Suck it up, Carrie, I tell myself.
Like I have a thousand times before. I should have it tattooed on my wrist.
I might as well pee if I’m in the bathroom. Then I wash my hands and wipe my face with cool water. I lean against the cold tile wall. It is soothing. A balm. A reminder that the world is solid and unmoving. It just is. All these feelings don’t affect things.
Only people.
With tender hearts.
You don’t kiss someone like Mark kissed me last night and then touch that…woman. That bitch. You just don’t. What’s wrong with Mark? Why?
Why why why why why….
That’s what makes the tears come back. The humiliation of walking out there and facing him. Her. Them. I have to harden myself. I have no claim over him. Mark’s a grown man with a good job with the police department and he can date anyone he wants.
He seems to want Claudia. That kiss had more tongue in it than a butcher’s window display.
I can’t think about this now. At home with a pint of ice cream? Sure. Over coffee with Amy? Yes. But now? Now I have to put on my emotional suit of armor and go into battle.
Without a sword or a horse.
The teardrops form a ragged line on my boobs. I turn on the hand dryer and pull my shirt out. The heated air dries the tears quickly. I take a deep breath. I inhale so much air my stomach feels like it’s going to explode. My lungs fill like balloons. The feeling of pressure calms me down. Centers me. Gives me resolve for what comes next.
I look in the mirror and see me. Just Carrie. Long blond hair and bloodshot eyes and a face that is open and sincere.
Not good enough. Try again.
I harden my eyes and practice not smiling.
I fail. I look like a puppy dog begging you to like me. Really like me. Play ball with me and take me home from the shelter.
Mark does this to me. He makes me want to let my guard down. I want to trust him. I still love him.
A stabbing pain makes my chest tighten. Great. Let’s add a heart attack to my list of Things That Suck About Today.
Tap tap tap.
“Excuse me? Anyone in there?” says a shaky voice. Sounds like an elderly woman.
I shake my head slightly and run my fingers through my hair. “Just a minute!” I call out, then re-evaluate myself.
I look fine.
Better than fine.
And I’m going out there calm, cool, professional and most definitely no longer interested in Mark.
He just opted himself out of my life, kiss or no kiss.
I open the door and a frail old lady smiles at me kindly. “You’re new? I’m Effie,” she says, holding out a tiny, birdlike hand. I take it, gentle, and she grips it like she’s a sailor. Her handshake is stronger than Brian’s, and that’s saying a lot.
“Hi,” I gasp. “Carrie. I’m in the dean’s office.” Her voice sounds like the voice I overheard just moments ago. I was right. This is Effie Cummings.
She squints. “Oh, so you’re the new girl! I’m so glad they didn’t hire that daughter of his.”
I like Effie already.
Her hair is bright white and in tight curls all over her head. She has that old lady hump and wears a white silk shirt and a red shell cardigan over it. Mom jeans and black flats finish the look. Her glasses are surprisingly stylish, square lenses with gold along the top only. When she smiles you can tell she wears dentures, and her eyes light up, a bright golden color that makes me think of whisky.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” I answer in a low voice.
She winks. “That means we agree about her.” She squeezes my hand and eyes me carefully, like I remind her of—
“Oh!” she says in a sudden rush of words, “you’re little Carrie! Joe’s daughter.”
Oh, God.
“I haven’t seen you since you were a wee bitty thing,” she continues. “Maybe five or six. I worked with your father back then, in purchasing, but they moved me to the medical school campus shortly after. Brought me back here to the academic advising department two years ago.”
I give her a polite smile. I have no idea what to say.
“And I am so sorry to hear about your father, Carrie,” she adds in a quiet voice. “Joe didn’t deserve what happened to him. He was a good man. I never believed he was guilty.”
Tears. My nose starts to tingle and I feel the tears fill my eyes. Effie looks at me with such compassion and reaches for my elbow. We share a knowing look. It’s the kind of look you never, ever exchange with strangers because there’s too much raw feeling in it. And yet Effie is real.
