“Perfect.” I pushed myself off the desk, pulled a new ink cartridge out of the drawer, and threw the top of my printer open.
Of course the printer was out of ink. Of course! Nothing had gone smoothly since I’d purchased this damned shop. Nothing.
After finally printing the invoices, I headed to the back room with my pile of shipping supplies. Becky and I had organized the best we could under my current circumstances, but that only consisted of boxes stacked shoulder high against the far wall.
I placed the invoice next to the sink, propped my fulfillment box open on the floor, and began searching for Mrs. Tuso’s order.
Three boxes of Lemonade Girl body scrub. Check.
Two cases of Pour Some Sugar lotion. Check.
This was larger than her typical order, one she’d be using in swag bags for clients. I was thrilled when she sent in the order, even though it couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time.
I read the next item on the list, searched the labels, and added more lotions to the order.
“Okay… one case Cream In My Coffee lip balm.” My finger ran down the line, and I stopped at the pink cursive marks encircled by my best friend. I opened the case, immediately scrunched my brows together, and checked the box again. It was supposed to be lip balm, but the case was filled with body butter. I took the oval tubs out of the box, placed them one by one on the floor until it was empty.
I closed my eyes and forced in a breath. “Don’t panic. You made it—I remember it like it was yesterday…” I spotted another box across the room and rushed over to pull it open. Maybe I put them in the wrong box? I pulled the cardboard flaps wide, opening it all the way so I could see inside, but they weren’t there either.
My heart began to pound and I ripped open another box, not even bothering to check labels this time.
Your Body’s A Wonderland bath bars, Slow Like Honey massage lotion—nothing that I needed. I’d had the order for three months, promised it wasn’t too much for me to handle, but her favorite scent, the one that made my store famous, was missing.
How could I let myself lose something so important? Not only would I lose potential clients—clients I needed desperately with my new expenses—but I’d also be letting down one of my favorite people. The woman who almost single-handedly spread the word about my shop.
By the time I got to the fifteenth box open, packing peanuts littered the floor, and empty boxes were discarded at my feet. I couldn’t even imagine confessing to Mrs. Tuso that I’d let her down. That I’d let myself down. That I was in over my head with this whole fucking shop.
With each discarded box, the claws of desperation around my throat tightened, but I didn’t slow down. I was determined to find them. I needed to find them.
I’d once witnessed a woman at a bus stop, kicking and screaming, her hair wild and disheveled, her eyes sunken and feral. I’d wondered how someone could get to that point—to lose all self-control, to be so desperate they didn’t care about the repercussions of their actions. But standing there, surrounded by discarded products, cardboard, and paper, I didn’t care about anything but finding those damned lip balms.
I opened another box, dumped the contents on the floor, and moved to another. When I got to what must have been my twentieth box, I found them, nestled in a mislabeled box, safe and sound.
Four cases of Cream In My Coffee lip balm.
I sank to the floor, my nose burning with unshed tears, and I let myself go. Huge tears began to stream down my cheeks, and I didn’t try and stop them. I let myself cry, hard, sloppy, and wet. Tears of frustration, desperation, uncertainty, and fear. I was so damned scared. Afraid of losing everything I’d been trying to create my whole life. My stability…
John
I glanced from my phone to the back room, growing more impatient with each second. It was already seven thirty, an hour and a half past our normal cut off time, but here Eddie and I waited.
Tuesday hadn’t come out all night, and I couldn’t hide the fact that I was pissed. Her friend had left hours ago, yet Tuesday continued to pound away in the back room, doing God knows what.
I flipped open my laptop and began writing an update for Jake. My family was expecting me a half hour ago. Part of me didn’t mind the delay. I knew Lisa was itching to hound me about her friend again, but when I spoke to my mom this afternoon, she’d sounded strange. Even when I’d stayed on the phone five minutes longer than usual, she didn’t say what was wrong. For that reason alone, I was anxious to get going.
