Say You Will(55)
She was still floating as she walked up the walkway to the house.
Until she saw Viola pacing on the steps right outside the South Street residence.
Her sister gripped Rosalind’s arm before she could run away and said, “You have to help me.”
“Are you in trouble?” she asked, frowning with concern.
“Why do you ask that?” her sister asked cautiously.
“Because you’ve been mainlining tequila and begging Bea to use her private detective, and now you’re here accosting me.”
“I didn’t beg.”
Rosalind rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Just watch Chloe for me. I brought her here to Mother or Fran but neither one of them seem to be around.” Viola gestured at the front door. “She’s inside. You don’t have to do anything. She’ll just sit somewhere and quietly pout while she does her homework.”
She sighed. “Why is she pouting?”
“Because she’s a teenager and they’re all miserable.” Her sister took her arms and made puppy dog eyes at her. “Please, Ros?”
“Go.” She sighed. “I’ll watch her.”
“Thank you.” Vi kissed her cheek and ran down the stairs.
Sighing, Rosalind went inside to look for her niece. She didn’t have to look long before she found her sulking among the potted trees in the orangery, earbuds in and her legs dangling off the end of the couch.
She went up to Chloe and tapped her shoulder.
The girl looked up and reluctantly tugged out her earbuds. “What?”
“Don’t you have homework?”
“I guess,” was the sullen answer.
Rosalind rolled her eyes. “Get it and come with me.”
The girl sighed heavily, like she was beleaguered, but got off the couch and picked up the discarded messenger bag from the floor. She sighed again as she slung it on her shoulder and looked at her impatiently.
“This way.” She was thinking of going to the kitchen—Fran’s cookies and milk had always been her favorite thing as a child. But at the last moment she detoured and headed upstairs to her mother’s closet. “I just need to stop to get my sketchpad.”
Chloe mumbled something noncommittal, but at least she kept pace. Rosalind fetched her things from her room, and they went to her mother’s closet. She double-checked to make sure Jacqueline wasn’t in there, walked to the closet, and then faced Chloe. “Can you keep a secret?”
Her niece’s face curled, like she was insulted. “I don’t snitch.”
“I hate this house. I hate every room except this one.”
She looked at the door. “This looks like a closet.”
“It is. It’s my mum’s. But it’s magic in here.” She opened the door and turned on the light. “I used to come in here and pretend this was a special place where a girl became a princess.”
Chloe followed her in. “I never wanted to be a princess.”
“What did you want to be?”
“A ninja.”
Rosalind grinned. “You’d make a good ninja. Tell you what? I’ll make you a ninja princess dress in all black whenever you like.”
Chloe stared at her incredulously. “Do you mean that?” she asked suspiciously.
“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” She sat down in front of the ball gowns and flipped open her sketchbook to the design for Sara’s dress.
“You’re odd.” But the teenager sat down right next to her.
“I’m a Summerhill. It’s in our genes.” She gave the girl a pointed look. “You’re a Summerhill, too, you know.”
“It’s not my last name.” But there was a longing to the statement.
Rosalind shook her head. “The last name is just a formality. You have the hair, the eyes, and the cheeks. You’re a Summerhill through and through.”
The girl nodded even though she didn’t look convinced. She took out a book from her bag and began to read.
Rosalind looked at her design. It was wrong. It was good—she didn’t do anything that wasn’t—but it wasn’t quite right.
She knew exactly what it needed to look like. She picked up the charcoal and began to sketch.
A strapless dress with rhinestones dotting the light tulle, all white. The bodice would be heart-shaped, and the bottom would be thigh length in front and trailing in a small train behind—what Bijou would have called a mullet dress.
It was perfect. Modern like Sara but still feminine and dreamy. She was going to love it. It was maybe one of the best designs she’d ever done, except for the dress she’d designed for herself. She’d captured Sara’s essence—not surprising since she felt connected to the woman, like they’d been friends forever. It was a nice feeling.