CHAPTER TEN
Wednesday, 3:12 P.M.
Hannah stopped by the small shrine to St. Lucy near the library. Rachel had been right. Practically every time Hannah turned around—especially in the older section of the campus—she found herself looking at a statue of another virgin martyr. After nearly a week at Our Lady of the Cove, Hannah barely noticed them anymore. This shrine by the library was yet another little garden patch with a stone bench. Amid the roses was a weather-worn statue of Lucy, who, like St. Agnes, was executed with a sword-thrust to the throat.
Hannah sat down and texted Rachel:
I’m headed home. Need to C U. It’s important.
For the last six days, Rachel had been her best friend, her guide, her touchstone. Hannah couldn’t have survived here without her. Rachel was just like the “big sister” she said she was. She’d even helped Hannah get over the whole Riley heartbreak.
Over the weekend, Hannah had sent him three texts. Just checking in, she’d told him. She’d expressed concern about his “family emergency.” In only one of the texts had she asked if they were still on for Saturday. She’d done her best not to put any pressure on him.
The son of a bitch didn’t respond at all.
Rachel said she’d done everything right. Hannah had shown her the photo of Riley on the boat deck. “Yeah, he’s a stone fox,” Rachel had told her, “but a lot of good that does you if he’s totally unavailable. This early in the relationship, he shouldn’t be ignoring you like this. I don’t care if his entire family is being held hostage by terrorists. The guy could answer a simple text. I say, move on! Why do you want to be with somebody who leaves you feeling this insecure?”
Hanging out with Rachel had been a wonderful distraction. Alden had also helped her get over Riley. Hannah always got a little thrill whenever he dropped by the bungalow. Rachel had said Alden was gay, but as far as Hannah was concerned, the jury was still out. She hadn’t had the nerve to ask him point blank. Maybe it was because she didn’t want to hear the answer. It was too much fun having a little crush on him—and wondering if it was reciprocal. Sometimes, she caught him gazing at her with a certain look in his beautiful brown eyes, and it took her breath away. Or was she imagining things? Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
The other guy who helped take her mind off Riley was J.T., a lifeguard at the campus rec center’s pool. Although the pool was indoors, he still had a gorgeous, dark tan. He was boy-next-door cute with a swimmer’s build and flecks of gold in his shaggy brown hair. So far, Hannah had gone swimming in the rec center twice, and both times, she’d caught him looking.
“It’s his job to watch you, stupid,” Eden had pointed out. “God, vain enough?”
J.T. was a junior, and according to Rachel, he’d slept with a ton of girls on the campus. But Hannah didn’t care. It was still nice to have an extremely cute guy noticing her. And it gave her extra incentive to go swimming and get her exercise three times a week.
One man whose attention she didn’t appreciate much was Lance, the creepy janitor Eden had told her about their first night on campus, the one from the Sunnyside Up Café. Eden had pointed him out to Hannah during one of their rare outings together on campus. He’d stared at them, nodded, and smirked. For the rest of their walk to the O’Donnell Hall cafeteria for breakfast, she and Eden had argued:
He was looking at you.
No, it was you, Hannah. I’m sure he was checking you out.
No, it’s obvious he has a serious crush on you. And I’ll be honored to be a bridesmaid at your wedding.
Hannah kept noticing him again and again—all over the campus. He was usually operating a leaf-blower, but other times, he just seemed to be lurking. Hannah had a feeling he was the one prowling outside her bedroom window in the thunderstorm on her first night in bungalow twenty. Rachel maintained he was quite harmless. Lance had an on-again-off-again thing going with a divorcée in Waukegan. That was also where he lived—in a house with his mother. The property was owned by one of Mr. Bonner’s corporations. Rachel rented the place to them for some ridiculously cheap price. It was practically like charity. Lance’s mother, Alma, was Rachel’s cleaning woman and laundress. Once a week, she cleaned the bungalow—everything except for Hannah and Eden’s room. Hannah had run into her in the living room last week—a sullen, sixty-something, copper-haired woman who smelled like disinfectant. Around her neck, she wore a chain with a clunky-looking fake-gold crucifix. Her pale pink sweatshirt had a photo of two kittens on it. According to Rachel, Alma came by at least one other time during the week to pick up or drop off Rachel’s laundry. She had her own key. It made Hannah nervous to think that Alma’s creepy son had such easy access to the key to their bungalow.
She could have used Alma’s services in Eden’s and her bedroom—or at least, for Eden’s half of it. Hannah had settled in, put art posters on the wall, throw-pillows on the bed, and fun knickknacks on the shelf. But Eden’s side of the tiny room was a mess, and the wall was still bare. Eden said she didn’t see any point in decorating or unpacking since she’d be moving out. Apparently, that was also her rationale for not making her bed and leaving her dirty clothes wherever she goddamn pleased.
Eden was now on a waiting list for a room in O’Donnell Hall or one of the other bungalows in St. Agnes Village. Rachel claimed she wanted Eden to stay: “I’d hate to break up our team—our sisterhood.”
Hannah had no idea why Rachel was being so nice to Eden, who had made no effort to be friendly to her. Practically every time Rachel and Hannah had stepped out together, Rachel had invited Eden along. But Eden had continually shot her down, preferring instead to go explore on her own.
