One of Those Faces (58)

For about a week, I convinced myself that walking away from Erin was the best thing to do. For me and for her. Maybe she was right. I had a problem. And being around her didn’t help.

Since the club, Iann quietly watched me when we were together, as if he was still trying to work out the events of that night. I wanted to ask for details during my memory lapses, but I was scared. I still remembered Danny’s skin under my hands. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jenny’s angry face in the purple light of the club. Danny must’ve seen her too.

“How’s the book coming along?” Iann dug through his takeout container with his chopsticks, nodding behind me toward the drafting table.

I took the last bite of my eggroll. “I submitted the illustrations a couple of days ago, and I’m working on a different project now.”

He nodded, his mouth slightly curved in a stifled yawn.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” I hadn’t. But that was normal for me, not for him.

He eyed his backpack by the front door. “I guess I did at some point, but it doesn’t feel that way.” He pulled it over one shoulder. “If you’re not working at the studio tonight, do you want to come over?”

I folded the paper carton closed before pushing away from the table. “Actually, I quit the studio.”

He blinked. “Why? I thought you liked it there?”

My mind scanned through the available explanations. All of which would provoke only more questions. “I’ve been getting a lot of project offers, but I’ve had to turn them down because of the studio schedule,” I lied. I was working on a new project, but I was hardly a hot commodity in a city with several art colleges.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me gently into an embrace. “That’s great,” he said. “Then, I guess you can definitely come over this weekend?”

“Yes, that sounds good.” I sank into my desk chair after he closed the door. The only projects I had lined up were all online orders for last-minute small commissions, barely fifty dollars each for illustrations of the family dog or the new couple about to celebrate their first Christmas together.

As I sketched out a couple onto watercolor paper, I kept glancing at my phone. I couldn’t shake the dull ache in my stomach that I had turned my back on Erin.

I set my pencil down and unlocked my phone, then opened my text with Erin. The last message was from the day we’d gone clubbing. I typed out the only three letters that came to mind.

Hey.

I deleted and retyped the same letters over before my index finger finally hovered over the small green button on the screen. I erased it again. I looked at the time at the top of the phone screen. If I left now, I could make it to the studio before the next class started.

I grabbed my coat and ran out through the door, jogged down the stairs, and cut through my neighbors’ tiny yards to the street that connected directly to Damen Avenue. The studio was in my sight, but then I noticed the empty parking lot. Saturday afternoons were the busiest days usually. I pulled on the door, but it was locked. There was no sign or note on the window. I cupped my hands against the glass and peered between them inside.

The easels sat at the back of the room, stacked against the wall, imposing figures in the dark. There wasn’t any light visible under the employees-only door. I tugged at the door again before backing away and looking around the empty parking lot. This was the class I would normally teach, but they wouldn’t cancel it merely because I quit. Hannah would’ve happily taken my hours as soon as they heard I was gone.

Maybe there was an emergency. I pressed my phone between my palms. Surely Erin would’ve called me if something bad had happened.

Maybe she’s at Danny’s.

The image of them dancing flashed through my mind. He was too good for her. She would only hurt him.

I walked to the street behind the studio. Erin’s building was on the way back home. There was no harm in checking. I stared up at her fourth-floor window as I passed, ready to bolt if she was standing in front of the wide-open windows. She never used blinds or curtains. She liked the idea that someone would want to watch her.

The window was empty and dark. Her car wasn’t parked on the street or in the small gated lot beside the building. It was an electric-blue MINI Cooper. It would’ve been pretty easy to spot in the cluster of cars. A shoulder sideswiped me as I stood there, spurring me back into motion toward home. I glanced over my shoulder at the window beside Erin’s. Her roommate’s blinds were slightly open, the broken light of a nearby lamp bouncing against the glass.

I swallowed and crossed the street, backtracking to the apartment doors. My index finger hovered over the intercom button for her unit, before eventually pressing it.

“Yeah?” Ronnie’s voice came through clear over the high-tech speaker.

“It’s Harper,” I said. “Is Erin home?”

She hesitated. She must’ve heard about our fight. I could only imagine what Erin had told her about me after she’d left the studio fuming that night. “No, she hasn’t been home all week.”

What? Where did she go? “Can I come up?”

The door buzzed without a response, and I pulled it open. My emotions hovered between anxiety and anger on the ride up on the elevator. The possibility of an extended sleepover with Danny settled like a stone in my stomach. I couldn’t put it past her that she was using him to get back at me.