I stood up and my chair fell over behind me. “Whoopsie.” I stared at it, not sure what to do. Nothing, I decided. “I have to pee,” I announced, grabbing my purse.
“You’re already wasted,” Wallace said.
“Want me to come with you?” Michele asked.
“Nu-uh.” I shook my head, then grabbed the table. I held up a finger on my other hand. “Back in a flash.” I saw my one remaining Jell-O shot shiny and square in its little paper cup. “Don’t eat my little Martian.”
“Your what?” Wallace said, his eyebrows up to his hairline.
“Nev’uhmind.”
I weaved between tables and chairs and people to the bathroom. Once inside, I splashed cool water on my face. I looked in the mirror and squeaked. Mascara had molten onto my cheeks. I looked for paper towels, but all I found were hand driers. Toilet paper would work, so I checked the stalls. All empty except one, and that one had only a little, tiny bit. Well, I did need to go. I went, and used the last square of TP. That was better. I rinsed my hands and wiped them on my pants and headed back out to our table.
People stared at me. Whispered. Giggled. Did they all know about my horrible day, that the man I loved didn’t love me so I’d had to leave him before I could ask about the beautiful puppy? Did the puppy have a name? Was it at Jack’s now? It must be so soft. But why was everyone looking at me and pointing at me?
I stopped. I hadn’t checked my messages. I dug in my purse for my phone. The floor felt uneven, even crooked, and I swayed. I pulled out my phone, knocking the yellow gloves out as I did, and saw another text from Jack: I miss you. Ha! He missed me? He should have thought of that before he snuck off on all his secret meetings and told his fibs. I stopped to pick up the gloves, but before I could, a man stood up and caught my arm.
“Miss, are you okay?” He had on a black leather jacket and a leather bandana like a do-rag on his head. Underneath his jacket was a white T-shirt with a big cross on the front. Above the cross it said, He died for me. Below the cross it read, I ride for him.
“Baloney,” I said. I knew his kind. He rode Harleys on the weekends because it was fun and cool. No way God came to him and said, “Son, I need you to quit doing stuff you like and be miserable riding a Harley, in honor of the sacrifice Jesus made for humanity.” No way. He was like all those football players who seemed to think God gave a goldurn which team won on Sunday. He didn’t. I was sure of it. I started to tell him so, too, then remembered he’d asked me something.
“Excuse me?” he said.
Oh yeah, he’d asked me if I was okay. Got a little side-tracked for a moment, but I was back in the saddle again. “Never better.”
“Hey, were you a Sandie? I think you were in my class.”
“Blow Sand Blow.” Our school cheer was easily the worst in the state of Texas if not the entire United States of America.
“I’m Duane, and you’re Emily Phelps, right?”
“I don’t know, but I’m Emily.”
His brows furrowed, then he said, “I heard about you.”
“Heard what?”
“Oh, just stuff, like how your dad’s a murderer and ever since he’s been out on parole, you’ve started hanging out with a bartender from the Polo Club and a gay social worker.” He patted my arm. “Some of the people we graduated with are concerned about you, you know.”
“And what else?”
“That you came back to Amarillo because you were pregnant with your gay ex-husband’s child—”
“He’s bisexual.”
“—and that you turned out like your mother, when she was younger.”
“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Um—”
“I’ll have you know that my mother has never been trashy a day in my life. And she raised me to wear a What Would Jesus Do bracelet, which was supposed to make me love him more than boys, which worked until I met Scott Walker in high school, and then even a risen Jesus was no match for the real thing.” I stopped. I was confused. “What did you ask me again?”
He nodded. “You should try Jesus. He’s the answer.”
“That’s what they said about my quesadilla.”
I lifted my chin and kept plugging toward our outside table, trying to ignore all the looky-loos and gossip girls. I hoped when they had a horrible day like mine people stared at them, too. I really did. And I hoped when they were down on their luck that people made rude comments in the name of Jesus to them.