I looked down to my cell and shook my head. “Okay, we’re done.” I ripped my tool belt from my body and threw it in a pile on the counter. As much as I hated leaving her alone, I couldn’t stick around all night. Especially a woman who hadn’t said a word to me in two days.
“Start packing up, Eddie, you win. I’ll go tell Ms. Patil we’re leaving.” And give her one last opportunity to go with us. But when I pushed through the plastic to the back room, I stopped.
She was crying. Not loud—but not quiet either. The sounds caused my heart to clench. A reaction fostered from being raised with three sisters, no doubt. I couldn’t stand the sound of it. Not any tears, but especially not from her. Tuesday’s cry was different. Lonely, desperate—hollow.
The back room was a mess. Open boxes and packing peanuts littered the floor, and she sat in the middle of all of it, her head down, a lap filled with a handful of small brown boxes, and her shoulders shaking so hard I could almost feel the vibration from fifteen feet away. I retreated back through the plastic.
Shit!
She didn’t like me. She’d stated as much, and proven it over and over by not speaking to me for the last twenty-four hours. I knew the last thing she’d want was my awkward consolation… but I couldn’t leave her alone. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to figure out what to do then turned around.
“Sorry Eddie, but there’s something I’m going to need you to do.”
His brows pinched together and he muttered under his breath. “Ahh fuck…”
“Ms. Patil has had a rough night,” I began. “I need you to escort her to her car when she’s ready to leave.”
He retrieved his tool belt from the top of the counter and began fastening it around his waist again. He nodded. “Sure thing, boss.” Then he patted me on the shoulder and gestured his chin toward the exit. “Go, I’ll take care of her. Go see your family.”
It was exactly what I wanted him say. Exactly what I wanted him to do—but for some reason, I didn’t like his answer one bit.
Not one little bit.
Chapter TEN
John
It was five after eight when I pulled in front of my parents’ house. I knew they’d already eaten. Just as I was sure a plate would be waiting for me in the microwave. My family was like that, which was what made it so nice to come home. There were no expectations, no complications, just a family who was happy to see me walk through the door. No matter how late I was.
I jogged up the front steps of the two-story house, past the cherry tree in the front yard that had been my safe haven, and the brick pedestals I’d carved my name into when I was six. I took a deep breath, pushed open the front door, and stepped inside. The sounds of my family carried down the long hall, the familiar sound filling me with a sense of peace. Voices big and small echoed in the foyer from ceiling to wooden floor. And when I walked around the corner, the sight of them all together still made me smile. Mom was in the kitchen doing the dishes with Penny and Margaret. Dad was watching baseball in his favorite chair with a couple grandkids curled up on his lap, and Lisa was sitting on the couch with my niece and nephew.
“It’s about time,” she said, taking my niece Frances and placing her back on the couch cushions.
“Sorry, I got tied up at work.”
She nodded and tucked the blanket back around her kids’ shoulders before moving toward the kitchen.
Mom turned around and smiled at me, her hands covered with yellow plastic g
loves. “There’s a plate of food for you in the microwave.”
I smiled, patted my nephew Johnny on the head, and then made my way across the kitchen to heat up my food.
Lisa came to lean against the counter and frowned. “How’s Katie?”
“She’s good. She’s home, seems to be doing well, but Jake’s a mess… He hates not being on site, but there’s no way he’s ready to leave her alone just yet.”
She nodded. “I’m glad she’s okay. How’s the new job?”
I lifted my shoulders and pulled a fork out of the drawer. “Good.”
Lisa tilted her head and examined me, surely sensing my frustration with the whole situation. It was thirty minutes later, and my shoulders were still rigid like rocks from seeing Tuesday like that. I was pissed at myself. Pissed for my actions the first night we’d met. Pissed at her for being so damned stubborn she couldn’t just forget about the whole thing. Maybe if things had gone differently it wouldn’t be like this between us now. Maybe her tears would have landed on my shoulders instead of her sweet, little hands.
