The Bad Sister. Kevin O'Brien

      CHAPTER TEN

      Wednesday, 3:12 P.M.

      Hannah stopped by the small shrine to St. Lucy near the library. Rachel had been right. Practically every time Hannah turned around—especially in the older section of the campus—she found herself looking at a statue of another virgin martyr. After nearly a week at Our Lady of the Cove, Hannah barely noticed them anymore. This shrine by the library was yet another little garden patch with a stone bench. Amid the roses was a weather-worn statue of Lucy, who, like St. Agnes, was executed with a sword-thrust to the throat.

      Hannah sat down and texted Rachel:

      I’m headed home. Need to C U. It’s important.

      For the last six days, Rachel had been her best friend, her guide, her touchstone. Hannah couldn’t have survived here without her. Rachel was just like the “big sister” she said she was. She’d even helped Hannah get over the whole Riley heartbreak.

      Over the weekend, Hannah had sent him three texts. Just checking in, she’d told him. She’d expressed concern about his “family emergency.” In only one of the texts had she asked if they were still on for Saturday. She’d done her best not to put any pressure on him.

      The son of a bitch didn’t respond at all.

      Rachel said she’d done everything right. Hannah had shown her the photo of Riley on the boat deck. “Yeah, he’s a stone fox,” Rachel had told her, “but a lot of good that does you if he’s totally unavailable. This early in the relationship, he shouldn’t be ignoring you like this. I don’t care if his entire family is being held hostage by terrorists. The guy could answer a simple text. I say, move on! Why do you want to be with somebody who leaves you feeling this insecure?”

      Hanging out with Rachel had been a wonderful distraction. Alden had also helped her get over Riley. Hannah always got a little thrill whenever he dropped by the bungalow. Rachel had said Alden was gay, but as far as Hannah was concerned, the jury was still out. She hadn’t had the nerve to ask him point blank. Maybe it was because she didn’t want to hear the answer. It was too much fun having a little crush on him—and wondering if it was reciprocal. Sometimes, she caught him gazing at her with a certain look in his beautiful brown eyes, and it took her breath away. Or was she imagining things? Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

      The other guy who helped take her mind off Riley was J.T., a lifeguard at the campus rec center’s pool. Although the pool was indoors, he still had a gorgeous, dark tan. He was boy-next-door cute with a swimmer’s build and flecks of gold in his shaggy brown hair. So far, Hannah had gone swimming in the rec center twice, and both times, she’d caught him looking.

      “It’s his job to watch you, stupid,” Eden had pointed out. “God, vain enough?”

      J.T. was a junior, and according to Rachel, he’d slept with a ton of girls on the campus. But Hannah didn’t care. It was still nice to have an extremely cute guy noticing her. And it gave her extra incentive to go swimming and get her exercise three times a week.

      One man whose attention she didn’t appreciate much was Lance, the creepy janitor Eden had told her about their first night on campus, the one from the Sunnyside Up Café. Eden had pointed him out to Hannah during one of their rare outings together on campus. He’d stared at them, nodded, and smirked. For the rest of their walk to the O’Donnell Hall cafeteria for breakfast, she and Eden had argued:

      He was looking at you.

      No, it was you, Hannah. I’m sure he was checking you out.

      No, it’s obvious he has a serious crush on you. And I’ll be honored to be a bridesmaid at your wedding.

      Hannah kept noticing him again and again—all over the campus. He was usually operating a leaf-blower, but other times, he just seemed to be lurking. Hannah had a feeling he was the one prowling outside her bedroom window in the thunderstorm on her first night in bungalow twenty. Rachel maintained he was quite harmless. Lance had an on-again-off-again thing going with a divorcée in Waukegan. That was also where he lived—in a house with his mother. The property was owned by one of Mr. Bonner’s corporations. Rachel rented the place to them for some ridiculously cheap price. It was practically like charity. Lance’s mother, Alma, was Rachel’s cleaning woman and laundress. Once a week, she cleaned the bungalow—everything except for Hannah and Eden’s room. Hannah had run into her in the living room last week—a sullen, sixty-something, copper-haired woman who smelled like disinfectant. Around her neck, she wore a chain with a clunky-looking fake-gold crucifix. Her pale pink sweatshirt had a photo of two kittens on it. According to Rachel, Alma came by at least one other time during the week to pick up or drop off Rachel’s laundry. She had her own key. It made Hannah nervous to think that Alma’s creepy son had such easy access to the key to their bungalow.