Losing Penny

by Kristy Tate

  “A ghostwriter?”

  “I’ve been hired to write Don Marx’s biography by his children.”

  “Melinda and Trevor hired you?”

  Drake’s eyebrows lifted. “You know Melinda?”

  Penny swallowed and nodded. “I used to spend my summers here with my aunt.”

  “Were you friends with Melinda?” he asked, and his voice said her answer mattered, but Penny didn’t know why it would.

  She shrugged. “Not really. We were…” on different planets. She cleared her throat.

  “But you two know each other?” he pressed.

  “I know her, but I’m pretty sure she never noticed me.”

  “Good.” Drake’s shoulders relaxed. “I have an idea, but you might not like it.”

  Penny frowned at him as he handed her the plate of French toast. She shook her head.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, looking down at the food. “I followed the recipe exactly—it’s fabulous.”

  “Oh, it is fabulous. But remember, fabulous is just another F-word.”

  “I made it for you.” He sounded hurt.

  “You’re trying to fatten me up.”

  “Don’t be silly. I like the new Penny, not that I didn’t like the old—”

  “The heavy Penny.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Drake swallowed and then balanced the plate in his lap. “I guess I’m trying to butter you up.”

  “Why?”

  Drake picked up the fork and cut into the French toast. Satisfaction flashed across his face. “I have an idea.”

  “You mentioned that. You also said that I wouldn’t like it.”

  “But you might. You might like it a lot.”

  There was a light tapping at the screen door. “Hello? Anyone home?”

  Melinda.

  Penny sat frozen, struck with horror as Melinda breezed into the room. Drake hurriedly set down the plate and fork and stood as if to protect Penny. Melinda had been her neighbor every summer for nearly twenty years, but she had never spoken to Penny. Melinda’s beauty and sparkling confidence had always dumbstruck Penny. Next to Melinda, Penny had felt about as witty and charming as a flatulent elephant.

  She hadn’t seen Melinda in years, but surely Melinda would recognize her. Melinda’s gaze fastened on Penny’s face with disbelief, and something like horror, before her eyes flashed to Drake. “Oh! What happened to your face?”

  Drake touched his fat lip and smiled faintly. “Domestic violence, I’m afraid.”

  “Do-mes-tic—” Melinda slowly drew out the three syllables.

  Drake nodded slowly and glanced at Penny.

  She frowned at him, trying to read him, trying to predict what he would say next.

  “This is my wife—”

  “Your wife?” Melinda asked at the same time Penny asked, “Your what?”

  “My wife, Magdalena.”

  Hurt and confusion filled Melinda’s eyes. “I thought you had a thing with Blair.”

  “I did. First there was Blair—I was with Blair for a very long time,” he said to Melinda, but also to Penny. “And then, briefly, Magdalena.”

  Melinda crossed her arms. “So you’re not together now.”

  “Oh no,” Penny said, standing.

  Drake laughed. “Well, obviously, we are.” He turned to Penny. “We’re both here, right now.”

  “And she hit you?” Melinda talked as if Penny wasn’t there.

  “She was provoked. She’s easily provoked. It comes with her hair, you know.”

  Melinda tried to gather her composure then crossed the room, her hand extended. “Well, it’s nice to meet you….”

  “Magdalena,” Drake said.

  “Magdalena,” Melinda repeated.

  “Magdalena,” Penny whispered, taking Melinda’s cool, dry hand in her own. She had no idea what was happening or why Drake was lying to Melinda.

  Melinda dropped her hand and Penny sank back onto the sofa. She pulled the quilt over her nightgown and tried not to look at Melinda’s perfect hair and teeth and her meticulous make-up.

  “Well. This. Is. A. Surprise,” Melinda said.

  “Yes, it is,” Penny said.

  Drake raised his eyebrows. “I had no idea Magdalena was in town. She surprised me too.”

  Melinda tried to laugh, but it sounded like breaking glass.

  The door thump-thumped.

  “More house guests?” Melinda asked.