Mom came to stand by my side and touched my arm. “You tell Jake I’m bringing him a lasagna tomorrow, okay?”
I nodded, smiling at how thoughtful she always was, then leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll tell him. I’m sure Katie will appreciate a home cooked meal.”
Mom smiled and turned back to the sink to finish washing dishes. “I’m praying for them all the time.”
Lisa parked herself against the counter between us and started talking to Mom about Katie’s condition. Lisa had gone through something similar a few years ago when she was pregnant with my niece Frances. We all knew how scary the whole thing could be, how until you were out of the woods it was completely thought-consuming, but when she started talking about Katie’s placenta, I turned around. Even though I’d grown up with three sisters, there was only so much I was willing to handle.
My dad lifted his chin from his spot under the grandchildren and waved for me to come join him in the living room.
I took my hot plate off the counter, filled a glass with water, and came to sit on the couch. “What’s the score?” I whispered, hoping not to wake any sleeping kids.
“Ten–ten, Dodgers,” he replied.
I chuckled then set my glass on the coffee table and leaned back in my seat. “Ten–ten Dodgers, huh?”
Even though it was a tie, my father was the eternal optimist. Every year he was sure that “this year” they’d go to the World Series. “This year” they had a chance.
He made some sort of grumbling noise, dismissing my amusement and turned back to the TV. “You’ll see.”
I leaned back in my seat even farther and took another fork full of food, but my thoughts filled instantly with Tuesday. She hadn’t spoken a word to me since the day we started work. This bothered me more than I cared to admit. I wasn’t used to people not liking me. I was a funny guy. Easy going, easy to get along with. It shouldn’t have bothered me so much that she didn’t see that, but it did. She was too damned stubborn. If she wasn’t so stubborn, I’d still be there right now instead of here, wondering what in God’s name was going on with her.
I took my phone out of my pocket to see if I’d missed any calls from Eddie, but there was nothing. I frowned and shoved another bite of meatloaf into my mouth. Aside from my sisters, no other woman had ever given me the cold shoulder for this long. Even Lisa, who was the worst of all three.
Lisa sat down on the couch beside me, leaned over my shoulder, and scooped a piece of mashed potato off my plate with her finger. “So what’s going on? Why are you acting so weird?” She popped it in her mouth and began chewing.
I turned toward her and lifted my brown. “Seriously? Didn’t you just eat?”
She laughed and took another finger full. “No, seriously. Are you okay? You look… I don’t know… upset about something?” She paused, as if suddenly remembering something that caused her voice to lower. “Did Mom tell you―” She stopped. “You know what, it’s none of my business.”
I set my plate on the coffee table and took a long drink of water. “Did Mom tell me what?”
Mom came into the living room just then, wiping her hands on a kitchen cloth, and looking from me to Lisa.
“Did Mom tell me what?” I said, loud enough for her to hear. They were obviously keeping something from me, and my stomach clenched at the fear I saw in my mother’s eyes.
She gave Lisa a hard look before turning back to me and shaking her head. “It’s nothing, I was going to tell you after dessert.” She paused for a long time, so long that adrenaline began to pump through my veins. “Another letter came,” she finally confessed.
I stood up and looked from Lisa to my mom, wondering how long they’d kept this secret from me. I couldn’t help the sense of betrayal that washed over my body. “Burn it,” I said in a low, distant voice.
“John,” my mother protested. “Maybe you should―”
“Burn it,” I said again, picking up my plate, not wanting to hear another word. It had been years since I thought about him, years. I thought it was all behind me, but it obviously wasn’t. I placed my plate in the sink, braced my arms on the counter, and tried to calm the surge of aggression that ached in my limbs.
Why after all these years? What could he possibly want from me that he didn’t already have?
Mom rested her hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed. I could barely feel it, but I knew she was there. I turned around, finding her eyes red-rimmed with emotion, almost overflowing with unshed tears. She looked into my eyes, searching for something I wished I could give her, then she turned around and pulled open the drawer under the spice cabinet. She took a folded envelope from a pile of bills, came toward me, and laid it down on the counter. Without a word, she turned around, leaving me in the kitchen alone.
