Sweet Nothing(4)

“Do you like it here?”

“Allford, you mean?” She nods. “The pay is good, and the perks are sweet. At last year’s end of year luncheon, we had a raffle for a free week at a Board member’s Italian villa.”

“Are you serious?”

“Tara Winston won.” She leans in close. I can smell her perfume: toasted brown sugar. “Which I was totally fine with, because from what I hear, she and her husband could really use the time away.” Somehow, she manages to pout and tsk at the same time.

It takes a few seconds for me to realize that she’s actually waiting on me to comment on Tara Winston, whoever she is, or the state of her marriage, which I can only assume is dire.

“Hey, do you have any idea where Dr. Goodwin might be?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Good excuse to snoop around, right?”

“Good point,” I grin. “Well, it was nice to meet you.” We won’t be best friends, but she seems harmless. Almost.

“Likewise. If you need anything, just me know, girl.” She air kisses both of my cheeks. I make a mental note to write Aria: Florida’s great, sis! They have alligators! And debutantes!

I lose myself in the crowd of youngish teachers and gray-templed administrators, smiling at everyone but making direct eye contact with no one. It’s how I plan to live here—blending in without getting too close. I’m looking forward to living in a place where no one knows who I am or what I’ve done.

I enter the house through a set of French doors. Winding through an ornately decorated living room and down a wide hallway, I hear the usual cocktail party refrains: Brad and I went there last summer, and it was amazing… you have to try the spicy tuna rolls, they’re the best in Miami. The chatter is frothy and familiar. Somewhere down the hall, I hear the sounds of an acoustic guitar.

I peek past the first few doors—a study, a marble-floored half-bath, an all-white guest bedroom—before I hear Dr. Goodwin’s friendly, booming voice echoing from the last room on the hall.

“And I told her: ‘Of course it isn’t! I bought the damn thing in Paris!’”

I find Dr. Goodwin in a large, casual living room decorated with modern gray loveseats and chairs, glass side tables, and cherry red accents. He’s standing next to the bar in the corner, entertaining a distinguished looking older couple. He glances up as I enter.

“Elle!” He smiles and waves me over. “I was just wondering about you.”

“Sorry, sir. The trip took a little longer than I’d planned.” I nod my hellos. Dr. Goodwin is an imposing man, with a wiry bushel of silver hair and sparkling blue eyes. While everyone else at the party is wearing cocktail attire, he’s dressed in a tuxedo, like the waiters. Weirdo. I want to hug him.

“Elle, I’d like you to meet Maria Estes, president of the Allford Academy Board of Trustees. And this is Julian Sayers, an alumnus and dear friend of our school.”

“It’s a pleasure.” I flash my canned party smile. I know enough to know what dear friend of our school means.

Cha-ching.

“Maria, Julian, I’d like you both to meet—” He falters, his eyes cutting to mine.

“Elle. Elle Sloane,” I say hurriedly. My heart revs in my chest.

“Elle’s father and I were pals at Choate back in the dark ages.” Dr. Goodwin announces.

I manage a nod, my throat closing at the mention of my father.

“Excellent.” The woman smiles kindly.

“If you’ll both excuse us for a moment?” Dr. Goodwin guides me toward the fireplace. It’s painted a bright, shiny red to match the accents scattered intentionally throughout the room. “How was your trip, my dear?” he asks gently.

“Long,” I admit. “But I’m excited to be here, sir, and I just want to say thank you for giving me this chance. I won’t let you down.”

“We’re lucky to have you. And how is… your mother?”

Softly, I offer the rehearsed response. “We’re all doing the best we can.”

He nods and stares into the distance. “It’s just horrible, isn’t it?”

I don’t answer, because he’s not really asking. And because I’ve sworn never to speak of it again.

“Well.” He clears his throat. “I want to assure you, Elliot—Elle—that I will keep your confidence. I know that you’re here for a new start, and I promise you: you’ll have it at Allford.”

“Thank you, sir.” He’s so gracious, I want to cry.

“You’ll find everything you need in your room at the cottage.” The school mailed me an address and a key to the cottage where I’ll be staying with other faculty who have chosen on-campus housing. “Until then, enjoy yourself.” He summons a nearby waiter and hands me an unsolicited cosmo.