Hannah felt so lucky to be Rachel’s roommate and friend. She got a rush just hanging out with her. Not only was Rachel fun, stylish, and generous, she was also Chicago royalty. It was like being friends with a celebrity.
Rachel was a bit of a mystery, too. Hannah still didn’t feel she knew her very well. Of course, their intense, whirlwind friendship had been going on for only six days.
And now, this bombshell.
Why hadn’t Rachel told her she was the one who had gotten them their scholarships? The whole thing had been arranged. Now their friendship, the roommate setup, and all of it seemed so forced and fake. She and Eden were Rachel Bonner’s charity cases—like Lance and his mother.
Was Ellie Goodwin right when she’d said Rachel must have read about them in the newspapers or on the Internet? And then what? Had she felt sorry for them and decided to pay their way through school? It made Hannah feel like a freak—a sad, pathetic freak. She wasn’t Rachel Bonner’s friend. She was her project.
Her back to St. Lucy, Hannah got up from the bench and headed for St. Agnes Village. Just as she reached the front door to the bungalow, her cell phone buzzed. It was Rachel texting back:
B home in 15 min. Wuzzup?
Biting her lip, Hannah replied:
She shoved her phone in her tote, took out her key, and unlocked the door. As she opened it, she spotted Eden coming down the stairs—obviously from the bathroom. Eden stopped on the bottom step and gave her a look. “Oh shit, what did I do now? Are you pissed because I asked Ellie Goodwin a few hardball questions? She’s a big girl. I think she handled it okay.”
“I’m not pissed about that, at least, not anymore.” Hannah took a deep breath and shut the door behind her. “I was just talking to Ellie. Guess who owns the Slate-Gannon Group.”
Eden leaned against the newel post at the bottom step. “I haven’t a clue.”
“Rachel’s father,” Hannah said. “She set up the whole thing—our scholarships and this whole living arrangement. Can you believe it?”
Eden seemed to ponder the question. “Huh” was all she said.
“That’s it?” Hannah asked. “Aren’t you upset?”
Eden shrugged. “Well, now that I know she’s paying for everything, I guess I should suck up to her more. Then again, you’ve been sucking up enough for the two of us.” She stepped down and headed through the living room toward their bedroom.
“I haven’t been sucking up to her,” Hannah argued, trailing after her. “I’ve genuinely liked her. I thought she was my friend. Don’t you feel deceived—and manipulated?”
Eden took off her shirt as she entered their bedroom. She tossed it on her unmade bed. “I really don’t see why you’re having a cow.”
“I don’t like being somebody’s charity case,” Hannah grumbled, dropping her tote on her bed.
“Well, I guess I’m used to it.”
Hannah plopped down in her desk chair. She realized that Eden had accepted charity two years ago when Hannah’s parents took her into their home.
Eden peeled off her jeans. “Besides, we knew it was charity when we took the scholarships. We just didn’t know that your BFF, the princess, was behind it all.” Eden left her rumpled jeans on the floor and stood there in her bra and panties. She put her hands on her hips. “If I were you, I’d get over it pretty fast and just enjoy the free ride. You want to piss her off and have her cancel our scholarships? I don’t know about you, but I happen to like it here.” She reached over and switched on the fan. “Then again, if you’re really so outraged, maybe you should be the one to move out, and I’ll stay here.”
Hannah sighed. She hated that her half-sister almost made sense. “I didn’t tell you the other thing. You know the girl who lived here before us? Well, Rachel got her a scholarship, too.”
Eden dug a pair of cut-offs and a T-shirt out of her moving box. “You mean, the girl they couldn’t stand? If it’s yellow, it’s mellow?”
Hannah nodded glumly. “She and Alden were Rachel’s charity cases last year.”
Eden paused for a moment before putting on her clothes. “Well, he’s still around,” she said—almost to herself. “I wonder what happened to her.”
* * *
On one of the desktop monitors, he watched Eden O’Rourke step into her cut-offs.
He wished Hannah had been the one to get undressed for him. But she was still sitting at her desk.
On Tuesday morning, while the three girls were at classes, he’d snuck into the bungalow and installed a nanny-cam in the small bedroom. It was a wireless model, less than three inches tall and three inches wide, very hard to detect. He’d taken apart the box fan and hidden it in the corner inside. It peeked through the grillwork in front. The fan blades didn’t obscure anything. The picture quality was pretty good, too.
Last night, he’d watched Hannah strip down to her panties. He’d only caught the most fleeting glimpse of her breasts before she turned her back to the hidden camera and donned a robe. But he’d seen enough to replay it again and again while masturbating.
He really wished she would get undressed now. She’d been wearing those clothes all day, running from one class to another. And it was hot out again. Didn’t she want to slip into something else, something more casual and lighter?
He should have planted a listening device in there—so he could hear what Hannah and her half-sister were saying. It looked like they might be having another argument.
He wondered if Hannah would miss her when she was gone.
It didn’t look like Hannah intended to get undressed any time soon. So he got to his feet and moved over to the window. He looked out at the backyard—at the tool shed.
It was empty right now, but wouldn’t be for long.