the bottle of pills from my drawer and eye them. The combination I took earlier was wrong. It only made me tired and more susceptible to transitioning. I should up the count of the Naltrexonel. I pick up the phone.
“Jennifer, can you page Keelan Fexler?” He’s one of the chemists I’ve been working with. I take the file Cal ordered earlier and toss it in the shredder. I check the time and see I have about two hours before I need to head to the gallery, so I hop in the shower and change into my suit, and realize that Fexler still hasn’t made his way up here. I grab the phone.