I passed the smell of Axe cologne and stopped. The guy at Phil’s storage unit had worn that scent. I turned slowly and carefully toward it. A young guy with slicked-back brown hair was watching me with a half smile on his face.
“I know you.” I pointed at him.
“Yep.”
Suddenly my brain made a connection with his face that it had missed when I’d seen him earlier in the week. “You came to our offices last month. Wanted Jack to represent you.”
His grin widened. “Yep.”
“Then you plead guilty to something or other with ADA Stafford before Jack could make up his mind about your case.”
“Yep.”
“You’re already out.”
“Yep.”
My thoughts were too slippery to grab hold of, but I knew this was significant somehow. I pointed at him again. “What’d you do? I know you did something.”
His smile disappeared and he leaned against the back of his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “Somebody helps me out, I help them out. I heard a friend of mine needed some things lost. So now they’re lost.” He winked at me and turned back to a man and woman at his table. He had on some sort of team shirt, like a baseball jersey, that read Ogletree on the back.
“Hey,” I said to the back of his head.
He didn’t turn around.
To heck with you, then. I made my way out the door and across the patio, then tumbled into my chair, struggling to understand what he meant. The room spun a little. Man, those Jell-O shots must have gone to my head. Only had four of them. Well, and one beer. And no dinner. Or lunch, I remembered, except for the bite I’d sprayed at Wallace.
Wallace took a break from what he was saying to Michele and glanced at me. “Oh my God,” he shouted.
I jumped. “What?”
He laughed—the kind of laugh that starts in his throat and moves to his belly and then takes over his whole body—until he was bouncing his leg and pounding it with his fist while his head shook from side to side. Michele put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile, but her back was shaking so I knew she was laughing, too.
“Whah?” I said again, or tried to. Man, I was really starting to feel those shots.
“Your face. Your mascara. Oh my,” Wallace said, wheezing.
Michele leaned over and dug in her purse. I just stared at her, forlorn. I had forgotten about the mascara. I remembered it from the bathroom mirror, and I knew it looked like MacArthur Park had melted in the rain and I didn’t think that I could take it. Michele sat up holding a travel pack of wet wipes. I’d forgotten something else, too. Something . . . yellow.
“I love those things,” Wallace said.
“He’s snot kidding. He freakin’ keeps ’em everywhere, and he makes me use ’em before I can touch his car.”
Michele said, “Lean over here, and I’ll get it off.”
I did. She wiped gently, her face knit with concentration and compassion.
“That’s better. No more raccoon eyes.”
“Jack didn’t really want to marry me,” I explained to her. “He wanted to replace his dead wife and kids.”
“That’s baloney,” Wallace interjected. “And how is what you want—replacing your ex-husband and the baby you lost—different from Jack?”
I swished my hand as if to swat a fly away. “And he’s been cutting me out of his life and running around behind my back.”
“You don’t know that,” Wallace said.
“Well, where izze spending all his tim
e then? What’s the old case he won’t tell me about? Whuzzat woman who he was late to meet today? And who’s Paige? Hmm? Tell me that, Wallace Wildlife Gray.”
“Wallace what?”
“You heard me.”
Wallace laughed again, but this time he kept himself under control. “You’re crazy. And at the rate you’re going, I’ll be married before you.”
“But you can’t marry another guy in Texas.”
“Which is why we plan to elope to New Mexico.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“You’re going to be married before me,” I wailed. “Just like my ex-husband and Stormy.”
“Your congratulations and best wishes are noted,” Wallace said, patting my hand.
Michele smiled at Wallace. “That’s awesome.” Then she turned to me, looking deep into my eyes. “Don’t assume the worst, Emily. If you don’t know, fill in the blanks with what you do know.”
My wail had turned into a sniffling blubber. “I dohne understand.”
Her dark brown eyes held mine, her smile hugged me. “You know a lot of good things about Jack?”