  Drake hurried to the door. “Yes, the party never ends.” He opened the door and Wolfgang walked in. Drake handed him a piece of bacon.

  “Don’t—” Penny began, but stopped after it was too late.

  “What is that?”

  “This is Wolfgang,” Drake said, rubbing the dog’s head. Wolfgang finished off the bacon and gazed up at Drake with eyes full of hope and devotion. What a traitor.

  “I don’t think Mrs. Lee will be happy—”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’ll be okay with it.”

  “Really?” Melinda looked ready to burst with frustration.

  “Absolutely. We talked about pets.”

  Penny decided that this man should write fiction; he was very good at it.

  Melinda composed herself, and within an instant she returned to the poised woman Penny had always known. “So, you’re going golfing with Daddy in an hour?” Her voice sounded only slightly off, a little too bright and high.

  Drake sat down on the other side of the sofa with the French toast and started to eat. Wolfgang sat down at his feet. Penny had to fight back the urge to kick Drake and her disloyal dog.

  “Of course,” he said.

  Melinda’s gaze flitted from Drake to Penny.

  “It’s lovely that you could visit, Magdalena. How long can you stay?”

  “Not long,” Penny said.

  “Don’t say that, sweets,” Drake said. He turned to Melinda. “I’m trying to make her stay…forever.”

  He’s a cheesy fiction writer, Penny decided.

  Melinda laughed uncomfortably and edged toward the door. “Well, we’ll see you in an hour. Nice to meet you, Magdalena.” She paused. “And Wolf.”

  “Wolfgang,” Drake corrected her. “Like Wolfgang Puck.”

  After the door slammed, Drake turned to Penny. “Well, it stands to reason.”

  Penny felt as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs. “What does?”

  “That you named him after Wolfgang Puck. If you were a composer I’d have guessed he was named after Mozart.”

  “That’s what you want to talk about?” Penny waved her fork at him. Sometime during the Melinda exchange she’d started eating the French toast. Oh, dear heavens, no. She looked at the now empty plate and exploded. “My dog’s name? Are you a complete nutter?”

  “You think I’m a nutter because I want to be married to you?”

  “Yes!”

  Drake stood and held out his hand for the plate. Penny sadly took note of its French toastlessness. She’d eaten all the toast and all the berry butter.

  Drake took the plate to the sink and rinsed it off. “You’re sadly lacking in confidence and self-awareness.” He began to load the dishwasher.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Penny followed him into the kitchen and watched him wipe down the counters.

  “Anything? Your confidence is everything. Don’t you know about the law of attraction?”

  Penny crossed her arms and said something that she’d never said before, “I want to talk about our supposed marriage. I want to talk about Magdalena.”

  Drake finished with the counters and started on the stovetop. “It’s interesting, until I met you, I thought Magdalena was my life’s worst mistake, but now, suddenly, she’s become useful.”

  “Useful? Do you often use people?”

  Drake stopped wiping. “You’re twisting things.” He pulled out a kitchen chair for her and then sat down in one himself.

  Penny hesitated. Sitting put her at a disadvantage if she wante
d to hurt him. Again.

  “Just think about it. Your plan was obviously to hide from your stalker and can I tell you that I think it is a very stupid plan?”

  Penny gazed down at him, frustration building. “You don’t get to have an opinion.”

  “Everyone has a right to their opinion.”

  “Stop it. I said you don’t get an opinion and I meant it.” Her stomach churned. Maybe she’d get so upset she’d vomit the French toast.

  He laughed. “Okay, so my opinion doesn’t count.”

  “Which means I don’t have to listen to it.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Penny—” he used his ultra-patient professor voice again.

  “No! We can’t both stay here! We’re not married, and my name is definitely not Magdalena—who was, if I have to remind you, your life’s greatest mistake!”

  Drake looked tired. “Just think about, will you? You’ll be safer here with me than alone. I won’t tell your secret.” He held up his hands to ward off her next verbal attack. “Even if you decide to end our marriage.”

  “We don’t have a marriage!”

