Size 12 and Ready to Rock

“Don’t worry?” I echo in disbelief. I’m standing on the window seat in Cooper’s bedroom, attempting to adjust his curtains so that when the sun comes up in the morning it won’t blind us, but I’m not having much luck. “The guy turns out to have been living in Wasser Hall this whole time. He registered for a summer class and managed to convince everyone he was twenty-nine simply by losing fifty pounds and dying his hair blond. He brainwashed a fifteen-year-old girl from my building into thinking that choking her with his bare hands is an appropriate teaching method. And you’re telling me not to worry?”

“Okay,” Cooper says, with a glance at the ceiling. “Keep worrying. But maybe not so loudly.”

“Sorry,” I say, lowering my voice. “I forgot for a minute that we’re running a safe house for the victims of Gary Hall.”

“Just his main victim.” Cooper is sitting on his bed, the sheets of which I still need to change because I can’t remember how long it’s been since either of us have slept in it, but the amount of dog hair accumulated there indicates it’s become Lucy’s favorite place to nap. “And I thought you said you didn’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” I climb down from the window seat. The curtains appear to be a lost cause. “I just think she should be in the hospital with Bridget, not here. We’re not qualified to give Tania the mental health care she obviously needs, Cooper.”

“I’m aware of that.” He looks down at the ice at the bottom of the glass of whiskey he’s been nursing all night. One glass only. He told me he wants to stay alert. For what, I’m not allowing myself to think. “But this is the only place I could get her to go, she was so terrified when she heard what happened. What else was I supposed to do?”

I sink down onto the bed beside him. I don’t blame Cooper. None of it’s his fault.

I place the blame squarely on Christopher Allington’s shoulders. He’s the jerk who heard the news about Gary Hall’s being discovered in Wasser Hall—he was in his father’s office, no doubt asking for a loan—then rushed over to Fischer Hall to “make sure Stephanie was all right.”

Tania overheard the two of them talking about what had happened—how I had gone with the wounded protection officer and the “girl from Tania Trace Rock Camp” to Belle-vue Hospital—and promptly went into hysterics.

Cooper, in an attempt to get her away from the startled gazes of the campers and their mothers before they could figure out what was going on, asked Tania where he could take her.

“That’s the part I still don’t understand,” I say. “What made her want to come here? She’s never been here before. How did she even think of it?”

Cooper looks uncomfortable. “I may have suggested it as an option.” Seeing my expression, he says, “Look, I was desperate. I suggested her place, my parents’ place, even her and Jordan’s place in the Hamptons . . . every place I could think of, and she kept saying no, no. No place I suggested was ‘safe’ enough. She kept saying Gary was going to find her. And she was crying . . . I’ve never seen anybody cry that much. I didn’t know how to handle it. All I could think was that if you’d been there, you’d have known what to do. And all I wanted to do was come here . . . home. I have a bad feeling I may have said something to that effect, and she latched on to it . . . next thing I know, she was saying something about this being the last place he’d ever look for her. It made her stop crying anyway, enough to get her out the door and into the car. I didn’t think much more about it after that, I was so relieved.” He looks at the ceiling. “I didn’t think she was going to move in.”

I sigh. “It sort of makes sense, I guess,” I say. “I could see her feeling unsafe in her and Jordan’s apartment, and even at your parents’, though it’s highly unlikely Gary would ever be able to get in. Still, I think she’d be harder to find—and more anonymous—checked into a hotel. We don’t have a doorman or even a super—”

“That’s true,” Cooper says. “On the other hand, here it’s only us. There’s no one to leak her presence to the press, no unsuspecting busboy who can be bribed to let some guy in ‘just to slip something under her door.’ No maid service, no room service, no one knocking to ask if she wants turn-down service. Once the deadlock on the front door is bolted and we switch on the alarm, there’s no way anyone can get in or out without us knowing about it. Considering the level of anxiety she’s been living with, being here must be something of a relief.”

“And,” I point out, “you have your gun.”

“And,” he agrees, “I have my gun. And don’t forget, there’s you, with your sunny disposition and that welcoming smile you gave her when you first came through the door and saw her—”

I lift a pillow and bop him on the head with it.

“Still,” I say, as he laughs, “if she’s expecting the Waldorf, she’s going to be sadly disappointed. No one’s going to be putting a mint on her pillow. I ate all the Oreos the other night.”

“I think all she wants—” Cooper begins to say, but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door. Literally, someone says, “Knock, knock.”

Cooper looks at me curiously, then calls, “Come in.”

Jordan, in black silk pajamas and a robe, leans in and says, “Oh, hey. Sorry to disturb you guys. Where do you keep your herbal tea? Tania wants some. I was trying to find some myself in that little kitchenette upstairs so as not to be a pain, but this big orange cat started following me around, and I think he wants me to feed him or something—”

“You know what,” I say, getting up off the bed, “why don’t I make some tea for Tania and take it upstairs to her?”

“Are you sure?” Jordan looks worried. “We really don’t want to be any bother. We feel bad enough, putting Heather out of her apartment the way we have.”