by Brea Viragh
True to form, Leda would not concern herself with the implications. She kept her gaze focused on the end prize and powered though any problems in the middle game.
I, however, did not possess that singular talent, regarding each road bump as a higher hurdle. “I’m so sorry, Leda. You’re out of a job for the time being and it’s all my fault for not taking those threats against me seriously. I hope you don’t have to go back to cutting hair.”
“Hush,” she said in a soothing, mothering voice. “We’ll get through this mess one way or another.” She kept her hand firm on me, a reminder. Breaking down was not an option. Still, I couldn’t help the desire to hyperventilate.
“What are we going to do?” I moaned.
Though only twenty-two, I’d learned the value of hard work at an early age. This kind of set-back could cost me everything. Everything I’d worked hard to attain. The name I’d made in the town, the orders coming in for private events...and what about all those festivals we were in line to do? Would I still be able to go with my permit suspended?
“We keep our chins up and get this place back in order,” Leda responded firmly. A full ten years older, she knew the bottom line. “I’ll handle the orders we’ve committed to from my own kitchen and we’ll take the rest as they come.”
She glanced to the swinging door where Aaron Dubois had burst through with his prize in hand, a self-satisfied smirk turning the curls of his mustache on end.
“One day at a time,” she told me.
I took a deep, shuddering breath before nodding. “One day at a time. Oh, here.” Bending down, I removed a shoe and held it up to Leda. “Instead of your own shoe, you can eat mine.”
The weight of my life, the circumstances of the past two weeks, circled in my head like sharks scenting blood in the water, and with intermittent certainty, the memories of that long-ago night resurfaced.
Isaac and I had sat at a tiny card table with a green vinyl top as Bruce Springsteen told us we were born to run. My stomach was full of butterflies and my head already in the clouds simply from being near Isaac. Brad and Trent sat across from us, chuckling about this girl or the other as though I didn’t belong to the same sex. The bag containing a crystalline substance lay in the middle of the table, the space between it and my hand spanning a multitude of first-time experiences and ultimately bad choices.
Who wants to go first?
I hear it’s an amazing rush.
I’m not so sure I want to.
Stop being a baby and do it.
Isn’t this illegal?
Sure it was. What a stupid thing for me to ask. What a stupid thing to do for going there in the first place. For thinking it would make me accepted, cool. For thinking it would make people like me more than they already did. None of it mattered in the long run. I had my dreams, goals, and my grandmother was gone. None of it would make the hurt disappear. Or make Isaac fall head over heels in love with me. I should have left, out the front door instead of the back. Then someone I cared about would have been free instead of busted for possession and intent to distribute.
I remembered Brad egging us on. I remembered Trent smiling, assuring me he hadn’t known what Brad planned but everything was going to be okay.
After I’d spent a terrifying four hours trapped in the woods, scared to make a sound while waiting for the sirens to silence, the blue lights to extinguish, and the police cruisers to return to town, I’d told myself the same thing. One day at a time.
Leave him alone. The note. The threat.
How many days did I have left?
One day at a time.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur as I set about cleaning the refrigerator and packing the perishables into my car. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be forced to stay closed, and I couldn’t risk the rest of my ingredients spoiling before I could reopen.
Which hurt more, calling customers and postponing or—ugh—outright canceling our standing orders for the week, or trying to explain what had happened without whining or placing blame?
The storm clouds from the other day decided to release the moment I stepped outside with a brand-new institution-size bag of flour. Becoming instantly soaked, I stared up at the sky, a vein throbbing in my temple. I considered throwing the bag down for a good old-fashioned tantrum, though I had doubts about its effectiveness. And the flour would become like cement once it got wet.
I thought it was bad before? News flash. There were always opportunities for worse. I was lucky to make it home without incident, keeping my eyes out for the SUV with tinted windows.
I gave the mixer note to the police on an afterthought. They laughed at me for a solid minute before realizing I hadn’t written it myself. After adding it to my file, they ushered me out the door with typical Southern platitudes. It will get better. Don’t worry, little lady.
They’d better be right. Thinking about the alternative was...unthinkable.
Two days later, I sat on a low bookshelf at Doma, watching Shari work. The upscale art gallery and specialty store had a row of windows overlooking the central downtown area. Painted frescoes lined the eastern wall, with newly thrown pots and sculptures on pedestals beneath them. Rows of track lights illuminated the wares in a neat, Spartan fashion so each color stood out. The art coupled with the general store layout invited travelers to come in and browse, perhaps take a piece of small-town life home with them.
“I’m having an everything-I-touch-turns-to-shit day,” I commented with forced brightness, crossing my legs. “No, scratch that. I’m having an everything-I-touch-turns-to-shit week.”
Shari turned from stocking the shelf with a single eyebrow raised. “Do I know about those?”
“My schedule is in ruins and I don’t know how to fix it. I feel like I’m going out of my mind.” I fingered a spool of hand-woven yarn, made by a local alpaca farm, and jumped to the floor to follow close behind her. “You know. My business is closed so I have to keep myself busy until the pest control company comes in to clean next week. I tried to bake zucchini chips and they burned. I tried to mow my lawn and broke the blades. Again. I was locked out of my cell phone account and put on hold with customer service for over an hour. You know.”
