“I told you you’re not welcome here!” Victoria shrieked as she marched down the shell-lined path toward the car, her sneakers crunching dramatically. “Get back in that car and leave, Alexandra. Right now. I’m calling the police.”
“Please do,” I replied, opening my door calmly.
The ocean air hit me like a drug—salt and damp and the faint smell of seaweed. My lungs expanded like they hadn’t in months. I stepped out, the shells grinding beneath my boots, and pulled my suitcase from the trunk.
“In fact,” I added, straightening and meeting her furious gaze coolly, “I already called them myself. They should be here any minute.”
For a second, she faltered. It was quick—just a hitch in her step, a flicker in her eyes—but I saw it. Then her face tightened, her lips pressing into a razor-thin line.
“You entitled little—”
The distant wail of sirens cut her off.
We all turned as two patrol cars emerged through the fog, lights quietly spinning. They pulled into the driveway, careful not to block anyone in, and parked.
Lily zoomed in with her phone, no doubt already thinking of captions.
One of the officers stepped out. I recognized him from the brief conversation we’d had the night before.