Chapter One
“Who the hell is that? ” I asked, indicating the car at the end of the drive.
It wasn’t my usual front-door greeting, but it wasn’t a usual morning. Myrtle had an appointment at the vet, I had to get my daily ten pages written and my faithful companion and right-hand goth-chick assistant, Amy Montrose, was late.
Late. Despite the black clothes and, occasionally, lipstick and nail polish, Amy was never late.
And she’d been dropped off by a Jag-driving douche bag outside the gate, despite that it was wide open and he could’ve easily driven her right to the front door.
“It’s Mel.”
Mel was currently trying to execute a three-point turn in my narrow dirt road without getting his tires dirty. I pushed past Amy, Myrtle, my bulldog, sticking close to my side, and walked down the driveway in my fluffy slippers, yoga pants and tank top—aka my work clothes—waving my arms to get his attention and yelling, in case that might help. “Yo! Mel!”
He glanced my way, then did a double take and got the look on his face that a kid gets when caught with his hand in the cookie jar: guilty, but unapologetic. He put his window down about the time I got within talking distance, and I reminded myself it was 9:30 a.m. on the day before Thanksgiving, in Whitney Point, New York. In other words, freakin’ freezing outside. But I was close enough to get a read on the guy. I could tell a lot about a person just by standing close enough to talk to them. Sort of feel them. Being blind for twenty years of your life gives your other senses a boost, maybe even opens up one or two that sighted people don’t have. I’d only had my vision back for a few months now. Since August. And so far my superkeen perceptions hadn’t seemed to fade.
“Hello,” Mel said from inside his toasty-warm car. “You must be Rachel.”
Ms. De Luca to you , buttface. “And you must be incredibly shy, Mel. ’Cause clearly you’d have driven Amy up the driveway to the door otherwise, especially on such a chilly morning.”
He looked at me, the length of driveway between his car and the front door, and then me again. “Not shy, just running late.”
“You can turn around a lot easier if you pull in,” I said, then added under my breath, “should’ve thought of that to begin with.”
By then Amy had joined me and leaned close to whisper loudly in my ear. “Rachel, don’t be a bitch and scare him off. Jeez, he’s already nervous as hell about meeting my folks tomorrow.”
I gaped at her, taking my attention off Mel. Didn’t matter, I’d managed to get a read on him. The guy was hiding something. And he was kind of a jerk. “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.”
“Uh-huh.” Her diamond nose stud winked in the sun. “I invited him to Erie for T-day with the fam.” She smiled. “He said yes.”
He’d already closed his window, backed into my driveway, and was about to pull out again. “He’s going home to meet your parents and I haven’t even got his last name yet?” I waved at Mel again. “Heylre, wait up!”
“ Rachel! ”
He waved back and drove away with a pleasant smile. My antennae were quivering. There was something majorly off about that guy.
But it was thirty-five degrees and way too breezy to stay out here arguing. Myrtle had already peed and was leaning on my calf for warmth, and Mel and his silver Jaguar were vanishing in a cloud of dust on my isolated road. I heaved an impatient sigh and turned back toward my front door. Amy followed behind me, her arms full of mail from the post-office box, because it was Wednesday, and Wednesdays were answer-the-fan-mail days.
Except I had the vet. And the pages. I waited for her to trundle in, then closed the door while she dumped the truckload of mail on the coffee table.
“So tell me about this Mel,” I said as I heeled off my boots.
“What do you want to know?” She talked while she walked, straight through my giant living room, formerly off-white,
“Who the hell is that? ” I asked, indicating the car at the end of the drive.
It wasn’t my usual front-door greeting, but it wasn’t a usual morning. Myrtle had an appointment at the vet, I had to get my daily ten pages written and my faithful companion and right-hand goth-chick assistant, Amy Montrose, was late.
Late. Despite the black clothes and, occasionally, lipstick and nail polish, Amy was never late.
And she’d been dropped off by a Jag-driving douche bag outside the gate, despite that it was wide open and he could’ve easily driven her right to the front door.
“It’s Mel.”
Mel was currently trying to execute a three-point turn in my narrow dirt road without getting his tires dirty. I pushed past Amy, Myrtle, my bulldog, sticking close to my side, and walked down the driveway in my fluffy slippers, yoga pants and tank top—aka my work clothes—waving my arms to get his attention and yelling, in case that might help. “Yo! Mel!”
He glanced my way, then did a double take and got the look on his face that a kid gets when caught with his hand in the cookie jar: guilty, but unapologetic. He put his window down about the time I got within talking distance, and I reminded myself it was 9:30 a.m. on the day before Thanksgiving, in Whitney Point, New York. In other words, freakin’ freezing outside. But I was close enough to get a read on the guy. I could tell a lot about a person just by standing close enough to talk to them. Sort of feel them. Being blind for twenty years of your life gives your other senses a boost, maybe even opens up one or two that sighted people don’t have. I’d only had my vision back for a few months now. Since August. And so far my superkeen perceptions hadn’t seemed to fade.
“Hello,” Mel said from inside his toasty-warm car. “You must be Rachel.”
Ms. De Luca to you , buttface. “And you must be incredibly shy, Mel. ’Cause clearly you’d have driven Amy up the driveway to the door otherwise, especially on such a chilly morning.”
He looked at me, the length of driveway between his car and the front door, and then me again. “Not shy, just running late.”
“You can turn around a lot easier if you pull in,” I said, then added under my breath, “should’ve thought of that to begin with.”
By then Amy had joined me and leaned close to whisper loudly in my ear. “Rachel, don’t be a bitch and scare him off. Jeez, he’s already nervous as hell about meeting my folks tomorrow.”
I gaped at her, taking my attention off Mel. Didn’t matter, I’d managed to get a read on him. The guy was hiding something. And he was kind of a jerk. “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.”
“Uh-huh.” Her diamond nose stud winked in the sun. “I invited him to Erie for T-day with the fam.” She smiled. “He said yes.”
He’d already closed his window, backed into my driveway, and was about to pull out again. “He’s going home to meet your parents and I haven’t even got his last name yet?” I waved at Mel again. “Heylre, wait up!”
“ Rachel! ”
He waved back and drove away with a pleasant smile. My antennae were quivering. There was something majorly off about that guy.
But it was thirty-five degrees and way too breezy to stay out here arguing. Myrtle had already peed and was leaning on my calf for warmth, and Mel and his silver Jaguar were vanishing in a cloud of dust on my isolated road. I heaved an impatient sigh and turned back toward my front door. Amy followed behind me, her arms full of mail from the post-office box, because it was Wednesday, and Wednesdays were answer-the-fan-mail days.
Except I had the vet. And the pages. I waited for her to trundle in, then closed the door while she dumped the truckload of mail on the coffee table.
“So tell me about this Mel,” I said as I heeled off my boots.
“What do you want to know?” She talked while she walked, straight through my giant living room, formerly off-white,
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