Free Out of the Easy by Ruta Sepetys Page A

Lilly.
    “Oh, Aunt Lilly, don’t steal my friends. I was just going to give them a tour of your magnificent house,” said Charlotte, pulling us away from her aunt and uncle, who stood, heads cocked, staring at Patrick and me.
    Charlotte didn’t give us a tour of the house. She grabbed a plate of canapés from a server, pulled us into a library on the main floor, shut the doors, and flopped down on a sofa.
    “It’s exhausting, I tell you. And embarrassing. ‘And what did you say your last name was?’ ” said Charlotte, mimicking her aunt. “My apologies to you both. They drink like fish and ask the most probing questions!”
    “Welcome to the South.” Patrick laughed.
    We talked with Charlotte for over an hour in the library. I tried to keep my posture straight in the thick leather chair and from time to time put my hand to my neck to make sure I hadn’t lost Sweety’s pearls. Charlotte settled right in and kicked her shoes off, folding her bobby socks under her skirt on the sofa. Patrick focused on inspecting the books in the Lockwells’ collection, pausing only to comment on a certain title or volume. We hooted and howled when Patrick discovered Candace Kinkaid’s Rogue Desire tucked away on a high shelf.
    A man poked his head into the library. “Can I hide out with you? Sounds like it’s more fun in here.”
    “Dad! Come meet Josephine and Patrick,” said Charlotte.
    An elegant man in a blue suit entered the library. “Well, now, you must be Patrick with the Bösendorfer grand.”
    “Ugh—are they still talking about that?” said Charlotte.
    “Yep. And, Patrick, I’m afraid that you’re going to have to play. My sister won’t stop until she hears what Bösendorfer fingers sound like on a Steinway. George Gates,” he said, extending his hand to Patrick. “And you must be Josephine,” he said, turning to me. “Charlotte hasn’t stopped talking about you.”
    “Most people call Josephine Jo.” Patrick smiled. I shot him a look.
    Mr. Gates discussed books with Patrick, inquiring about some rare volumes he wasn’t able to locate out East. He then convinced Patrick to get the piano recital over with, and they left the library.
    “Your father’s so nice. Funny, too,” I told Charlotte.
    “Yes. Is your dad funny?” she asked.
    I looked at her, wondering if my expression gave me away. “My father . . . my parents aren’t together,” I told her.
    Charlotte sat up at once and put her hand on my knee. “Don’t worry, Jo. Half of the married couples here tonight aren’t together. Not really, anyway. But they’d never be honest about it like you. Right before you arrived, Mrs. Lefevre told us that she held a gun to her husband’s head in the bedroom last night because he smelled like Tabu.” Charlotte shook her head, whispering. “Mrs. Lefevre does not wear Tabu. But a gun? Can you imagine the insanity of that?”
    I shook my head, feeling the cold steel of my pistol against my leg under my skirt. Unfortunately, I knew that insanity all too well.
    “No one’s life is perfect. I find it much more interesting when people are just honest about it,” said Charlotte.
    Honest. But what would Charlotte think if I told her the truth? That my mother was a prostitute, that I didn’t know who my father was, that most men scared me, so I created make-believe dads like Forrest Hearne.
    “Charlotte!” A tall, spindly girl with an overbite ran into the library. “Mother says you’re friends with that boy Patrick Marlowe. You must introduce me!”
    “Elizabeth, Patrick’s too old for you. You’re still in high school. I don’t think Aunt Lilly would approve.”
    “I don’t care what Mother thinks,” said Elizabeth. “He’s really handsome. And have you heard him play the piano?”
    “Jo, this is my cousin Elizabeth Lockwell.”
    Elizabeth didn’t even glance my way. She twisted her hair around her finger and slung her hip to the side. “Mother said Patrick came with some