  “I promise I won’t tell, either way. But your lie—and it is a lie—will be more believable with me than without me.”

  “What do you get out of it?”

  Drake thought for a moment. “Space.”

  “From Melinda?”

  He nodded.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  He nodded again. “She knows that.”

  “Poor, pretty professor, trying to ditch all the gorgeous women chasing him.”

  Drake rolled his eyes. “Just think about it.” He stood quickly and looked at his watch.

  “Where are you going?”

  He laughed. “Weren’t you listening? I’m golfing with Daddy Marx.”

  “But…we’re not finished.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “I know.” He waggled his eyebrows at her before turning and whistling as he walked out the door.

  Chapter 18

  It takes 286 minutes of walking or 118 minutes of jogging to burn off the 1,040 calories in a breakfast of French toast topped with berry butter and maple syrup.

  From Losing Penny and Pounds

  Penny and Wolfgang took the rocky path that led to the beach. Even with her iPod and the calls of the gulls, she could hear the tinny, forced sound of Melinda’s laughter. Obviously she had her cat eyes trained on Drake, and Penny, aka Magdalena, was in the way. Even though the idea of interfering with Melinda’s man-pouncing was wildly appealing and ego-boosting, she had to be prudent.

  Her sneakers hit the sand and she turned up the music and increased her pace. She picked her way through driftwood toward the tide-soaked sand, which made the ground more solid and her run easier.

  She didn’t know anything about Drake other than the fact that he was handsome and charismatic, and the same could be said for any number of stalkers. Melinda thought Drake was worth having, but Penny and Melinda undoubtedly used different measuring sticks when it came to…almost anything, really. Not just men.

  Not that Penny had ever had any men to measure, except for her dad and her brother. She dreamed of an Atticus Fitch sort of man—kind, loving, generous, a quiet gentle wit. Everything that Melinda was not.

  Penny scolded herself for being so harsh. Melinda was no longer a teenager and neither was Penny. Undoubted they both had changed; everybody grows up.

  Penny tried not to think about those summers living next to the Marx family, but no matter how fast her pace, she couldn’t get away from the frumpy girl sitting behind the food table at the Marx’s summer parties. Those were the years before the Watchdog, the years when her hand-me-down clothes came in great big black trash bags from the girls who attended her aunt’s church. Richard picked through the bags, immediately tossing anything that said, “juicy” or “sexy.” Anything too tight or too short was also thrown out…and back then, everything was too tight. Which left her with gifts from Aunt Mae—pink dresses, floral tops, babydoll eyelet frights. She’d spent years hiding in Richard’s sweatshirts and workout pants. He didn’t always appreciate this, but since she did his laundry, he couldn’t really complain.

  Melinda hadn’t been mean, she just hadn’t seen Penny. Penny had wanted to be invisible. And now Drake, an incredibly beautiful man, wanted to be invisible, too. He wanted to hide from Melinda behind “Plump Penny.” But Penny could choose whether or not to let him.

  She didn’t know if it was a risk she was willing to take. He could be another stalker, a Chester the molester, or Ron the rapist. Penny stopped and looked at how far she’d come. She wasn’t that fat little girl anymore, even though she felt just the same as she’d always been.

  She headed back home.

  ***

  The shrill ring of the telephone came through the windows. Penny sprinted across the grass and up the stairs. Passing through the enclosed back porch, she couldn’t help notice the sparse tidiness of Drake’s space. A suitcase and a pair of shoes, neatly placed side by side, sat beneath the bed. It was the only trace of him.

  The door banged behind Penny and she lunged for the big, old-fashioned phone that resembled a squatting toad. “Hello?” her voice came out in exhausted huffs.

  “Penny?”

  “Kayla, thank goodness.”

  “Were you expecting someone else?”

  “No, but…I didn’t know. Things have gotten weird.”

  Kayla inhaled sharply. “The Lurk’s found you?”

  “No, at least I don’t think so, but someone else has.” Because the phone had a line that kept her tethered, Penny sat on the floor and slipped off her shoes and damp socks while she told Kayla about Drake.