No bullshit here.
“Thank you,” I choke out. “Now I really don’t know what to say.”
She smiles and points to the bathroom. “Forgive an old woman with a bladder the size of Claudia’s conscience,” she whispers, “but I need to go. You watch out for that girl, Carrie. She’s up to no good in her father’s office. Let’s have a cup of coffee sometime this week and I’ll show you the ropes.”
And with that the door shuts and she’s gone.
It’s like I just met my fairy godmother.
With a bladder problem.
I steel myself for what comes next and walk slowly back to my office. If I go in there, I’ll be the center of attention. Mark will have some sort of reaction. Claudia will gloat. I’ll melt into a puddle. I grab a sheaf of papers from the copier and act like I was just getting some copies. No biggie. It’s not like I ran away after catching my—
My what?
My nothing. Mark is nothing to me.
Less than nothing, now.
Mark’s in the dean’s office, whispering furiously with Claudia as I walk in. Claudia looks through a crack in the door and shoots me a dirty glare, then slams the door shut just as Eric walks into my office.
I feel like I am a thousand threads unraveling at once.
“Hey,” Eric says, a troubled look on his face. His aftershave wafts past me as a breeze blows through the office window and it grounds me. The scent reminds me of Mark. Of men. Of power and masculinity and suddenly I remember.
Eric’s a man, too.
“Hi!” I say a little too brightly, happy for a diversion. “What are you doing here?”
He frowns and says in that lovely accent of his, “Is that ‘what are you doing here?’” His tone is happy. “Or, ‘what the hell are you doing here?” This time, his tone is nasty.
I can’t help but laugh. “The first.”
“Whew.” He gives me a half grin and comes closer, his hand on my forearm. “Look, Carrie, I’m sorry about earlier. I was in a bad mood.” He frowns and washes his palm over his chin, the gesture making his aftershave stronger as it tickles my nose. I can smell coffee on his breath and his skin is warm against mine.
I’m knocked out of my humiliation and into a far better state, even if it’s still uncomfortable.
“Someone I’ve been dating,” he says slowly, “turns out to be with someone else, and it’s got me completely flummoxed.”
The way he says “flummoxed” makes my stomach leap and my belly burn.
“You too?” I say with a huff. Wait. I’m not dating Mark. I shouldn’t have said that. Oh, no. I have to—
“Is it Mark?” he asks sharply.
Chapter Sixteen
In that exact moment Claudia opens the office door and out she pours, all high heels and green silk, oozing pure malevolence. Gorgeous nastiness, but still…
Eric’s face changes. Morphs. Flips through a hundred expressions and in those split seconds I realize Claudia’s the person he’s been dating. He looks at me and doesn’t even look at them, his eyebrow quirking up.
And then, slowly, his hand goes around my waist, the touch making me burn.
“Hey, you two,” he says in a fake cheery voice. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Claudia’s face is a comical mix of fury, shock, confusion and pout. Her eyes flit from me to Eric over and over, finally landing on Mark�
�s face.
“What,” she says to Eric in an unreadable voice, “are you doing?”
He squeezes me and I freeze. “I had coffee with Carrie. We’re just catching up. Old friends,” he adds, his hand moving just enough up from my waist to make it very clear what he’s suggesting we really are something more.
Blood pumps through my body like it’s running the Boston Marathon. Mark looks murderous. His eyes are dark and dangerous as he stares Eric down. Even his hair seems to darken, deep grooves of muscle in his face tightening as his jaw clenches. I’ve never seen him like this. My skin begins to tingle, like the dry heat of a fire as it spreads.
I’m singed by his heat.
“Old friends,” Mark growls. It’s not a question.
“Right.” Eric’s clipped answer puts the tension up two notches in the room.
Claudia is clearly disturbed by the fact that she is not the center of attention. She slips her arm around Mark’s waist and kisses his cheek. “We are not old friends. We’re new friends. Good friends. Friends with benefits.”
My stomach lurches. I paste a smile on my face and hope I don’t barf.
