Waiting posed at her desk was Rebecca. She stood and made her way toward us. The three of us met in the middle of the office.
I noticed her height first. She was taller than I’d imagined, would have been six feet barefoot, but wore four-inch stilettos and towered over me. She had a ballerina’s posture.
She reached out and clasped my hand with both of hers. “Kit, I have so been anticipating this meeting.”
Her skin was smooth alabaster, almost unblemished, except for the burn scars on her hands. Her eyes were violet-gray, which must have been because of contacts—I’d never seen such a color. I couldn’t decide if her shoulder-length hair was platinum blond or white. She had a long, hooked nose and lips stained a deep purple—I guessed the no-makeup rule didn’t apply to her. She wore perfectly tailored black trousers and a black cashmere sweater. Embroidered into the left shoulder of the sweater was a sequined lion’s face, its teeth bared. The way she held herself gave the impression of floating.
She watched me so intensely that I had to look away. I hadn’t said a word but already felt exposed, like she had downloaded all my thoughts into her brain.
“Please.” She gestured to the sofa across from her desk, eyes never leaving my face. “Take a seat.”
I did as she said. She turned away, and it was like someone had moved a spotlight off me. My shoulders relaxed several inches. I exhaled.
“Thank you, Gordon. Make today a fearless one.”
“Certainly, Teacher,” he said with a slight bow.
There was that nickname again.
Gordon backed out of the room and closed the door, leaving me both relieved and trapped. Rebecca made her way toward the couch, movements slow, smooth.
She studied me. “Would you like something to drink?”
I swallowed. “Water, please.”
“She speaks.” A smirk played on Rebecca’s lips. She glided to the bar cart next to her desk. On it were a porcelain tea set, a crystal pitcher of water with cucumber slices, an ice bucket, and a dozen tall glasses. She filled two glasses with water and handed one to me. I thanked her.
Rebecca set her drink on the coffee table between us, putting down a slate coaster first. She crossed her legs. I glanced around the room. Her mid-century desk had a walnut finish. The walls behind the desk and to my right had built-in bookshelves, filled floor to ceiling. Behind me, near the door where I’d entered, was a tall cabinet—a sign affixed to it had bold red lettering: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. On my left were French doors that opened onto a balcony. I could see the grounds beyond.
I turned back to the coffee table. In the middle of it was a glass bowl that held shards of what appeared to be a broken china platter. Some pieces had dainty English roses painted on them.
Rebecca broke the silence. “It reminds me of weakness.”
I glanced up at her.
“You find it odd that they call me Teacher.”
“I didn’t say that,” I stammered.
She leaned in. “I find it strange too.”
Curiosity got the best of me. “You didn’t ask them to?”
“The guests made it up. I referred to them as my students once, in a classroom setting. One of them started calling me Teacher. The name stuck.” She shrugged, then went back to watching me. I squirmed.
“Your scarf is beautiful.”
I played with the colorful silk around my neck. The scarf had orange trim with bright dashes of green, pink, turquoise, yellow, and white. When you unfolded it, the pattern was one big flower in the center with a bunch of paintbrush strokes around it. I thought the strokes resembled seashells; Nat said they were claws.
“It was my mom’s,” I said without thinking. “She left it to me.”
Rebecca rested her chin in her hand. “Where did she go?”
I studied my feet. “She died.”
“Oh, Kit.” Rebecca rose from her armchair and joined me on the couch. She squeezed my hand. “I am so sorry. That must be one of your most treasured possessions, then.”
I nodded, burying my nose in the scarf. I knew it was juvenile to pretend that after a year and a half it still smelled like Mom—freesia and cheap hairspray—but I wanted to believe it did and washed it as little as possible. Once, I thought I’d lost the scarf and, sobbing, called Nat. She acted like I was being ridiculous, as if it were any old thing I could replace at Target.
Rebecca flipped my palm up and began stroking it with her thumb. She leaned in so our faces were a foot apart. Her breath smelled like mint. The hair on my arms rose. I hoped she couldn’t see.