“Ah, yes. One of those weeks. I understand now.”
I’d already gone into my whole day with Isaac and the asshole inspector, assuring my best friend I was fine even as I perched on the brink of a full-scale meltdown. Then I told her, albeit reluctantly, about the note on the mixer. She wasn’t too happy about being left out of the loop there. Then I finally told her about my disastrous afternoon spent with a male pelvis pressing me into a building. The best part of the whole shebang. She’d teased me about the sigh in my voice and we’d moved on.
“What did you do to the mower?” she asked.
I shook my head. “That’s not the point, Shar. How can I be expected to watch my ass when I’m in the midst of a week? I mean, it would be my luck to have the man actually do me in, rather than find out who it is and report it to the police. I’m a ticking time bomb.”
“You’re sure it’s a man, then.”
Sure enough to buy a can of pepper spray to carry with me at all times. “The same person is behind the attacks and the attempted stoplight collision, yes. More than likely he’s the one who brought the rat into the bakery too, although I still haven’t ruled out other blond-haired lotharios yet. I shouldn’t have deleted the text.”
“And the police? What have they said?” Shari asked.
Well, they hadn’t said anything helpful. I’d received a phone call this morning stating their continued involvement on the assault, but so far they’d found no evidence. Not a single fingerprint on the paper. And forget about information on the SUV. In the eyes of the law, the perp didn’t exist. Neither did the still photos from the traffic light the other night. I was out of my mind.
Maybe the one thing we could all agree on.
Shari finished stocking and tu
rned to me. “I think you need to stop worrying. How about you go find Isaac and let your worries slip away.” She walked her fingers through the air and my eyes followed the motion.
I shook my head. “Stop worrying? Have you listened to a word I’ve said? Spending time with Isaac is the last thing I want to do.” The head shaking continued until I felt my eyeballs rattling inside my cranium. “Terrible things happen when I talk to Isaac. I don’t need any more terrible things in my life.”
“Yeah, you shagged him. I know.”
The air sucked backward into my lungs until I choked on the breath. “I most certainly did not!”
“The Great and Powerful Shari sees you need an opportunity to laugh, and thus provided you with one.”
“You’re a real laugh a minute.”
She chuckled. “I’m glad someone finally recognizes my true talents.”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“Yeah, but everything else can wait. You need me right now.”
“I need some Valium.”
“How about a little Howard instead?”
I cringed. She made him sound like the drug he was. I wasn’t ready to admit the attraction beyond our kiss. “It was a one-and-done thing. Leave it alone.”
“If you won’t consider a little XY chromosome therapy, then I think you need to take a long vacation. I know you don’t have the money to spend right now. But getting out of town is the best thing.” Shari paused to pat my hand, nonchalantly peering around at the healing goose egg on my head. “Yes, definitely a vacation.”
I idly poked at the trinkets Shari had artfully displayed on the shelf. “I’m trying to be careful. Unfortunately, trouble seems to find me.”
“Come on, that’s not true.”
“It is true. Every step I take is like a cliffhanger.” I never knew when I’d topple over the edge and never get up.
“Let loose every once in a while. It will do a body good,” Shari said.
“What kind of...oh, a joke. I get it now.” My heart thrummed nervously in my chest. The way it did every time I thought about my myriad near-death experiences.
Shari replaced a porcelain vase with a hand-hewn bowl whittled from a silver maple burl. It caught my attention immediately until my wallet had to scream and remind me to be frugal. It was hard when I had a magpie-like desire for pretty knickknacks.
Shari slapped my hand away from the bowl. “Down, girl. Not on your tight budget.”
If anyone kept me in line, it was Shari. We shared the same goals, only I got approved for my loan and she did not. Now she kept me focused on what I needed to do to succeed.
“You’re right. I need something to get my mind off of him. I mean, off of things,” I amended quickly.
“I know what’s on your mind.” Shari shuffled around and tucked the box behind her hips. “Look at me.”
I did that. “Okay?”
“Do you think I have two boyfriends by running away from confrontation?” she further insisted.
I started, brows drawn together and back straightening. “You have two boyfriends?” I shouldn’t be surprised; Shari was like sex on a pair of tree trunk legs.
“Not the point, Essie. I’m saying you should stop avoiding what you can’t control. Get out of town for a few days, yes.” She turned around when a customer came in the door, although she made no move to lower her voice. “And for the love of everything holy, go get laid.”
The woman at the door whipped around hard enough to have her dreadlocks slapping against her face. I burped in response.
“Please try not to be so crude.” I gestured around the showroom. “I know people here.”
Earlier in the week, I would have staked my life on Isaac as the culprit. He had the motive and the opportunity to hound me, pester me until I became a sniveling coward at his feet, begging for mercy. I thought about the threats I’d been getting, the ones the police didn’t want to take seriously. What would Shari say?
“Listen...” I toyed with the ends of my shirt. “I have something I want to tell you.”
“What is it, sweetie?”