Eric’s mouth twists with sarcasm. “Now that we’re all friends, if you’ll excuse me, I was just about to ask Carrie what her plans are for Friday.”
“You were?” I squeak, pulling away from him. My cotton shirt feels sticky against my skin. I’m sweating and my lips aren’t forming my words correctly. I need to be alone. Contained. Controlled.
And not in the middle of this giant pissing contest between two men who couldn’t be more different.
Claudia’s eyes flash with a kind of outrage that cuts through my anxiety. Even I can tell she can’t believe these men are fighting over me. Me. Boring, mousy Carrie.
“Too bad,” Mark says in a voice that says he’s not sorry. Nope. “Carrie’s already busy.”
“I am?” I squeak again. I really am mousy.
“Oh, please,” Eric says, touching my arm. Claiming ownership. Establishing dominance. My dad and I used to watch enough of those nature shows for me to know this is animal behavior. Except I’m not a female in heat to fight over.
A flush of desire ripples through me at the thought, though.
“We have an important Euchre tournament. Brian and Elaine will be disappointed if we don’t go,” Mark says.
Claudia makes a disgusted sound. “Euchre? What the hell is Euchre? Sounds like something you spit when you eat something gross. You’re a bundle of fun,” she says to him, rolling her eyes. She gives Eric a coquettish look. “What are your plans for Friday?”
“Dinner in the city and dancing at a club.” He names a place I’ve never heard of. Claudia perks up.
“The bouncers are impossible to get past,” she challenges.
Eric smiles. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was the smile of a man whose plan has succeeded. “Not when your brother is the club’s accountant.”
A cunning look fills her face as she lets go of Mark’s waist and sidles over to Eric.
Animal behavior indeed.
“It sounds like the old fogeys over there are playing some card game and we’re going dancing, Eric,” Claudia purrs. She literally sounds like a cat. The sound makes me want to gag.
Eric lets go of me and walks over to Claudia, leaning against my desk. “Sounds about right.” He doesn’t look at me. I get the feeling that I’ve served his purpose.
He needed me to get to Claudia.
And it worked.
I try not to look at Mark. I can’t help myself. When I do, I’m surprised by his expression. I expect him to be mad that Claudia is hitting on Eric.
Instead, his eyes are on me.
And only me.
“Oh, well,” he says casually. “My loss. No dancing.”
I stifle a snort. Mark doesn’t dance. At all. He has the dance skills of a drunk muppet. Except for slow dances. He’s very good at sensual moves like that. I feel a sigh build in me at the memory of being in his arms. We slow danced once, at a university dance after the homecoming football game. It was the only time we ever dressed up for a date.
“I’ve seen you dance,” Claudia snaps at him. “The world will go on without you and your moves.”
I said we called her The Claw, right?
Mark doesn’t even acknowledge her. That’s smart. Being ignored is the best way to piss Claudia off. Mark’s clearly trying.
And winning.
He smiles at me, pretending we’re the only people in the room.
I keep a stone face. A few minutes ago he was sucking Claudia’s lips. Now he’s claiming we have plans for Friday night.
No. Just…no.
“Sorry,” I say to him in a voice that makes it clear I’m anything but sorry. “I already have plans for Friday. No dancing. No cards.”
“Really?” Mark challenges. He leans against my desk and crosses his arms over his chest. His muscles pop from under his black uniform shirt. His belt looks heavy, the walkie-talkie pressed against his hip. The cloth of his pants molds to strong thighs. His shirt is perfectly ironed and a white t-shirt peeks out under the top unbuttoned section.
“Really.”
“What are you doing that’s more important than the Euchre tournament?” he asks.
Claudia makes a disgusted noise. “Anything is more important than that boring shit.”
Eric’s quiet, watching all of us. He avoids my eyes.
He’s creepier than Claudia, and a cold flush begins from the small of my back.
Something’s off.
There are so many ways I can answer that. I am reeling from the image of Claudia in Mark’s arms. The sounds of passion they made ring in my ears. Eric came in after their kiss; should I reveal it? I am so sick of hiding the truth from people.
