Shadow Garden by Alexandra Burt

Author:Alexandra Burt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2020-07-20T16:00:00+00:00

29

PENELOPE

There was a woman on the ground, but she talked, made sense—help me up, she said—and it wasn’t bad if she could talk and wanted to get up, was it? She extended her arm, and Penelope put one hand in hers, the other underneath her elbow, and pulled her to her feet.

“What’s your name?” Penelope asked, wondering if this wasn’t a figment of her imagination, a name was going to make it real, and she wanted to commit it to memory.

“Rachel.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. Are you okay?”

“I think so,” Rachel said.

She seemed fine, her trench coat was belted, she hobbled, but only because she had lost one shoe, the other one was still on her foot.

In a fog, Penelope gathered that Rachel was beautiful. Her lips were painted red, and her hair was shiny, and she smelled of something clean, like soap or shampoo, maybe detergent.

Rachel stood and parted her trench coat, exposing a bloody knee for Penelope to see.

“What were you doing here?” popped out of Penelope’s mouth before she could rein it in. She should offer to take her to a hospital, should do the right thing, make sure she got help and medical attention even though she looked just fine. “Can you walk?” she added quickly. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No,” she said, her voice fearful. “I think I’m fine,” but she was breathing hard. Really hard.

Penelope didn’t know if it was a no to the walking or a no to the ambulance, but the woman’s breathing became more labored by the second, maybe that was what made her sound timid.

“I need to sit down,” she said.

“My car’s right there. Let me help you.”

They walked together and Penelope held her up. Rachel staggered, still in that one shoe, but only two steps, then she kicked it off as if it just came to her that walking would be much easier without it.

Penelope opened the passenger door and the woman got in. Ladylike, she placed one foot just in front of the seat, lowered herself with her weight carried on her thigh, her head clearing the doorframe and she sat on the outer edge of the seat, then she bent her knees and brought her feet inside the car. She arranged her skirt to cover her bloody knee. Penelope couldn’t help but think that her mother would like this woman, with her tasteful trench and her perfect hair, the way she slid into the seat of Penelope’s car, so refined and elegant, even after what had just happened.

The woman’s head fell back, hit the headrest.

“Let me get your stuff and I’ll take you to a hospital. Just to be sure.” Penelope shut the door, ran and grabbed the shoe, scooped the keys and other items—mints, a lipstick, a wallet—into the tote, then made one more effort to grab the other shoe, but the heel had come off. She stuffed the shoes into the tote and rushed back to the car.

Getting in and starting the engine happened simultaneously.

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