Read Online The Appearance of Annie van Sinderen by Katherine Howe - Free Book Online Page B

internet, in that case. That must be it. Maybe I should offer to help her? I could protect her. She’s younger than me. Someone as young as her shouldn’t be on her own. I bet she has nowhere else to go. That’s probably it. She’s in trouble. She needs help.
    â€œSeriously. Is everything okay?” I ask gently.
    Those black eyes turn to me again. “Is . . . everything . . . okay,” she repeats, in the same way that she repeated my name. Like she’s trying it out, in her mouth. “Oh. Kay.”
    â€œIs it?” I press. I drop my voice to a whisper and say, “You can trust me. It’s okay.”
    She blinks once, twice, and then smiles again. The smile fills her face with light, and I see that I’ve guessed wrong.
    â€œIt caps the climax,” she says with a grin. “Got any ink?”
    â€œUm. What?” I’m confused. I don’t even understand what she just said.
    â€œInk?” She peers at the pen, dandling it in her fingers. “You want me to sign it, don’t you?”
    â€œWell, yeah, but . . .” I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say at this point and am about to ask her what she means, when she freezes, ears pricking up, listening.
    â€œAre you—” I start to ask her, but she shushes me, pressing her fingers to my lips. My skin tingles where she touches my mouth, and I feel myself growing light-headed. Her fingertips are warm and soft.
    â€œShhh,” she whispers.
    She listens intently, her gaze moving to the façade of the building where we’re sitting. All I can hear is the faint buzzing of the neon clairvoyant sign, and the abrupt shutoff of the bodega guy’s hose at the end of the block. There’s a long minute of listening silence, and then her face twitches with recognition, as if she’d just heard someone call her name. But there’s nothing. Only the hot summer wind ruffling the pear tree leaves.
    I’m about to ask her what’s going on when her fingertips disappear from my lips and she leaps to her feet, her dress bunching in her hands. Her ankles look skinny and pale above the slippers on her feet.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she says in a rush, dumping the release form and pen in my lap. “I’m sorry, Wes, I’ve got to go. That’s my mother.”
    â€œYour—what?”
    She’s already dashed up the town house stoop and opened the door and started up the stairs that lead to the palm reader, and then I guess to the couple of apartments up above. But I haven’t heard anyone. The building is silent, still lost in morning sleep.
    â€œMy mother. I’m sorry, I have to go,” she calls from inside the vestibule.
    â€œBut—” I get to my feet, palms sweaty where they’re crumpling the release form. “Hey. Listen. I’m sorry, look, I know you don’t know me, but I really need your help with this.”
    She hesitates on the inside stairwell, one hand on the banister, staring back at me.
    â€œHelp?” she says in a small voice.
    But then something startles her, and she looks up with urgency to the curve where the stairs disappear into the dark.
    I can’t stand to let her leave. I want her to stay here on the stoop with me, sitting close, making private jokes and elbowing each other. I mount one of the steps on the stoop, reaching a hand toward her.
    â€œPlease?” I say. I’m trying not to beg. It’s so not working, though.
    â€œI . . .” She hesitates, torn.
    She clearly feels bad about ditching me like this. But she is going to do it anyway.
    â€œLook,” I say. “If you have to go right now, I can just wait. Okay? You go do whatever, and I’ll just wait down here. It’s no big deal. I mean. You won’t be long, right?”
    â€œUm . . .” She’s almost persuaded.
    What else am I going to do with my morning, anyway?