“She hasn't been herself. She's been dismissive with me. Annoyed. Grumpy.” Betty chooses each word carefully. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I'm not sure what I did to make her unhappy with me.” Sighing, she reaches across the space between us, and then she’s patting the back of my hand gently. “When you go to see her, will you do me a favor?”
I nod numbly.
“Will you tell her I’m thinking about her?”
I take her hand and squeeze it. “Of course.” Then I'm pushing off from the counter, rising to my feet. I've got to get this conversation with Pam taken care of soon, before I have the chance to second-guess it. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”
“Anything,” says Betty with a quick grin.
Betty’s always been a true-blue friend. Even now, after everything was, unfairly, taken away from her.
My stomach churns inside of me. Can I say the same of Pam?
Immediately, I shake my head, dismissing the unsettling thought. “Can you watch Rex for me until I get back?”
“I'd be happy to.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back soon. I’m just going to swing by the diner. I know Pam’s on shift, so I’ll be able to catch her for a quick chat.”
“Wait.” Betty blanches, her already pale skin losing all of its color. “You’re going to the diner? What about Andrew, Bella?” When she speaks his name—in a whisper, as if he's Voldemort or something—she seems to shrink smaller, fade a little. I clench my jaw, shake my head.
“What can Andrew do, ban me from the place?” My words are unmistakably bitter.
Betty stares at me as if she thinks he could do exactly that. “Just...don't let him push you around. And if he does, punch him for me.” She’s joking, but I think she’d be pretty pleased if I did sock him once or twice. It would be awfully cathartic...
I turn back toward the living room, call out to Rex: “Hey, Rex, I’ll be back in a little while, okay? Are you fine here, playing with Betty and the kids?”
He comes running around the corner and screeches to a halt in front of me. He’s wearing socks, and he slides expertly across the tiled floor of the kitchen.
“Yeah! We’re playing wolves and sheep! Guess which one I am?” He grins at me infectiously, bouncing up and down a little on the balls of his feet, and—wow. His incisors are sharp. But I must have just imagined it, because when he laughs and smiles again at me, his teeth look perfectly normal.
I didn't get enough sleep...
“Sounds like fun. Don't play too rough, okay?” I reach out and tousle his hair, realizing halfway through the reach that he might not enjoy that very much. But Rex doesn’t seem to mind. Rather, he looks up at me and gives me a huge, cheesy grin before darting forward and wrapping his arms tightly around my waist in a shockingly strong hug.
“I’ll be good, Pretty,” he promises, with an adamant nod of his head. Then he flies back toward the living room, growling ferociously as Betty's kids squeal with glee.
“He’s a great kid.” Betty smiles.
“Yeah. He really is.” Returning her smile, I salute her. “Okay—I’ll be back soon. Hold down the fort.”
Then I’m leaving the condo, glancing back at it with a disbelieving smile after I’ve walked a short distance away.
Well, that was unexpected. I'll have to digest the information about Grim later. Right now, my stomach is full of butterflies, considering what Betty told me about Pam...
Still, I need to get my news from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Pam and I really need to sort things out between us—although, after the awful things she said about Grim...
Honestly? I'm not sure how this tear can be mended.
Chapter 15: The Break
As I’m walking toward the diner, bracing myself for another argument, I shiver a little at the wind that’s gusting down Main Street. It feels like a bad omen. Not that I believe in omens, but things have just been so weird lately. And now that I think about it, Pam’s been kind of strange with me lately, too. Touchy.
What could be going on with her? A health concern? Money troubles?
I shake my head, consumed with worry. We tell one another everything. Why would she keep a secret from me?
As I approach the diner, I begin to slow my pace. The neon open sign isn’t illuminated on the door.
Huh.
That’s odd.
The diner’s closed. And there’s no one there—like no one. Honestly, it looks as if the place never opened this morning at all.
I stare at the locked door, experiencing a potent mix of confusion and consternation. The diner has been open every day of my life. Every day. It was even open on the day that my dad was diagnosed with cancer, because he said that, for our own good, we had to maintain some level of normality.
We never closed it. Never.
But here it stands: closed.
I feel like I've been sucker punched. This just...doesn’t feel right. The Rose Garden Diner was the one constant in my life, the one thing that couldn't ever leave me, that couldn't ever get sick and die...
Whoa. Calm down, Bella.
I watch the dark windows, remembering how my mother used to wash them every morning with her homemade lavender soap, and then I let out a long, low sigh.
Life is different now, radically different, and I have to get used to that fact.
I was fired from the place that was my childhood home.
