Happenstance (Happenstance #1)(22)
Author: Jamie McGuire

“We don’t have a phone,” I said. “And she doesn’t really . . . I don’t think she’s expecting me.”

That seemed to upset Julianne.

“We have some of Whitney’s clothes still here. You’re welcome to them,” Veronica said.

“Do you want to stay here?” Julianne asked.

“I would appreciate that,” I said, feeling emotional again.

Sam stood and encouraged Julianne to stand with him. She clearly didn’t want to leave, but he encouraged her until she finally yielded, but not without giving me another hug.

When the door closed, Weston, Veronica, Peter, and I stood in the front room, looking at each other.

“Erin, you can stay in Whitney’s old room. This is a bit . . . unorthodox, but I think it’s in your best interest until Sam and Julianne and you decide where to go from here. From a legal standpoint, this is all a little fuzzy since you’re no longer a minor. Don’t worry. You’re Sam and Julianne’s daughter. Whatever you decide, they’re going to make sure you’re well taken care of. Weston, show her to her room. Let her rest. She’s had a long day.”

Weston nodded and led me up the stairs by the hand. Whitney’s room was on the opposite end of the hall from Weston’s. She had her own enormous bathroom, with a tub and shower and a linen cabinet that spanned from floor to ceiling, full of big, fluffy towels. Weston checked to make sure there was soap and shampoo.

“We can pick up anything else you need from Gina’s tomorrow, if you want.”

I dipped my head in agreement.

He led me back into the bedroom, and pulled back the comforter. “Clean sheets.” He opened the closet. “Clothes and lots of ’em.” He pulled open a dresser drawer. “Night gowns and pajama sets. Some of them silk, because Whitney’s a huge diva. Just leave your laundry in that hamper and Lila will launder them in the morning when she gets here. I’m pretty sure Whitney still has makeup and ponytail holders and stuff in the drawers by the sink.”

“She does,” Veronica said, breezing through the door. She handed me a new toothbrush, a full tube of toothpaste, and a brand new stick of deodorant. “Peter is always saying I overstock. You have won a twenty-year-long argument for me tonight, little miss.”

“I wish I could think of a way to say thank you. I’m sorry I …”

“Nonsense,” Veronica said, holding the knob while she hovered in the doorway. “We’re going to get this all worked out. You try to rest. See you in the morning. Wes?”

Weston leaned over and gave me a peck, and then followed his mother out. I walked into the spacious, sparkling white bathroom and undressed in front of the mirror. I took a long, hot shower, trying every brand name shampoo, conditioning treatment, and foaming face wash I could get my hands on. By the time I stepped out, I smelled like a salon, and my skin shone like the marble tile. I felt like Julia Roberts’s character in Pretty Woman.

I wrapped myself in one of the fluffy towels and combed out my hair, noticing how close it was to Julianne’s color. I found a nightgown and slipped it over my head, then climbed into the queen-sized bed. The springs didn’t squeak when I laid on it. I wasn’t even sure Whitney’s bed had springs. It felt like one big foam-filled cushion. I rested my head on the pillow, stretching my legs as far as they would go. They didn’t even come close to the end of the bed. My body sank down into the mattress, and the plush comforter cradled me in softness.

I turned on my side and leaned over, switching off the lamp. Before I could settle back under the blankets, the door opened, and Weston crept inside.

“Are you sleeping?” he whispered.

“No.”

He knelt beside the bed. “Are you comfortable?”

“More than I’ve ever been.”

“Do you need anything else before I hit the sack?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know if I can sleep knowing you’re right down the hall.”

I smiled. “Try.”

He chuckled and leaned down, giving me a better kiss than he could when his mother was still around. He walked to the door and turned around. “You’re going to be okay. This is just one more thing we’ll get through together.”

“I know.” It should have been scarier, being eighteen and finding out that the woman who raised me wasn’t my mother. But at the moment, I felt like I had a small army in my corner.

~*~

The next morning when I walked into school, it was like I was walking into a different dimension. Everyone stared at me like before, but now it was out of curiosity. In first period, Brady glanced over at me a few times, but the disgust was gone from his eyes. Even the teachers looked at me differently. It was like I left the day before as one person, and came back as someone else.

No one, not even Brady, called me Easter. If they addressed me, they called me Erin. For the first time in nine years, no one said a single negative word to me or even shot me a dirty look. I still expected it, waiting for someone, anyone to taunt me, but it never happened; not once all day. The rest of the week went that way, too, and by Friday, the tension I felt every time I walked into a classroom was gone, and I no longer waited for someone to throw insults or wads of paper at me. My thoughts were consumed by Weston, and Sam and Julianne. They had come over every night that week for dinner, and were coming over for dinner again after I left work Saturday evening. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but this time it felt important.

On Saturday, Weston gave me a ride to work, and then drove across the street to warm up at the ball fields. He had a home game in a few hours that I wasn’t happy about missing, but thankfully the scoreboard was visible over the wall. I tied the apron strings behind my back, and walked to the front, greeting Frankie with a smile.

“I thought you had a closet full of designer clothes to choose from,” Frankie said.

“I don’t want to wear that stuff to work. I don’t want to ruin it.” Lila had been washing and drying one of my two pairs of jeans every evening before she left for the day so I could pack them in my book bag and change into them for work. A lot of Whitney’s clothes were very feminine and very expensive. Her shoes were a half size too big, but I didn’t complain. This was the first time I’d worn brand name anything, much less designer clothes, but at work, I wore my worn, secondhand jeans and shirts.

We were slow for a Saturday, and Frankie and I passed the time discussing her kids, but mostly we talked about my new living arrangements, and what my life was like now. She grinned at me a lot when I talked, and I know that she was happy for me, but there was a sadness in her eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher.