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As I watch, the lifeguards haul me out of the water, and Tilly rushes to my side. I notice her smile as I hop atop the vehicle to cheers, feeling like a twist to my heart. It's a physical ache, this heartbreak—more intense and tangible than any cliché ever described.
By the end of the video, Sam's slapping my shoulder, laughing. "You are such an idiot!"
"Maybe," I concede, standing up. "But hey, this video's got like a bazillion views."
“Yeah? Maybe we should do like a signing at the shop or something? Take advantage of your idiocracy.”
"Anytime,” I say. Not that I’m famous, but I do like doing autographs. A lot of times, I meet people who say they’re inspired by me, and that’s an honor I wear proudly.
As I head to the door, I turn to them both behind me. “Thanks, guys. This was great," I say, leaning over to kiss Sam's cheek. "I'll call tomorrow."
After our goodbyes, I step out the front door. I feel better than I have in days, and I know, wherever Tilly is, we’re going to find her and bring her home.
Chapter twenty-seven
Tilly
I'm scrubbing a toilet, finding a sort of rhythm in the disgusting work. My mind tends to drift while I'm cleaning, often landing on Tommy—each wrinkle around his eyes, the way his hair sticks up at the back, and how he would tease me about nearly everything. I smile, flushing away the blue cleaner and standing to stretch my aching back from all the bending.
Moving into the main room, I sit on the bed and turn on the TV. For the last five weeks, I've taken over for the other maid, Selina, cleaning the motel rooms. Jemma has been a constant source of support, never prying into who or what I'm running from. It's been nice to have someone on my team. A person like Jemma, someone without a malicious bone in their body, is refreshing. One day, I hope to pay her back. It might not be to her exactly, but by showing the same kind of help to someone in need.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Jemma passes by my open door. "Oh, there you are. How’s it going?"
"Good, just one room left," I say.
"Nice, but I was thinking…” That’s never a good sign, and I cross my arms against my chest. “You should come out with us tonight. Kevin asked about you," she says. In this small town, it didn't take long for everyone to know about me—the newcomer. Jemma's done her best to include me in her social circle. Kevin is a nice enough guy, a little older and a single dad. Handsome, but I'm not at all interested.
I roll my eyes playfully. "Well, if Kevin asked."
Jemma grabs my arm, her enthusiasm infectious. "He’s nice! Divorced, single dad, sexy."
"Then you date him," I say, waving a hand. I have no interest in dating anyone, maybe ever again. What I had with Tommy was too good, brief as it was.
Jemma's laughter fills the room, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. "No way. I’m not stepmom material, trust me." I can't help but smile; Jemma's interest in Kevin is obvious, even if she won't admit it. "Seriously, you work so hard and never do anything fun. Come out with us."
"Fine," I concede, and Jemma's excitement is immediate. She squeals with glee and claps her hands together, bracelets jangling on her wrists.
"Awesome. You still have that green dress? Wear that," she advises, then pauses at the door, turning back with a mischievous grin. "Actually, that top makes your boobs look huge. Maybe wear that. Kevin’s a boob guy, if I remember right."
Looking down, I take in the sight. She’s right; they do look bigger. "I think it’s all the junk food you bring me, combined with no surfing. Not exactly proud of it."
Jemma just shrugs. "Flaunt it if you’ve got it, honey."
After she leaves, I stand, ready to strip the bed sheets and finish up my work for the day.
***
An hour later, back in my room, I toss my key into the bowl on the desk and collapse onto the stiff mattress, stretching out my back. Over the last month and a half, I’ve added my own touches to the room. No longer am I suffering with the motel’s linens. Nope. Tilly Jacobs has purchased her own fluffy floral quilt and thousand-thread-count sheets. Lying down feels blissful, so I tuck a pillow under my head, thinking a quick cat nap won’t hurt, especially since I have an hour to get ready. What feels like minutes later, I'm jolted awake by Jemma banging on my door. "Tilly! Bus is leaving!"
Sitting up, I yawn, feeling utterly drained, but I know Jemma won't take no for an answer. Dragging myself to the door, I open it. "Sorry, I fell asleep."
"Oof, you look like shit," Jemma doesn't mince words. Ever. Most of the time, I like it, but right now, it makes my nostrils flare.
"Gee, thanks," I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"No, seriously, are you feeling okay?" She's suddenly concerned, touching my forehead.
"Yeah, just tired." But as I say it, my stomach churns violently, and I'm sprinting to the bathroom.