“The other day I picked up the phone and...there was this text—”
“Speak of the devil.” Shari glanced up from the display and licked her lips. “Here comes a walking cup of sin.”
I’d brought him here! I’d conjured him from the depths of hell by telling Shari about the kiss. All other thoughts fled my mind. Why couldn’t the man get bored and move on? “Hide me,” I whispered, shaking my head.
I ducked behind a bookcase laden with art pieces painstakingly crafted by local artisans. Perhaps the shiny baubles would distract Isaac from his quest. I saw it in his eyes the moment he paused to glance through the front window.
He was looking for me.
A man on a mission, he stepped into the air-conditioned confines of the store with a confidence and manner designed to stand out. The newly trimmed ends of his goatee captured my attention when I peered around the edge of the wood, as did the newly shorn waves of his hair.
“Isaac!” Shari waved a greeting.
“What are you doing?” I hissed out, slapping at whatever appendage of hers was closest. “Stop.”
Shari did no such thing, pointing down to where I slouched and smiling. “She’s over here.”
I groaned, straightening in time to see Isaac making a beeline for me. “It’s so nice to know if there’s ever trouble, Jailbird McGee will come running in an instant, his nose to the ground. I didn’t realize a bloodhound nose was under your umbrella of expertise.” I couldn’t help the jab, although I tried to hide the hand smoothing the front pleats of my skirt into a semblance of order. The way I fiddled with stray locks of hair and managed to look everywhere but his face.
This was my fault. I should have known better than to go into town on my day. My line of bad luck unerringly found its way to the face I most wanted to avoid. My attraction to him had grown into an embarrassment.
Long fingers reached out to wrap around my wrist, rubbing in a sensuous manner that brought my teeth together. “I’ve been looking for you. Seems we have a few more things to discuss.”
I wished he wouldn’t touch me. My mind turned into quicksand when he touched me.
“It looks like you found me.” My eyes traveled from the pad of his thumb to his eyes. They were molten amber, burning holes into my soul and kindling an instant heat in my core. I tried to ignore the looks of the other store patrons when I yanked my wrist away and crossed my arms in an X. “You followed me here.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I need this wool for my knitting hobby.”
“Excuse me if I have a hard time picturing you with a pair of needles, knitting a sock,” I said softly. There, in the quiet hush of the store, I probed him again. “Please tell me you had nothing to do with the rat, Isaac. Please.” I needed to hear it, to reconcile the whole of him with the whole of what had been done. To the store. To me.
His height had me looking up to search his face. To see the moment when he either told the truth or lied through his teeth.
“Please tell me it wasn’t you who took a knife to all four of my mother’s tires,” he fired back. “Silver SUV ring a bell?”
I sucked in a breath, inadvertently inhaling the heat drifting off of him. “What happened?”
He shrugged, and it was his turn to look anywhere but my face. “I believe you’re retaliating for the rat. I’m trying to get to the bottom of about three hundred bucks in new tires.”
I didn’t like the slightly patronizing tone, even when his nearness did amazing things to me. If I didn’t grow a backbone and start showing him I was serious with my threats, he’d walk all over me. That was called being a doormat and I’d never been good at laying low.
I took in the way he carried himself and the savage, almost careless set of his shoulders.
“I would never slash your mother’s tires.” Paralyzed by his presence, I gave myself a mental shake. “Never. You need to go to the police
. Add your info to the reports I’ve already filed, if you want. If it will help.” Yes, the same guys who let us do the legwork were the same ones who thought I was a flake. They were “working on it” for little more than show.
“Look,” Isaac continued, managing a sluggish smile, “tell me the truth. Are you trying to get back at me for whatever you think I did? Because targeting my mom is not okay, Essie. Not in this lifetime.”
“I know it wasn’t you who nearly smashed me to pieces. You want me to admit it? I will. I know it wasn’t you. I would never slash a tire to prove it.”
“Four tires.”
“Whatever!”
At once he dove his hands into his rear pockets, the motion emphasizing the broad swath of his chest. He moved closer, studying me. “You’re pale. And you look like shit.”
I slapped him on the arm. “Every girl longs to hear those words, thank you.”
“I’m concerned,” he responded. “This isn’t about the other day, is it?”
Oy. The moment was broken and somehow, trying not to blush brought the heat to my cheeks faster. “Don’t worry. It’s none of your business.” Free from him, I led the way to the back door with a nod from Shari. Since he had no intentions of leaving, I refused to give him the show he desired. Another public performance with a ready audience.
He caught me by the forearm this time, voice soft. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I thought about the note in my file at the police station. The text I’d sent to the bowels of cyber-trash. Then tried not to cry when my eyes began to sting.
“Whoa there, sugar, there is definitely something bothering you.” Isaac wrinkled his nose. “You better be leading me somewhere we can talk.”
Sniffling, I nodded and continued toward the office. His footsteps fell into line behind me and he kept his grip on my hand. Isaac closed the door behind him, cutting us off from the outside world. “No one will mind us using the room?”
I knew the owner of Doma, a woman several years ahead of me in school. She had embraced the hippy lifestyle, the love for all and open mind mantra, and I knew without asking she would open the room to me anytime.