This Is What Happy Looks Like(71)
When the bus turned off the main highway that had carried them down the coast, the engine slowing beneath their feet, Ellie sat up and stretched.
“We still have a little while till the fireworks,” she said. “I told Quinn I’d meet her at the party.” Graham could tell she was weighing something as she bit her lip. She gave him a long look, then seemed to come to a decision. “Do you…”
“What?”
“Do you want to come with me?”
“I love that you’re asking,” he said, knowing what it meant, what it could cost her. They both understood that it was more than just a simple invitation. It was a choice she was making. She’d chosen him.
He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “But it’s probably not such a good idea.”
She smiled ruefully. “Photographers?”
“Among other things,” he said. “We’ve gotten this far. No sense ruining your life now.”
She nodded. “So I’ll just stay ‘unidentified girl.’ ”
“With any luck,” he said, then he smiled. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
The bus turned onto the harbor road, and they could see the crowd up on the green, which spilled out onto the streets in front of the shops. Graham couldn’t believe how many people there were; they were everywhere, milling around with hot dogs and hamburgers and lobster rolls, drinking beers and dancing to the band and setting up firecrackers that leaped from the grass and twirled in the air before dying with a whistle. It wasn’t all that much different from the clambake just an hour north, only this party held Ellie’s mom instead of her dad. And it probably also held Harry.
“I wish you could come with me,” Ellie said as the bus slowed to a stop just before the harbor, where there was a green bench and a little sign with the schedule.
“I need to deal with the boat thing anyway, and I should probably see what’s going on with the photographer too,” he said. “But maybe we’ll see each other later?”
Ellie grinned. “Under the cloak of darkness.”
They stepped outside, shielded from the party by the broad expanse of the bus, but in a moment, it would pull away, leaving them exposed.
“I’ll see you soon,” Ellie said, leaning in to kiss his cheek, and then she began to walk up toward the party, her chin high as she scanned the crowd.
Graham knew he should be moving too, skirting the back streets to avoid the festival on his way to the hotel, but it took a moment to stir himself into action. He was too busy watching her go, and it wasn’t until the door of the bus closed with a pop that he blinked, looking around, and then began to walk.
As he neared the hotel, he could see the balloons that decorated the entrance, huge bunches of red, white, and blue that burst from the front of the building like fireworks. A short distance away, the party carried on, and Graham pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and then slipped into the quiet lobby without being seen.
He moved straight past the empty chairs and the watercolor paintings that decorated the sitting area, hurrying toward the elevator. Behind him, he heard the concierge call out, but he pretended he hadn’t, tugging at his hood and punching at the button impatiently. There was nothing he wanted to hear about right now, not a message from Harry or his lawyer or anyone else. But the voice was insistent.
“Mr. Larkin?”
Finally, Graham spun around to look at him with obvious annoyance. It was a kid about his own age, skinny and nervous, leaning over the front desk and waving a small piece of paper. Graham pulled off his sunglasses with a sigh, raising his eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the guy said. “But I’ve got some messages for you.” He glanced down at the paper and cleared his throat. “Forty-three, actually.”
Graham let out a groan. “All from Harry?”
“Twenty-seven of them, Mr. Larkin.”
“Call me Graham,” he said, walking over to the desk. “What about the others?”
“Someone named Rachel who wouldn’t give me her last name…”
“My publicist.”
“A lawyer named—”
“Brian Ascher.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Graham.”
He nodded, holding out the slip of paper, which had a list of names and then a collection of tally marks beside them. Graham scanned it, then looked up again with a frown.
“No calls from my parents?” he asked, and the boy shook his head.
“Sorry, sir.”
“That’s okay,” Graham said, tapping a fist against the desk. “They probably tried my cell. I don’t think they even know where I’m staying.”
“I can’t wait till I can go away without my parents knowing where I am,” the boy said with a rueful grin. “That sounds awesome.” He coughed, his cheeks reddening, and then added, “Sir.”
“Yeah,” Graham said, slipping the list of messages into his pocket and turning back toward the elevator. “It’s pretty awesome.”
From: [email protected]
Sent: Thursday, July 4, 2013 7:38 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
I’ve been officially reunited with my phone. Again, really sorry that yours is on the bottom of the ocean. I’ll make sure you have a new one first thing tomorrow. Or you can just take mine, and I’ll happily put you in charge of fielding calls from Harry, which has apparently become a full-time job…