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Everybody falls quiet, all eyes crawling over to Maureen.
“But—” Whatever else Maureen was about to say trails away. She’s staring at me, and I don’t know what it is, but she must’ve spotted something in my expression, something that gives it away. Her eyes go wide with shock, and her mouth closes quietly. For the first time, I see it plain as day, written across her face. Fear.
She knows I’ve done something to thwart her plans.
And with her shock, her mask slips, just a little, and Jacqueline knows her best friend well enough to understand what’s just happened. Her pale shoulders stop trembling, and she stares at Maureen. Then, quiet as a feather landing in the snow, Jacqueline says, “You were the last one with the gifts.” So quiet, but impossible to ignore.
“No, Jackie, I swear—”
Jacqueline turns to Nathan and says, still in that painfully quiet voice, “I’d like to see her room, please.”
Nathan gives a somber nod.
“No!” Maureen cries, but it’s too late. The entourage turns like the tide, unstoppable, and before I even register it, we’re marching down the hallway again, with Maureen stumbling after us, pleading with us to stop.
This doesn’t feel good. It’s definitely not something I want to celebrate, but I guess it’s necessary. And when we get to room 317, I almost want to shout at them to stop, to turn around. But I stand back and let them open the door while Maureen goes back and forth between saying, “You know you won’t find anything, god, what a waste of time” to “She must’ve done something, she must’ve arranged for something—” And I feel sick to my stomach.
I want to wait outside like before, but I don’t want to be left alone with Maureen, so I follow everyone. Back in her room once again. I stay just inside the doorway, next to the bathroom door, as the security guards go through the room. They’re being respectful, probably because their boss is here, but still it feels like such a breach of privacy. An invasion. I understand the word now. All these burly men going through the beautiful hotel room, turning over every cushion, opening every cupboard. I imagine them riffling through Maureen’s luggage, their hands sorting through her underwear, and it makes me feel ill.
“Make them stop,” Maureen begs Jacqueline.
Jacqueline turns away from her, eyes downcast, and Maureen goes to Nathan. “You can’t do this. I don’t give my consent!”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I can see he’s struggling too. He’s not enjoying this, not one bit.
Tom’s striding everywhere, peering over the guards’ shoulders and snapping orders at them to look harder and faster. He actually says, “Look harder and faster,” as if it makes one bit of goddamn sense. His eyes are alight. He looks more alive than I’ve seen him so far. He’s not liking this; he’s loving it. I decide then that I despise him. Jacqueline shouldn’t be with someone so abrasive and entitled. She has a sweet disposition, whereas Tom is everything but sweet. Over time, he’ll wear her down, strip her of her gentleness until only resentment remains, hard and sharp-edged.
Someone inside the bedroom shouts, “Found it!” I close my eyes, everything inside me sinking. That’s it.
It’s as though a gun’s been fired. Everybody shoots up to attention, and the atmosphere is electric. The guard rushes out of the bedroom carrying the duffel bag, and Tom and his father rush over, grabbing it from him. Or trying to, at least. The guard barks, “Get back, please, sir,” until Nathan holds out his hand and tells the overzealous guard it’s okay. The bag is handed over to Mr. Sutopo, who rips it open.
Jewelry spills out like glittering intestines. It looks obscene somehow. I turn away as everyone gasps. Jacqueline utters a half-sob, half-sigh.
“No,” Maureen moans. “No, this can’t be. I need to—I—” She fumbles with her phone, but Tom grabs it from her. “Give it back!”
“I think this counts as evidence,” he crows.
Nathan frowns. He obviously dislikes Tom as much as I do, but I don’t know if Tom’s right. Does her phone count as evidence? Nathan holds out his hand. “Please give me the phone. We’ll hold it in our safe room, and we won’t go through anything until we can get the authorities here.” Reluctantly, Tom does as he’s told.
“Thank god we got these back,” Mrs. Sutopo says, bending over and stroking the pile of jewelry as if it’s a baby.
Jacqueline shakes her head and whispers to Maureen, “How could you?”
I didn’t think Maureen could look any worse, but when Jacqueline says that, Maureen’s face crumples.
“I didn’t mean to—I just—”
Nathan places a hand on Maureen’s shoulder. “I think it’s best if you don’t say anything else for now. Let’s go to my office.” His tone is reassuring but firm, and I realize then that he’s trying tohelp her. My chest tightens painfully. I want to reach out and touch him, thank him for showing some compassion.
“Your office?” Tom says, with a sneer. “You can’t be serious. This isn’t your problem anymore, it’s a criminal offense. I’m calling the cops.”
“No!”
Everyone stops and looks around in obvious confusion. Maureen and Jacqueline both shouted it at the same time.
“Babe,” Tom says, taking Jacqueline’s hand, “you don’t understand—”
“I do,” she says quietly. “And I don’t want to press charges.”