That’s just the way things are now.
I wrap my arms around myself and stare up at the Rose Garden Diner sign. The sight of it always made my heart feel light, happy. Now, I just feel as if there’s a stone in my chest.
Well, if Pam isn't here, she might be at our apartment. Or...what was our apartment. And even if she isn't there, I need to pick up a change of clothes. The sky has lightened a little—the drizzle has stopped—and I’d really like to get out of these wet things.
I turn and walk away from the diner, heart heavy.
I’m in a dark, dark mood. It’s mostly anger—anger directed toward Andrew.
And, as I round the corner of my apartment building's block—speak of the devil—I see him. Andrew: right there, walking down the sidewalk, aiming toward his car, a showy black Cadillac.
Why the hell is he on my street? My stomach churns as I wonder whether he's going to buy my apartment building. God, that would give me even more motivation to take Grim up on her offer to stay at Grim Tower.
I do not want to talk to Andrew, so I stop walking, and then—feeling like a total idiot—realize that there’s no place for me to hide. Ordinarily, I’m not the hiding type. I like to meet problems head on and tackle them as soon as possible.
But I'm angry and confused, and I look like a drowned rat. I don’t feel confident. I feel lost. When I confront Andrew next, I need to be at my best—and have a dazzling speech prepared ahead of time.
Luckily, Andrew keeps staring down at his phone, and he climbs into his car before he has a chance to look up and see me. And—this isn’t the proudest moment of my life, but it's the truth—I duck behind a bush as he peels out of the parking space and drives down the street in my direction. The bushes are thick along this section of sidewalk, and though there aren’t any leaves growing yet—just greening buds—they conceal me well enough.
I move out from behind the bushes and brush off my shoulders absentmindedly. Then I straighten myself, lift my chin, and head toward my apartment building.
I have my keys with me, so when I get inside, I hike up the stairs and put my key in the door before I realize that Pam might be home, and I might startle her by just walking in.
So as I open the door, I knock loudly.
“Hey, Pam?” I jiggle the keys out of the doorknob and stand in the entryway, listening. “Are you home?”
“Y-yeah, just a minute!” I hear her call out from inside her bedroom.
I stand there, my heart pounding a little faster. She sounded surprised. Upset. Is someone in her bedroom with her?
I wait for a long moment, and then I shut the door behind me, moving further into the living room. God, why do I feel like I’m intruding? This is my place, too.
Finally, Pam trots out from the hallway, pulling her hair into a ponytail. She straightens the robe around her shoulders and draws in a deep breath. Her cheeks are flushed, and when she looks at me, that blush deepens.
“Wow. Hi, Bella. I wasn’t expecting... I mean, I wasn’t expecting you. Here. Now. Um...” She rubs the back of her thumb over her lips—they look swollen, red. She doesn’t meet my gaze but turns, heading toward the kitchen, an unusual brightness to her voice. “I’m making coffee. Do you want some?”
“I...sure,” I say, following after her. I stand awkwardly for a moment before I decide to lean against the counter. “You're off today?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Pam still won’t look at me.
“Hey...” I say then, clearing my throat. “About last night...”
“Yeah, we didn’t really resolve that, did we?” She sets the bag of coffee on the counter. A few expressions pass over her face in quick succession, but she settles, at last, on frustration. “You’ve come to your senses, then?”
“What do you mean?”
There was a hint of softness to her eyes, but it vanishes in an instant. “You’re not really going to move out, are you?”
“Pam, I haven’t made any decisions yet. Like I said, I wanted to talk to you—” I start, but she folds her arms in front of her chest, her mouth downturning sharply.
“Okay. Let’s talk.” The words are pointed, cold.
I open my mouth, but she holds up a hand, silencing me.
“Wait. I need you to tell me that you weren’t really serious. You aren't really going to live with that...that...her?”
I shake my head. “Pam—”
“Because, frankly, I thought you had better judgment than that.”
I don’t know what to say. I had hoped that, at some point during the hours since we last spoke, Pam would have realized she was being unfair in her assessment of Grim. But that isn't the case. My best friend’s words are daggers to my heart. I feel as if I’m talking to a person I don’t know, and wouldn't want to know. I try to give her the benefit of the doubt, though, and splutter, “Is this about my half of the rent? I’m so sorry about that, and I'll cover it until—”
“No. This has nothing to do with rent,” she huffs, then raises a brow. “Money isn't an issue. I can take care of myself.”
I frown at her. We split the apartment because it was the only way, on our meager salaries, that we could afford a place to live. Apparently, this is no longer an issue for her? How is that possible? Maybe she found a new roommate already.