  “Married?” Kayla’s voice squeaked.

  “I know, crazy right?” With the phone securely wedged between her shoulder and her ear, Penny rolled onto her back and pushed her hips into the air in the bridge pose. “I’m thinking of coming home.”

  Kayla didn’t reply.

  “Kayla? Are you still there?” Penny lowered her hips and exhaled slowly.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Pen.”

  Penny pushed back up so that her hipbones pointed at the ceiling. “I can just lay low, stay at home. My plan can still work. I can still do the Photoshop thing and the recipes on my blog…” her voice trailed away when Kayla didn’t comment.

  “Don’t come home, Penny. You know I love you, and it kills me to have you gone, but I think you should stay there with this Drake person.”

  “You don’t even know him. I don’t even know him.”

  “He sounds delicious.”

  “Delicious Drake?” Penny laughed. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Kayla took a deep breath. “I went to your apartment to water your plants and pick up your mail like you asked…I think someone had been in there. It smelled like coffee.”

  Penny didn’t drink coffee. She abandoned the bridge pose and sat up. Still pressing the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she leaned into the downward dog.

  Kayla rushed on. “So, I set a trap. I sprinkled flour on your floor.”

  “Kayla, that’s brilliant.” The flour would be almost invisible on the whitewashed wood planks, but anyone walking around would undoubtedly leave footprints. “Wow, you’re like Nancy Drew.”

  “I’m going over again tonight after work to see if my plan worked.”

  “Oh! Don’t go alone.”

  “I’m not. I’m taking Troy with me.” Kayla let out a sigh. “Maybe you should come and stay with me.”

  “Sweetie, you know I can’t do that. We’d both be Lurk bait.” Penny swallowed. “But I can find somewhere else to stay.”

  “I thought the police told you not to use your ATM or credit cards.”

  “True.” She’d withdrawn all the money she needed to stay at the beach house for the summer. Anywhere else would cost much, much more, and she’d need more cash.

  “It’s funny,
” Kayla said, “we’re assuming the Lurk is so sophisticated that he can follow a paper trail, but stupid enough to fall for flour on the floor.”

  “Only the most brilliant think of flour on the floor.”

  “Thank you,” Kayla said.

  Penny thought for a moment. “You should take my plants to your place so you don’t have to go back over there.”

  While Kayla talked, Penny closed her eyes, imagining her tiny apartment. She loved the kitschy kitchen, the big windows, and the deck overlooking the canyon. Homesickness washed over her, and she wondered how long she would need to hide.

  After Kayla said goodbye, Penny turned on her laptop and Googled Drake Islington. She found his profile on several social media and professional sites, which included photos, finish times in local races, his contributions to several charities—which she found interesting since Drake obviously had very little money—and even a few of his poems. He wasn’t on Megan’s Law, and as far as she could tell, he didn’t have a police record.

  None of the Googling didn’t make staying with him wise, just less stupid.

  ***

  Chapter 19

  They were married on Frigg’s day, to honor the goddess of marriage. Together they drank the bridal ale. The draught ale slid down Hans’s throat and warmed his belly. He knew this was the beginning, but he also knew it was the end. There was no going home after this. He was as tied to Ingrid’s land as surely as her manuscript. She was a keeper and she would keep him.

  From Hans and the Sunstone

  Drake tripped over a running shoe. An impossibly small running shoe. Two grayish socks lay on the floor, neither of them anywhere near its mate. He stood in the middle of the room, folded his arms, and wondered if his plan was already backfiring.

  He heard running water shut off, telling him that Penny must be in the shower. He envisioned her in the steamy room and immediately, although reluctantly, shut down the image. Scooping up the shoes, he tucked the still damp socks into them, then watched the bathroom door. There was only one bathroom. They’d have to share. In his thirty-three years Drake had never had to share a bathroom, or pretty much anything else. Ever. He sat down on the sofa, trying to think of things he had to share. Nada. It was the result of being an only child with a doting mother and a workaholic father.