Beach Thriller(68)
With her back to me, Maeve whispers, “Finis…”
She’s talking to herself, but I speak up, “Finis? What does that mean?”
Maeve turns around, narrowing her eyes. “It’s Latin, often used at the end of a play or a film. People these days are so unsophisticated. Google it, you might learn something.”
Ouch. For a second, I thought Maeve and I were having a moment, but I’m quickly grounded back in the reality of her hierarchy.
“Also, we need to work on your outfit. You can’t look like you shop at Goodwill,” she quips. I don’t bother telling her that I’ve actually stolen from Goodwill. “What sort of dresses do you own?”
Shame washes over me, then a rush of sadness. My mother was too busy drinking to take me shopping. Besides, appearances aren’t so important when you’re focused on survival.
“I don’t actually own a dress,” I confess, assessing my jeans and Converse sneakers, feeling woefully inadequate.
Maeve shakes her head with the judgment of a Catholic school nun. “I figured as much,” she grumbles.
From her closet, she removes a garment bag. “I found this when I was going through some old things. I know, I’m supposed to leave that job up to you, but I get bored spending my days convalescing.” She gestures to the bag. “Open it. I’m pretty sure it will fit. I have an eye for these things. Of course, you don’t have to wear it, but you certainly can’t come to the party in that.” Her side-eye is harsh, but I swear she follows it with a half smile.
Maeve Carmichael, you might just like me.
“Th-thank you,” I stutter, unzipping the bag. “If it fits, I would love to wear it.” And that’s not a lie. Just because I like dark eyeliner and studded jewelry doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate pretty clothing. It’s a sleeveless shift dress by Lilly Pulitzer in a vibrant blue, decorated with an intricate swirling paisley pattern in shades of teal and white. The light fabric and above-the-knee hemline make it breezy and summery.
I thank Maeve for the dress, which is perfect and has a neckline that would show off my necklace if it hadn’t been trampled on. Which reminds me … “Mrs. Carmichael … I don’t suppose you’ve seen a necklace like this around town?” I take the silver chain out from under my tee and show her the jade stone that’s always in my pocket. “I know it’s not your caliber of jewelry, but I want to get it repaired at the same place that sold it. It’s definitely from around here—I just don’t know where.”
Maeve examines the jewelry shrewdly, flipping it over to inspect the inscription on the back.
If eyes could scoff …
“Probably came from a trinket shop on the boardwalk,” she says. “I wouldn’t waste time trying to fix it.”
I must look disappointed, because she adds, “But if it’s important to you, I’ll find someone to repair it.” She places it on a small tray on her desk. I almost protest—I don’t want to leave my necklace behind—but a high-pitched beeping noise interrupts us.
Maeve looks up, annoyed. “That’s my medication alarm. Dr. Hill prescribed new medicine I have to take four times a day. Four times. Who can be bothered?” She heads to her bureau to get her pills. She has five different pill bottles lined up in a row.
“Fetch me some water from the tap, will you, Jade? It’s filtered.” Maeve hands me a glass, and I dutifully go to her private bath. I still can’t get over how obnoxiously ostentatious it is—marble everything, gold fixtures everywhere.
When I return, she’s fumbling with the cap, unable to open it.
“Enough with these childproof caps already. Who do they think is going to get into my heart medicine?”
“Here, let me,” I offer as I place the glass on her bedside table.
It’s humbling. I struggle to get the cover off, too. I feel genuinely sorry for Maeve. Someone should be organizing her pills, putting them into those cases with the days and times. It’s too easy to get confused when you take so many medications. I worry Maeve will need full-time nursing soon, but I’m glad that’s not part of my job description.
I’m still struggling with this ridiculous cap when all of a sudden it pops off and pills go everywhere—and I do mean everywhere. At least they’re blue and the carpeting is a pinky-beige, so they’re relatively easy to spot.
“Oh shit.” The swearword slips out as I get down on my hands and knees to retrieve the tiny tablets. They’re under the bed, under the dresser, inside Maeve’s slippers, and she is none too pleased.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll get them all, I promise.” It takes a while, but I’m fairly certain I’ve collected every last pill. To be sure, I check with Maeve. “Do you know how many there should be?”
“I haven’t taken a dose yet, so there should be a hundred and twenty capsules. Count them all. I don’t want a single pill vacuumed up.”
I may have fallen back out of Maeve’s good graces, but I carry the handful of pills to the dresser, where I placed the bottle.
I count and recount like a banker—all hundred and twenty pills are there. As I drop each one back into the bottle, I notice something else. I don’t remember the exact names of the medications I overheard Conrad and Dr. Hill discussing, but this one doesn’t sound famliliar. I sneak a peek at the other four bottles, and I don’t recognize those either.