In Your Room (5 page)

“So how do you know the people who live here?” Molly hadn’t been curious enough to ask the question until she woke up to Charlie’s e-mail. It was weird knowing for certain that he was staying in her room, among the things that mattered most to her. Now that she was sure, she had to find out
something
about him.

“I went to graduate school with Lisa,” Ron explained, adjusting the rearview mirror. They were on their way into town, Molly in search of a decent cup of coffee, and Ron on a grocery run while Laura unpacked. “Her partner’s name is Sally and they have three kids. I think Charlie’s around your age, and the girls must be at least ten by now.”

Interesting
, she thought.
Charlie has two moms.
“Do you see them a lot?”

“Usually just Lisa at conferences. I haven’t seen Sally and the kids since the last time I was here, which was probably four or five years ago now.”

So it was a dead end. Ron couldn’t know much about Charlie, since it
had been so long. And he probably wouldn’t be able to tell her anything she hadn’t already discerned from his bedroom.

“Why don’t I drop you off to get your coffee and meet you back here in an hour?” he said, pulling over to the curb.

“Are you sure?” she asked, suddenly worried that she’d made her discomfort around him too obvious.

“You’ll have a much better time here than looking for frozen peas in aisle five. There are a bunch of shops and cafés down that way,” he said, pointing to a street that was blocked off to traffic. “It’s Boulder’s famous Pearl Street Mall.”

“Oh. Okay, thanks,” Molly said, getting out of the car. “I guess I’ll see you in an hour.”

Molly glanced around the mall. There was already quite a bit of activity on its brick-covered pedestrian walkway, even though it wasn’t yet eleven on a Sunday morning. Street performers were arriving to reserve their turf, and restaurants were setting up their outdoor tables.

A hundred feet down the block, Molly spotted a coffee shop, with a sign that read
BUBBA’S
on the awning. She could also smell the distinct espresso aroma from the sidewalk and started to get her fix the moment she walked through the door.

The café had a cool, mellow vibe, with overstuffed lounge chairs, communal wood tables, and a magazine rack. It seemed like the kind of place where people hung out for hours late into the night, which maybe explained why it was empty at present.

Molly approached the counter to place her order, finding it abandoned too. She looked around, spotting a large message board with various announcements and fliers tacked on, and walked over to check it out. Much of it was covered with postings about rooms for rent, with a handful
of massage therapists offering their services. Molly wondered what kind of person would choose their roommate in such a random way, or worse, allow some stranger from the lost-and-found of advertising into their house to rub smelly lotions into their skin. Gross.

Almost three-quarters of the way through the board, Molly read a posting that actually seemed interesting: “Salesperson needed for Second Time Around secondhand clothing store. 178 Pearl Street. Ask for Penelope.”

Without thinking, Molly ripped the flier off the wall and stuffed it in her jeans pocket. Certain that she had broken the cardinal rule of public postings, she looked around to make sure no one had come in and seen her, then returned to the counter to wait. A few minutes later a redheaded girl around Molly’s age came swinging through the employees-only door in the back, carrying a box of napkins. She had a coffee-stained apron over her T-shirt and cutoff jean shorts.

“Oh, jeez, you scared me!” the girl said, dropping the box on the counter when she finally noticed Molly standing there.

“I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I thought you were open.”

“We totally are. I just didn’t hear you come in.”

“Oh, good. I don’t think I could last much longer without any caffeine.”

“Tell me about it,” the girl said. “I’ve had, like, three already. What can I get you?”

“Whatever’s biggest and strongest.”

“Late night?” she asked, pouring a cup.

“Something like that,” Molly said. “We drove here and got in around midnight.”

“Ah, a tourist. I’m surprised. I can usually spot them a mile away.”

Molly smiled. “Well, I’m glad I’m not too obvious. I’m not really the outdoors type and you probably get a lot of those around here.”

“So where you from?” the girl asked, handing Molly her coffee.

“Los Angeles,” Molly said, reaching for her wallet.

“Huh. I’m Sylvia, by the way,” the girl said, extending her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Molly said, shaking it. “I’m Molly. So how much do I owe you?”

“On the house,” Sylvia insisted, waving away the money Molly was trying to hand her. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thank you,” Molly said, stuffing two dollars in the tip jar instead.

“Totally unnecessary,” Sylvia said, walking Molly to the door. “How long are you here?”

“Until August.”

“Well, I’m here all the time, so come by if you ever want to hang out,” Sylvia offered. “Seriously,
all
the time.”

Molly laughed. “Cool,” she said on her way out. “Thanks. I will.”

The bell on the café door tinkled behind her. Molly looked down at her watch. There was still almost half an hour until Ron returned for her, so she strolled down the street in search of the thrift store. She loved the vintage shops in L.A. and often perused them for design ideas. But she definitely wasn’t looking for a job and had no idea what had compelled her to rip the flier off the wall. She could have just as easily memorized the address.

A couple of blocks down the street she found number 178. Had she not been looking for it, she never would have noticed it, let alone guessed that there was a clothing store behind the smudged windows and chipped wooden front door. A plump, gray-haired woman pushing sixty exited the store and tacked a “back in ten” note to the door frame.