“Yes.”
“Then use those to fill in the blanks, and see if you don’t come up with a different conclusion. Things aren’t always what they seem. People told me Adrian had cheated on me and stolen my money before he died but what I knew about him made that impossible to be true.”
“Oh no. Did he do it?”
She shook her head no, making me shake my head gently back and forth along with her as she did. “No. So, take it from me: look before you leap.”
Wallace snorted. “You’ve just told a zebra not to wear stripes.”
I grabbed Michele’s wrists. “Michele?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Michele helped me slither into my own bed before she retreated to the guest room down the hall at my parents’, but not before I made her pinky-promise not to tell my parents anything about Jack and me. We’d gotten home too late for my mother to meet us at the door, thank the Lord, but the first thing I heard when I woke up was her putting Michele through the third degree. What time was it anyway? I fumbled around on the bedside table for my phone. Nothing. I patted the bed and found it by my pillow. I pressed the button on the top right to wake it up. 6:15 a.m. 6:15? I groaned. But there was no going back to sleep with mother wound up, and besides, I had committed to an early appointment that morning to remove my braces—my hated, hated braces.
I checked my phone. Another Jack text: Are you at your parents’ house? Are you coming home or to work today? I hadn’t answered his first two texts yet, and I didn’t answer that one either.
As quietly as I could, I gathered some clothes from my suitcase and slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower. Nausea kept sneaking up on me, gagging me, and I sipped water slowly from a tiny Dixie cup. Mother still kept a dispenser by the bathroom sink, bless her heart. I stared at my look for a moment, then took my hair down. Time for a change-up. I braided it in a low, fat tail instead and sprayed dry shampoo into my bangs. Then I slipped a flowy A-line maxi dress over my head. Soft oranges and yellows and buttons up the front would work today with my gold sandals. I powdered my nose and used some bronzer and lip balm. The more ladylike look would take some getting used to, but I didn’t hate it.
“Good morning, all,” I said, joining them in the kitchen.
Dad sat at the green Formica-topped table reading the paper and drinking coffee. Mother was making pancakes, and Michele—dressed in black spandex shorts and a Triathlon World Championships T-shirt—was stretching. The muscles in her thighs made me feel guilty for skipping hot yoga the whole last week. Not that I would look like her from hot yoga alone, but it would be a start.
A chorus of hellos came back at me.
“Whatcha doin’ staying over here, Sweet Pea?” Dad asked.
“Um, our house is getting fumigated, and Jack is on a business trip.” I kept my eyes on the floor and prayed no one would call me out.
“Your friend Michele is a delight,” Mother crowed. She flipped a pancake, then another and another. “And so accomplished.”
I thought about kissing my father on the cheek like I had as a girl, but lingering uneasiness with the whole broken-bottle thing stopped me. Dad went back to his paper and coffee. He did it for you, I reminded myself, but it was too late.
To Mother, I said, “Yes, she is. And many other great things, besides. Are you headed for a workout, Michele?”
“I’m going with some people from the triathlon club for a run out at Palo Duro Canyon.”
“Oh ho. Been there, done that, back in the day, only very poorly. But it’s beautiful and should be a breeze for you.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“I have an appointment I need to run off to, but if you need a ride anywhere after that—”
“Michele and I have that all worked out,” Dad said. “You and your mother run along to work, and when she needs a taxi, she knows I’m her man.”
I shot them a thumbs-up. “I hope your presentation tonight is a big hit. I’ll see you later.” I kissed my mother. “I have something tonight, so I’ll be late.”
“I’ll be so glad when Jack returns. I don’t like you running around by yourself at night.”
I winked at Michele. “I know, Mother. Bye, everyone.”
“Don’t you even want to take some food? I can make you a to-go coffee and some pancake-cream-cheese rolls.”
My stomach lurched in horror. “I’ll be fine.”
By the time I made it to the front door, Mother was yakking at Michele again. “Now, sweetie, tell me about where you go to church.”
