Page 10 of Even After This
My guess is her facial expression hasn’t changed since 1998. Or her makeup. A closer look reveals her jet-black hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and her face sports a fresh coat of battle paint, brightening her already piercing green eyes.
I fight the urge to ask if she came here to unwind or to hold a board meeting.
“Would you like to sit here?” She nods to the chair across from her in the room’s only other seating option.
My hesitation is part shock and part fear that she will throw me into the blaze of the fireplace. Unable to help myself, I peer at her for a beat. She holds my gaze, but we’re not in a stare-down.
Almost as if she wants me to see her vulnerability, I remember what I know to be true.
Everyone has a story.
I exhale some of my tension before I risk sitting three feet from her and scoot into the offered seat. I’ll try to get her to share her story before she rakes me over the coals. “Thank you.”
As I sit down, I pick up a blanket from a basket on the hearth to drape over my legs. The tan piece of fabulousness is fluffy and divine.
Penelope interrupts my thoughts of developing a new wardrobe line with the blankets and shocks me for the second time today. “I’m sorry about last night. I’m not proficient at being flexible.”
I pick up my robe’s belt and wrap it around my left palm. “No need to apologize. The hotel made the mistake.”
“I know.”
My guess is Penelope uses the words “I know” on a regular basis. My next guess is that it’s hard to be Penelope.
She drops the paper to her lap and smooths the creases flat with her palms. “It wasn’t going to bother anyone for you to enjoy your meal. I should have let it go.”
“Do people tell you to let it go often?”
Her eyes flash, but she doesn’t answer.
“Harlan Holcombe sang your praises last night.” I unravel the belt off my mummified hand, creating a long spiral. “But I also get the impression you consider it your duty to protect those around you.”
“My job is critical. If someone from the outside compromises his reputation because they want their fifteen minutes of fame, it falls on me. The work is unremitting.”
My head jerks back in response. What a life she must live, guarding Harlan Holcombe’s private matters in the middle of the boundaryless realm of social media.
Penelope chooses to take responsibility for both the overexuberant fans and mindless haters in Harlan’s world. For someone as competent and capable as her, the burden would be consuming.
No wonder she looks rigid while sitting in a spa. She’s like Superman, ready to pull her hair down, tear off the spa robe, and reveal a full suit so she can go save the day.
“You’re excellent at your job,” I say. “I hope you let yourself off the hook sometimes.”
She releases a sigh. “Well, I think last night I could have handled the situation better.”
I quiet my voice. “Are you saying that because the maître d’ told you my story?”
“Maybe,” she tells the fire. “Or maybe you’re a reminder that not everyone wants to take something from me.”
Interesting. I cock my head to the side. “Harlan Holcombe is special, isn’t he?”
Her eye twitches. “Yes. But not in the way you might think.” She reaches to the small mahogany table next to her chair and picks up her hot tea. “He hired me when no one else would. He saved me.”
I nod. “And now you protect him.”
After returning her cup to the table, she leans in, clasps her hands, and pierces me with her eyes. “My concern is, Meredith, will you?”
The question is so shocking, my entire body pulls back, and I gape.
It was just a danceis what I want to say to her. But her intensity steals the words before they can escape my mouth.