“Murphy’s law,” she said with a chuckle when she turned around and saw Molly standing there. She took down the note and unlocked the door.

“Don’t worry about it,” Molly said, starting to back away. “I can come back another time.”

“It’s not a problem. Come on in,” the woman said, opening the door. “Coffee can always wait.”

Molly followed the woman, hoping she could do a quick drive-by of the racks and then be on her way.

“First time here, right?” the woman asked, leading Molly down the center aisle toward a desk at the back, where she dropped her purse. Racks of clothes spilled out on either side, three rows deep.

Molly nodded.

“Thought so. I never forget a face. Owned this place going on twenty years now. Sometimes I think it’s what keeps my memory intact. My name’s Penelope and I also have a pretty good head for inventory. Looking for anything special?”

Before Molly could answer, Penelope noticed the yellow flier she had posted at Bubba’s peeking out of Molly’s pocket. “Ah, you’re here about the job.”

“Well,” Molly began, trying to think on her feet, “I guess I am.”

Great. That was just great.
Her mouth had a mind of its own, apparently.

“Fantastic,” Penelope said, pulling an application from the desk. “As you can see, I’m short-staffed,” she said, holding up the “back in ten” note.

“Thanks,” Molly said, taking the application and tucking it in her back pocket next to the flier. “I’ll bring it back.”

“Nonsense! Fill it out here. It’ll only take a minute.” She reached behind
her head and pulled a pen out of her hair, causing her bun to unravel, and handed it to Molly.

“Well, okay,” Molly conceded. “But I have to be quick. I’m late….” She was about to say what she was late for, but once again, she couldn’t think fast enough to come up with a reason, so she left it at that. She was late. Molly leaned over the desk, refusing to sit down, filled out the form, and handed it back to Penelope, who stood watching her. She didn’t look as old with her hair down, framing her face. “Here you go.”

“Three-two-three area code, huh? That’s…Los Angeles, correct?” Penelope muttered to herself while eyeballing the form. “No local number?” she asked, this time looking up at Molly.

“I just got here and don’t know it yet. We’re staying at a family friend’s place. That’s my cell, though,” Molly explained, fidgeting.

“Well, I’ll be in touch soon, Molly. I’d show you around the store, but I understand you’re late.”

“Yeah, thanks. I really do have to get going,” Molly said, backing down the aisle toward the door.

“Boulder takes some getting used to,” Penelope called out. “But once you do, you’ll never want to leave.”

Molly was about to explain that she hadn’t moved to Boulder; she was just there for the summer. But she decided against it and instead smiled at Penelope before closing the door behind her.

Molly checked her e-mail as soon as she got home and there was a response from Celeste.

Celeste was right. Molly hadn’t even thought about snooping around the room. She couldn’t imagine violating someone else’s privacy like that. No, she wasn’t going to do it. Besides, it didn’t seem like there was anything all that interesting to discover among the posters, maps, and trophies anyway.

Instead, she decided to reread Charlie’s message, which for some reason she hadn’t deleted. He had sent it through Facebook but was one of those people who used an icon instead of a real profile picture, so she had no idea what he looked like. She clicked on his page, but since they weren’t officially “friends” as far as Facebook was concerned, she had limited access to his profile and could only find out the basic stuff like where he lived. But she could peruse his friend list and clicked “view all friends” to find
out a little more about him. She didn’t fully subscribe to the theory that your friends defined you, but she sat up a little straighter when she saw the literally dozens of cute girls on his list.

Now that she was starting to piece his life together, she had a sudden desire to know more. She was also starting to consider that she might have been wrong and that perhaps Charlie wasn’t so boring after all. For all she knew, he was the bold, daring type and had already done a clean sweep of her room. She shuddered to think of what embarrassing thing she might have left behind for him to find, like a stray pair of underwear (the decidedly unsexy kind she bought at Rite Aid for $3.99) or one of the “goals” lists she sometimes made.

Maybe
she
was the dorky one.

She got on her hands and knees to peek under the bed. Large piles of mostly dirty clothes (the signs of a last-minute cleanup), random sports equipment, and a few dust bunnies covered the floor. She didn’t know what she was hoping to find, but she was relieved not to stumble on anything X-rated.

She looked in the dresser next, expecting it to be empty, but it was crammed with T-shirts, boxer shorts, and various other items of clothing. Typical guy, she thought, leaving her nowhere to put her clothes. There was no way she was going to live out of a suitcase for the next two months, so she dumped his stuff out on the floor and then transferred it all to her empty bags once she had unpacked. Since she’d never had a boyfriend, there was something weirdly exciting about touching his clothes. She wasn’t used to the way they felt, or how they smelled close up.

Celeste’s voice echoed through her head as she noticed a drawer that ran flush with the desk, making it easy to miss. Any lingering guilt over invading his privacy subsided and was replaced with the thrill of finding out what was inside.

Molly sat back down and convinced herself that as a snooper she had the right, nay, the obligation, to open it.

She tucked her fingers beneath the drawer and pulled, but nothing happened. She tugged harder, thinking that it was probably so jammed with forgotten notes and mail and pens that something had gotten stuck in the back. But no matter how much she tried, it wouldn’t budge. She looked closer and realized that it wasn’t stuck at all.

It was locked.

How very, very interesting.

• • •