Hourglass (Hourglass #1)

Hourglass (Hourglass #1) Page 15

“Maybe it’s not bad news. Maybe it’s serendipitous, perfect timing. Thomas really seems to think Michael will be able to help you.”

“Or he could end up being as bad as all the rest of them.” Or worse. Because from our first conversation I’d hoped for so much more from him, and now I didn’t know what to think. “How did you two find him anyway?”

She shrugged and took more clothes out of a paper shopping bag. “You’d have to ask your brother about that. And don’t change the subject.”

“What subject?”

“The subject of your future. Your happiness.” She wadded up the bag, fiercely crunching the brown paper, and threw it to the ground. “You’re one of the most compassionate, generous people I’ve ever met, which means if you want to be, you’ll make an excellent mother. You have so much to offer. Don’t sell yourself short and hide in a hole instead of living your life!”

I froze, waiting for the flying pigs to descend. Dru never yelled.

“I’m sorry.” Her hand flew to her mouth. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I—I, just, thank you. For everything.” I paused, pressing my lips together, blinking furiously. “That’s how I know what a phenomenal mom you’re going to be. Because you’ve been one to me. So thank you.”

This time the tears spilled over. I grabbed the spit happens shirt and held it across my chest. “I don’t think this will fit. Didn’t they have bigger sizes?” I got the laugh I was hoping for and took the opportunity to change the subject. “Looks like the bags are empty. Are all baby items deemed acceptable?”

She nodded, brushing the wetness briskly from her cheeks, getting back to the business at hand. “Will you help me take the tags off everything so I can wash it all?”

“No problem. I had no idea babies needed their own detergent.” I handed Dru the pink plastic bottle with the picture of a sleeping infant on it.

“Me neither.” She laughed. “We have a lot to learn. Isn’t it exciting?”

It was.

When we were finished, a pile of tags and tiny plastic hangers covered the floor, so I stuffed it all into an empty shopping bag and took it down to the Dumpster. Dusting off my hands, I headed up the metal stairs and ran smack into Michael’s chest, losing my balance.

He reached out to grab my shoulders, stopping me before I fell. I pulled away quickly. Now wasn’t the time to be reminded of our crazy physical connection.

“Hey,” he said, his focus shifting from my face to the ground as he hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans.

I crossed my arms and stepped around him to continue up the stairs, irritated that he’d spoiled my good mood.

“Wait, Emerson.” I heard his feet hit two steps behind me before I turned and leaned back against the metal railing. We were practically eye to eye.

“What?” I drew it out, trying to sound bored, but my voice trembled at the end of the question.

“About yesterday … the Hourglass … I wish I could explain.”

“Why can’t you?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I just can’t.”

I gave him an irritated growl and turned to continue up the stairs. He grabbed for my hand, but I yanked it away as I spun around. “Why? I ‘don’t know what I’m dealing with,’ so I should just ‘mind my own business’—isn’t that what you said?” I could feel the sneer curling my upper lip.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

The desire to kick him in the shins at the answer that was beginning to become his standard was overwhelming. “No.”

“What?”

“No.” My impulses moved from kicking to punching, spurred on by my own anger and the fact that, before yesterday’s incident in my bedroom, I had trusted Michael. “I won’t mind my own business. You show up, tell me you understand me and that I should trust you. And then you won’t tell me the truth.”

“Emerson, I’m being as honest with you as I can be, believe me,” he said, his palms up.

“Not being completely honest is the same as being a liar.”

“I am not a liar,” he said. A vein pulsed in his forehead.

“I think you are,” I pushed with my words.

“I’m not. What I am is extremely frustrated.”

Michael reached out, cupped his hands under my elbows, spun me around, and dropped me to my feet.

“Whose fault is that?” I shouted as he walked up the stairs to the back door, his spine stiff. “Not mine. Maybe you should go ahead and tell me whatever it is you think I can’t handle—have you ever thought of that?”

But the door slammed, and I was talking to thin air.

Chapter 12

The next morning I stopped by Murphy’s Law for a little liquid energy and a chat with Lily. Lack of sleep was becoming an unfortunate occurrence in my life. I briefly considered ordering chamomile tea. Supposedly, it helped with anxiety, and I had plenty.

Lily stood behind the counter. She saw me coming and called out my usual order. “Double Cubano and the biggest empanada we have.”

Chamomile?

Right.

When Lily wouldn’t let me pay, I shoved my money in the tip jar and walked to the front of the shop to sink into an overstuffed pumpkin-colored chair. Outside, a man wearing khaki pants and a T-shirt bearing the logo of a landscaping service pulled summer annuals from the intermittently spaced planters lining the street. He replaced them with delicate pansies in dusky crimson and two shades of purple. A Davy Crockett look-alike stood beside him, his calves disappearing into the middle of the planter. Rips and solid objects didn’t really mix. I was glad Davy was out of his century and not just fashion challenged.

The coonskin cap really would’ve been over the top.

As I watched them both I noticed a sign taped up on the outside of the plate-glass window of the coffee shop. The sun shone at the perfect angle to make the thick black words stand out clearly: HELP WANTED. The heavens broke open. I wanted a job so I wouldn’t have to ask Thomas for extra spending money, and my favorite coffee shop in the world was hiring. Could I get a job smelling and selling the elixir of life?

Lily brought over a tiny espresso cup and my empanada and then lowered herself gracefully onto the edge of the chair across from me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hiring?” I asked.

She frowned, and I gestured toward the sign. I watched her read it through the glass, backward letters and all. “I didn’t know Abi decided to hire anyone. I thought she was going to keep working me to death to save money.”

“Your powers of observation astound me. One of your many superpowers.” She frowned at me. Needing to be on her good side, I changed the subject. “You think your abuela would hire me?”

“I don’t know why not. Coffee runs through your veins instead of blood. I think it stunted your growth.” I looked for something to throw at her, but the empanada was the only thing I could see, and I wasn’t willing to give it up.

“Is she here?” I struggled to get out of the chair. It seemed to have eaten half of my body. “Can I talk to her?”

“She ran over to the bank for some change. And why are you even asking? You know if you want the job, it’s yours.” Lily twisted her long dark hair up on top of her head, fanning herself with her order pad, looking more like Cleopatra on her barge than a barista at a coffee shop. She carried glamour as casually as some women carry a purse. “You think you can start tomorrow? I need a break.”