Sweet Shadows
Page 72
Home. Not quite the refuge it used to be, but always the place I belong.
CHAPTER 29
GREER
The gym is transformed. As I stand in the doorway, I can no longer picture the space as it was only yesterday. A commercial cleaning crew sterilized it from top to bottom, erasing the horrid gymnasium smell. The committee and I arrived at dawn to work our magic, turning an athletic space into a corner of heaven.
Staying busy keeps my mind off the rescue I delayed. Off the promise I made. My mind can’t deal with those things right now.
I’m proud of our work. Round tables covered with white linens are set up in the center, evenly spaced to make the arrangement pleasing to the eye. Along one wall of bleachers, now disguised by drapes in a soft golden yellow covering from the floor to the clerestory windows at the top, is a buffet table with crystal punch bowls, real champagne flutes, and cocktail napkins in school colors.
Along the opposite, similarly disguised wall is a raised dais and the table where the principal, the heads of the alumnae association, and the tea committee will sit and speak during the tea.
Every place at every table is set to perfection. Beautiful gold-and-violet china, gilded flatware, crystal goblets.
It’s all beautiful, but the ceiling … The ceiling is my triumph.
To hide the ugly light fixtures and the drab gray tiles, long swathes of dark-lavender silk hang in swooping swags. Behind the swags, bright white fairy lights twinkle through, giving the impression of the sky at dusk. The glow of sun streaming in the windows only enhances the effect. With the scent of peonies in the air, from the white-and-pink centerpieces on each table and the flickering candles adding to the aroma, I can almost imagine I’m standing outside. The fading sun casting a violet hue on the world, the persistent stars twinkling through the haze.
The only thing that ruins the image is the clanking sounds of the caterers setting up in the hallway off the other end of the gym.
“Oh well,” I say out loud to the empty space. “Perfection never lasts forever.”
I set my bag down at my seat, on the end of the dais. I could claim the center as my due, at the left hand of the principal. But knowing that an emergency is inevitable at any event, I want to be in a position to act quickly.
I go about my duties, surveying each place setting, confirming the number of flutes on the buffet, checking on the caterers. Everything is in place by the time the rest of the committee returns, changed into their tea attire. I brought mine in a garment bag. Mostly—I’m not proud to admit—to avoid having to go home and face Gretchen.
We go over the schedule one more time, confirming who’s speaking when. Who’s responsible for seating which prestigious alumnae. When we instruct the string quartet to start playing.
We are minutes from the first guests arriving when the dizziness hits me. Harder than before—my knees literally buckle beneath me. Luckily, I’m next to the dais. If I’d come down on the buffet as hard as I just landed against the platform, there would be fruit punch and shattered glass everywhere.
“Greer,” Annalise asks, “are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m—”
The vision slams into me, hard and fast. My brain explodes with the image, with a high-definition movie playing in my head.
The gym, decorated as it is now, and full of women of various ages wearing mostly pastels and pretty hats. A dark cloud forms on the other side of the windows, blocking out the unusually sunny day. Then, with an explosion of glass and sound, the windows blow in and shards rain down over the crowd.
The movie goes into fast forward, so I only catch glimpses. Just beyond my reach. But I see enough. I know what’s coming.
As the vision fades, leaving a pounding headache and weak muscles, I lurch for my purse. I pull out my phone, call up the messaging app, and send a desperate text to my sisters:
9-1-1
CHAPTER 30
GRETCHEN
In my standard black tank, cargos, and combat boots, I have never felt as out of place as I do walking into Greer’s pastel nightmare. I want to turn and run. But I’ve been trying to call her since her cryptic message came through. The calls keep going to voicemail.
She needs me, and I’m here. Even if I’m not sure she’d do the same for me.
“What is this place?” Nick asks.
Deciding he might be useful, I sliced through his zip ties and brought him along. This might be a good chance for him to prove which side he’s really on. If this actually is an emergency situation—I swear, if she asks me to wait tables or make an ice run, I’ll deck her—we might need his help.
I scan the room, full of girly decorations and extremely fragile-looking dishes, intent on finding Greer. I see her and Grace standing by the door at the other end of the room. Winding my way through the space, trying not to damage anything in the process, I make it to their location with a runny nose.
“Bless you,” Grace says as I sneeze. “Hi, Nick.”
“For the love of Medusa,” I mutter. “I’ve never smelled so much perfume in one place.”
That’s when I first notice the signs on Greer’s face. Her smooth brow is slightly wrinkled. Her jaw is set and she is biting her lip with her teeth. Her hands are fidgeting with the edge of her pale-purple dress.
Any of those things would have made me worry about Greer—she doesn’t fidget—but it’s the eyes that say it all. They’re wide with fear.
“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
CHAPTER 29
GREER
The gym is transformed. As I stand in the doorway, I can no longer picture the space as it was only yesterday. A commercial cleaning crew sterilized it from top to bottom, erasing the horrid gymnasium smell. The committee and I arrived at dawn to work our magic, turning an athletic space into a corner of heaven.
Staying busy keeps my mind off the rescue I delayed. Off the promise I made. My mind can’t deal with those things right now.
I’m proud of our work. Round tables covered with white linens are set up in the center, evenly spaced to make the arrangement pleasing to the eye. Along one wall of bleachers, now disguised by drapes in a soft golden yellow covering from the floor to the clerestory windows at the top, is a buffet table with crystal punch bowls, real champagne flutes, and cocktail napkins in school colors.
Along the opposite, similarly disguised wall is a raised dais and the table where the principal, the heads of the alumnae association, and the tea committee will sit and speak during the tea.
Every place at every table is set to perfection. Beautiful gold-and-violet china, gilded flatware, crystal goblets.
It’s all beautiful, but the ceiling … The ceiling is my triumph.
To hide the ugly light fixtures and the drab gray tiles, long swathes of dark-lavender silk hang in swooping swags. Behind the swags, bright white fairy lights twinkle through, giving the impression of the sky at dusk. The glow of sun streaming in the windows only enhances the effect. With the scent of peonies in the air, from the white-and-pink centerpieces on each table and the flickering candles adding to the aroma, I can almost imagine I’m standing outside. The fading sun casting a violet hue on the world, the persistent stars twinkling through the haze.
The only thing that ruins the image is the clanking sounds of the caterers setting up in the hallway off the other end of the gym.
“Oh well,” I say out loud to the empty space. “Perfection never lasts forever.”
I set my bag down at my seat, on the end of the dais. I could claim the center as my due, at the left hand of the principal. But knowing that an emergency is inevitable at any event, I want to be in a position to act quickly.
I go about my duties, surveying each place setting, confirming the number of flutes on the buffet, checking on the caterers. Everything is in place by the time the rest of the committee returns, changed into their tea attire. I brought mine in a garment bag. Mostly—I’m not proud to admit—to avoid having to go home and face Gretchen.
We go over the schedule one more time, confirming who’s speaking when. Who’s responsible for seating which prestigious alumnae. When we instruct the string quartet to start playing.
We are minutes from the first guests arriving when the dizziness hits me. Harder than before—my knees literally buckle beneath me. Luckily, I’m next to the dais. If I’d come down on the buffet as hard as I just landed against the platform, there would be fruit punch and shattered glass everywhere.
“Greer,” Annalise asks, “are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m—”
The vision slams into me, hard and fast. My brain explodes with the image, with a high-definition movie playing in my head.
The gym, decorated as it is now, and full of women of various ages wearing mostly pastels and pretty hats. A dark cloud forms on the other side of the windows, blocking out the unusually sunny day. Then, with an explosion of glass and sound, the windows blow in and shards rain down over the crowd.
The movie goes into fast forward, so I only catch glimpses. Just beyond my reach. But I see enough. I know what’s coming.
As the vision fades, leaving a pounding headache and weak muscles, I lurch for my purse. I pull out my phone, call up the messaging app, and send a desperate text to my sisters:
9-1-1
CHAPTER 30
GRETCHEN
In my standard black tank, cargos, and combat boots, I have never felt as out of place as I do walking into Greer’s pastel nightmare. I want to turn and run. But I’ve been trying to call her since her cryptic message came through. The calls keep going to voicemail.
She needs me, and I’m here. Even if I’m not sure she’d do the same for me.
“What is this place?” Nick asks.
Deciding he might be useful, I sliced through his zip ties and brought him along. This might be a good chance for him to prove which side he’s really on. If this actually is an emergency situation—I swear, if she asks me to wait tables or make an ice run, I’ll deck her—we might need his help.
I scan the room, full of girly decorations and extremely fragile-looking dishes, intent on finding Greer. I see her and Grace standing by the door at the other end of the room. Winding my way through the space, trying not to damage anything in the process, I make it to their location with a runny nose.
“Bless you,” Grace says as I sneeze. “Hi, Nick.”
“For the love of Medusa,” I mutter. “I’ve never smelled so much perfume in one place.”
That’s when I first notice the signs on Greer’s face. Her smooth brow is slightly wrinkled. Her jaw is set and she is biting her lip with her teeth. Her hands are fidgeting with the edge of her pale-purple dress.
Any of those things would have made me worry about Greer—she doesn’t fidget—but it’s the eyes that say it all. They’re wide with fear.
“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