I looked down at the letter, his elegant scrawl, and the name I’d tried so hard to forget for as long as I could remember. Gabriel.
I picked it up off the counter, shoved it in my pocket, and then ran my hand through my hair. Mom was only the innocent bystander in all this. I knew it was hard on her, and I wouldn’t make her do my dirty work. I’d burn the fucking letter myself.
Tuesday
It was just after dawn when I arrived back at the shop. The store smelled like sawdust, which was a vast improvement from last week—though the smell still stirred in my nose, causing my already aching head to pound. I deposited my usual box of donuts onto the empty counter, then walked back to the parking lot and filled my lungs with the brisk morning air before I unlatched the tailgate of my truck. I needed to grab the new shelving unit I’d exchanged before work.
I was exhausted, caused by too little sleep and too much worry about the shop. But every time I drifted at night, thoughts of all I had to do the next day would spark new life into my body. I’d lie there—restless—for hours. Better to make some progress if I was going to be awake than lie there being miserable.
The shelving unit was heavy, so I pulled the large box to the edge of my tailgate and let one end drop to the ground. Then holding one end at my waist, I began to walk backward, shimmying it through the lot and inching it across the pavement. I cringed halfway to the front door when I saw the headlights.
“Perfect,” I muttered under my breath. “Just perfect.”
John hopped down from his truck a moment later and began walking toward me.
Damn, he looked good when he walked. Though to be fair, he looked good when he was doing just about anything. Like standing, or leaning, or breathing.
“Need help?” he asked.
I shook my head. Mostly because his presence stirred the same reaction in my stomach I got before tests, like an anxiously excited feeling—like I was about to jump out of a damned airplane. “Nah, I got it.”
He came to stand beside me, frowned, and then turned around to walk backward beside me.
“You sure?” His head tilted to the side and his deep
voice lowered. He wasn’t smiling at all, and there wasn’t a hint of humor in his eyes. I didn’t like it at all. Didn’t like this new, sad man who hadn’t smiled in days.
My throat tightened, and I looked over my shoulder. I couldn’t stand the thought of him seeing me cry. Seeing how weak I’d become, when I always prided myself on being strong. “Yeah, actually.” I dropped the box to the pavement, not caring if the whole thing shattered to a million pieces. My only thought was for self-preservation, to get away from him before tears began streaming down my cheeks again. “You can bring it to the back room.” I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and walked across the lot, without bothering to wait for his reply.
I hurried past the pile of boxes in the back room, knowing he’d see them but not having the time to care. I opened the door to the bathroom, closed it as quickly as I could, and sat on the toilet. I put my head between my knees and forced myself to breathe. “You can do this, Tuesday. You can do anything.”
But the tears came anyway.
When I came out of the bathroom a while later, the shelving unit was propped against the wall beside my mess. I chewed my inner cheek and glanced to the plastic door. I could hear the rhythmic hum of the air compressor and knew he’d seen it all. Seen the evidence left behind from my weakest moment. John was the last person I wanted to see something like that, and I began making up excuses in my head. Excuses that were stupid. That I was reorganizing, that I’d seen a rat, but then I forced myself to stop. I didn’t need excuses. I didn’t need to defend myself for something that was none of his concern. I squared my shoulders and went to work, picking up the pieces of my crazy life, one box at a time.
I heard Eddie’s voice from the front room a while later and knew he must have arrived for work. I kept my head down and continued cleaning. Last night had been interesting. It had been just after eight when I finally pried myself off the floor. I’d contemplated staying later to clean up, but I was too overwhelmed to think straight. When I’d pushed through the plastic tarp to the front room, I found Eddie sitting on the counter, waiting. He didn’t say anything. Just jumped to the floor, nodded his head to the front door, and walked with me out to my truck.
Waiting for Tuesday: Suspicious Hearts Book Two Page 7