I was only ten minutes late to my appointment with Dr. Parks, where Mrs. Parks hustled me into an exam room. I leaned back in the chair. The Jell-O shots and late night were still churning in my stomach and pounding in my head. What had I been thinking? I was no party animal. I closed out the loud floral wallpaper with my eyelids and breathed carefully through my mouth.
The orthodontist entered, his voice shattering my peace like a hammer to crystal. “I don’t understand what we’re doing here today. You want your braces off halfway through treatment?”
I didn’t look at him. “Good morning. Yes, sir.”
“They haven’t done you much good yet. You’re still at risk for all kinds of problems later. And you’ve already paid for them.”
“I understand. Thank you, but I’d like them off, please.”
He heaved an enormous sigh of immense suffering. “Can you at least explain why?”
Instead of my usual smile, I felt my teeth bear down, which hurt, thanks to the dang braces. “Just because. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to run to the bathroom and barf before we get started.”
He moved back quickly with his hands up and I bolted out. When I returned, he didn’t argue with me any more.
Afterwards, my mouth ached worse than before, but when I licked my teeth they were smooth and drew no blood. I wanted out of there, and I skedaddled to my car like my tush was on fire, not even stopping to see myself in the bathroom mirror. Where to go next? I didn’t want to face Jack yet, so I called the office. Judith picked up in New Mexico.
“Is Jack in? I’m not at the office.”
“Let me IM him.”
Tap, tap, tap. Judith was the fasted typist I had ever seen, and seconds later she said, “Yeah, he’s there.”
“Thank you. Have a good one.” I hung up before she could question me.
Decision made, I headed toward home at nine miles per hour over the speed limit. I needed to grab a few more things, like my hot-yoga outfit, because I was totally going today, to sweat out the poisons I’d ingested the night before. The terrain changed as I neared the exit to Heaven; it grew more rugged like the West of Technicolor movies, with prickly pear cactus and mesas flat as an ironing board on multi-acre home sites,
like ours. Or Jack’s, rather. I opened my mouth to release a sob, but no tears fell.
I’d taken the garage-door opener with me, so I used it and pulled the red Mustang inside, where it could be hidden—where I could be hidden—behind a closed door. “Jack?” I called, as I entered the mudroom from the garage. “Anyone home?” I tiptoed in, holding my breath.
The mudroom emptied into the open-concept living space, starting with the kitchen. I looked across the island into the living room on the left. It was tidy and empty. On the right was the breakfast area. An envelope was propped against the lazy Susan in the middle of the table. EMILY, it read. My heart thumped loudly in my ears. I grabbed it and ripped it open, hoping that somehow Jack had found the words to make the last two weeks disappear. I read the note torn from a yellow legal pad.
Emily: I got this house for you. I’ll be at the office tonight. There’s 2 presents for you out back. They were meant to be wedding gifts, but they’re yours no matter what, like the house. Take whatever time you need. I’m sorry about Betsy.
I missed you last night.
Jack
Competing emotions fought for supremacy inside me. Sadness. Anger. Disappointment. Love. Longing. Hope. Gratitude. And, yes, a flicker of excitement about presents, which I couldn’t help, even in a moment when they shouldn’t have mattered but did. And Jack got them for me. He hadn’t told me he loved me, but he brought me gifts. It was something, and as sad as I felt right now, as much as I missed him, I needed to figure out if something was better than nothing, if something was good enough in place of “I love you.” And if it wasn’t, where did that leave me?
I dropped the note on the table, loose, and went to the back door. The blue heeler puppy I’d seen the day before was lying on its back in the sun, zonked out. A cattle dog. I smiled in spite of myself, stepping out onto the covered porch. The pup opened its eyes and leapt to its feet, barreling at me and planting both paws on my knees.
Hell to Pay (What Doesn’t Kill You, #7): An Emily Romantic Mystery Page 22