Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)(77)

Violet warned us to arrive early tonight to ensure we found decent seats, but plenty of families must have had the same idea because the main corridor is busy, the floor stamped with boot prints.

A middle-aged woman’s gaze stalls on my face, then moves to Henry’s where it lingers even longer, and my stomach tenses. “They read the article, they know what you did,” that anxious voice in my head still whispers. But the average person wouldn’t make the connection, would never expect us to be here, and even if they did, it’s getting easier to deny it as trash and move on.

Henry is right—I could have fucked every guy in the Outdoor Crew, at the same time—and it’s none of anyone’s business. No one is entitled to my personal truth, despite how many people think they are.

“This place hasn’t changed at all.” Gayle shuffles along, leaning against her cane for support as we wait in line.

“Alex said the work on the house is done?” Henry asks, keeping pace with Howard.

“Yes. The photographer is coming in next week, along with some sort of stager?” Howard’s wrinkled face crinkles with confusion.

“Yes, they’ll rearrange things and furnish any missing pieces. It’ll get you the best price possible for the house.”

“Never needed those people before. Then again, I’ve never sold a house. We’ve been in ours for fifty-five years.”

Henry whistles. “That’s a long time.” Nobody could guess who Henry is and what he does by listening to him now. He’s just another ordinary man. One who’s wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit and whose driver is parked outside waiting for the show to end.

But I think seeing Henry like this—chatting up a kindly old man while standing in a public school foyer—is my new favorite.

Howard smiles wistfully at his wife as she surveys the graduating class pictures along the wall. “We’ve been lucky.”

“This is her year.” Gayle pauses at one graduating class. “There she is.” She taps the glass on a photo of a much younger Audrey. Violet has shown me enough pictures that I could pick her out of a lineup now.

I lean in to get a better look at the stunning senior. “I see a lot of her in Violet.”

“I used to only see Audrey in Violet, but now that I’ve met her father …” Her voice fades. Is she thinking of her late daughter’s misdeeds? How does a parent wrap their head around something like that, especially when their child isn’t here to answer for it? Audrey could have confided in her parents, regardless of the contract she signed with William. That she didn’t is telling. She didn’t want to burden them with that heavy truth.

Henry talks of hiding his true connection to Violet to protect Audrey’s memory, but I’m more inclined to do it to protect everyone else it impacts, including this sweet woman who likely still sees her daughter as the girl in that photo, innocent, youthful, and full of dreams.

“We should get our seats now,” I say gently.

“Yes.” Gayle agrees, but I don’t miss the light sheen in her eyes. “Before all the good ones are gone.”

A woman at the door handing out playbills smiles wide when she sees us approach. “Mrs. Campbell, I don’t know if you remember me—”

“Sandra Mack. Of course, I remember you. My goodness.” Gayle explains to us, “I taught Sandra for two years in middle school. What grades were those again?”

“Sixth and eighth grade.”

“Yes, of course. She was one of my favorite students.”

“And you were my favorite teacher.” Sandra clutches her hands to her chest. “We all heard about Audrey. I am so sorry for your loss.”

Gayle’s and Howard’s lips press together tightly as they nod.

“She didn’t suffer for too long in the end. I suppose that’s a blessing.” Howard adds quietly, “That’s what they tell us, anyway.”

Sandra’s hazel eyes flitter to us. “Are you family?”

“Cousins,” I blurt because her eyes are on me. “From out of town.”

“Oh! Well, wonderful. Let me help you to your seats.”

Sandra leads us into the cafeteria that’s been transformed for the show, the rows of chairs facing the stage on the far side. Henry and I fall behind Gayle and Howard as we walk down the main corridor.

“Cousins from out of town?” Henry whispers.

“Better than the idea you came up with. And you should be carrying these.” I thrust the bouquet of blush-colored roses into Henry’s hands.

“Here you are.” Sandra gestures to four seats at center right with sheets of white paper taped to them, labeled Reserved for Campbell Family. “We thought Violet might appreciate seeing familiar faces in the crowd, given all she’s been through.” She offers a sympathetic look before marching off the way she came.

We settle into our seats, with the men anchoring the ends, and Gayle and I beside each other. All around us, people pour in as the clock moves closer to curtain call, and a low buzz of voices grows.

“She is so nervous,” Gayle confides in me. “She was practicing her lines all night and this morning, in the kitchen. Pacing around the table, yelling ‘Off with her head!’” She chuckles.

“It’s a big role for her. Especially as a sophomore. In my school plays, it was always the seniors chosen for the main characters.”