I’m done.
I came back to my hometown to right a wrong. A big wrong. A wrong Mark contributed to and a wrong I aim to solve.
Telling the truth is part of making everything right.
“I won’t be kissing Claudia like you were a couple of minutes ago, Mark,” I say, pinning Eric with a look he can’t avoid now.
“What?” he sputters, letting her go.
“I’m not into girls anyway,” she declares, ignoring Eric’s outrage.
“Clearly,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my words. I’m shaking inside. I don’t confront people like this. The old Carrie would never in a million years say these things.
I’m not the old Carrie, though.
Mark says nothing, scanning the room, eyes on me, then Claudia, then Eric. He owes me nothing. No explanation. No justification. Not one damn thing.
And he gives me exactly that—nothing—as he stands slowly and walks away in silence.
Chapter Seventeen
“I can tell by the look on your face that something’s wrong, Carrie.” Elaine’s declaration makes me stop short. She’s crouched on her knees, weeding around a small patch of bushes. If she didn’t say a word, I wouldn’t know she was there at all.
“You mean, like this?” I ask, turning to her. I give her my best Grumpy Cat imitation.
She wipes sweat off her brow as she laughs. “Now you look just like your dad.”
My own laugh catches in my throat.
I drop to the ground next to her. Who cares if I get my work pants dirty? I cross my legs and pick up a small, white stone from the garden bed.
“How was your first week?” she asks, turning away. I know this trick. Elaine used it all the time when I was younger. Pretend you’re busy so the teen will open up. It worked. I watched her use it on me and her older son, Dan, all the time. I’m sure she uses it on Mikey, too.
But I’m not a teen anymore.
“Good.” An image of Claudia kissing Mark slams into my mind. “Okay,” I say, correcting myself. And then I add, with a dismissive sound, “Actually, it kind of sucks.”
“A new job means you have a lot to learn.” Her voice is carefully neutral. I know what she wants
to ask. I don’t have the courage to call her out on it.
“Yes. Computer systems and time card programs and—”
“You’re out for revenge, aren’t you?” she asks abruptly.
Well. I guess I don’t have to call her out on anything.
“No,” I say slowly. And it’s true. “I’m not out for revenge. I’m out for justice.”
A long sigh pours out of her and she shifts her hips and knees, suddenly on her butt and sitting next to me. She slides her gardening gloves off and runs a hand through her sweaty hair.
“It’s really easy to mix up revenge and justice, Carrie.”
My throat tightens.
“I won’t.”
She starts to say something, then stops herself. She presses her eyelids together in a tight squint, like she’s struggling. I see all the wrinkles around her eyes and realize her hair is much grayer than it used to be. The roots are showing. We’ve all gotten older.
Have we gotten wiser?
“Brian doesn’t talk about it,” Elaine says, her voice thick with emotion. I suddenly feel helpless, like a little girl. “Joe’s arrest and conviction, I mean. We lost the bar. Your dad owned more of it and they claimed the storeroom was used for drugs, so it became a…what did they call it?” She makes a nasty sound. “A ‘civil seizure.’ That’s what it’s called. Because the bar was supposedly used to store drugs and deal drugs, the police had the right to take it. We lost everything.”
Her nostrils flare. A ball of shame grows in my stomach. I know I have nothing to feel ashamed of. Dad didn’t deal drugs or store them in the bar. My dad did nothing wrong. But I’ve spent all these years so focused on him that I didn’t think about this. I didn’t think in any depth about how Dad’s arrest and conviction ripped Elaine and Brian’s life apart.
“So the bar wasn’t sold?”
She shakes her head. “The police seized it. Some real estate investor bought it. Then the coffee shop opened. It’s like the bar was never there. All that work—gone.”
Gone.
I blink harder and harder. My mind feels like confetti. The day at work was bad enough. I can handle stress. If Stress were an Olympic sport I’d be the captain of the U.S. team and a quadruple gold medalist.
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