I regard her uncertainly. “Then what is it?”
She doesn’t hesitate, spits out: “You’re too good for her. She's trash. Second-rate trash.”
I gape in amazement. “You don't know—”
“Oh, I know.” I can't respond, can only stare as Pam leans against the oven, her eyes flashing viciously. Her voice is so low that it’s hard to hear her when she says, “Andrew told me all about her.”
Andrew.
Why is Pam talking to Andrew?
Why is she listening to Andrew?
“You need to hear this. It’s important, Bella.”
I'm speechless. I have no choice but to listen.
Pam’s expression turns hateful; it's unsettling. “He told me how she left the last town she was in really fast, how she and her family had to get the hell out of Dodge because there were all of these crazy rumors about them. That there was something really wrong with them. That maybe...” Again, her voice lowers to a whisper, “Maybe they were Satanists.”
I can’t help it: a laugh bursts out of me.
But her narrowed brows indicate that she’s deadly serious.
“Pam, you sound like the voiceover for a 20/20 special from the eighties. And when the hell have you ever listened to what Andrew has to say?”
Oh, I touched a nerve. Because Pam ducks her head, turns away from me a little, suddenly flustered. Terribly flustered. “Andrew is... He’s not as bad as you think, Bella.” She’s talking fast, really fast, and she avoids my gaze as she mumbles, “And he’s honestly got a lot of good ideas. You've never even given him a chance—”
“A chance to what?” My eyes are wide. “What, Pam?” I try my best to chuckle, though it comes out sounding forced, pinched. “Did you drink some kind of weird Kool-Aid?” There's desperation in my voice.
Please, please, please, don’t have done something stupid, Pam. Please...
She gazes at me then, and she, too, sounds desperate when she says, “He really cares about—”
“About what?” I shout, unwilling to believe Andrew cares about anything but himself.
And then it comes: the final nail in the coffin.
Pam draws herself up to her full height, and she lifts her chin, staring at me in total defiance. “Me. He cares about me, Bella.”
Oh, my God.
My best friend just told me that she's dating my worst enemy.
I feel sick.
I feel betrayed.
“Are you sleeping with him?” I whisper, and then I ask, a little hysterically, “Is that why I saw him on our street? Is that why the diner is closed right now? Because you two were...”
Her silence, her avoidant eyes, and the too-stubborn set of her jaw tell me everything I need to know.
Yeah, that’s exactly what’s happening.
The man who fired Betty for stealing scraps of food.
The man who gleefully kicked Betty and her kids out onto the street.
The man who fired me from my family’s diner.
The man who has been cruel to every person I know and love...
That man is dating Pam.
“Oh, my God...” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. “Why?” And then, when she says nothing, I ask, “How did this happen? Why are you with him?”
She traces a finger over the edge of the countertop as, I assume, she gathers her thoughts. Pam’s usually a shoot-from-the-hip/ask-questions-later kind of woman, so it’s surprising to me that she’s considering her next words so carefully.
Besides, I already know what she's going to say. She's going to tell me she’s with him because she’s madly in love with him. It makes no sense to me, but people can’t help who they fall for, I guess...
God knows I've made my own mistakes in that department. Every woman I've dated in the past turned out to be bad for me, in some way or other.
But when Pam finally speaks, she doesn’t talk about love—or anything having to do with her heart. Instead, she raises her steely gaze to me, her expression hard, and she says, simply, “Because Andrew’s going to get me out of here.”
Here.
Paris.
I blink, taken aback.
Okay, growing up, Pam had big aspirations—and none of them included being a waitress in a tiny town in Vermont. All her life, she’s wanted more. But we all wanted more. I thought she’d accepted that this was the life she'd been given. Hell, she's encouraged me, more than once, to make the best of things here in town. She's never discussed moving. Never shared daydreams about finding work in a bigger city, about changing her life.
Still, I guess all of this was brewing inside of her—silent, unspoken—for years, and now she actually did something about it.
But this is the wrong way to escape.
“Okay.” I exhale heavily. “So. You’re sleeping with him...” I trail off, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment from Pam, and then she’s nodding. I try not to let the disgust show on my face, but I’m not doing a very good job, because she looks hurt now, and I don’t want to hurt my best friend—I don’t—but I’m kind of reeling.
How did this begin? Why didn’t she tell me?
I mean...I think I know why she didn’t tell me.
But I don’t, for one instant, think that Pam cares about Andrew.
Did she really think that the only way to get out of Paris was to sleep with him?
I want to reach out to her, hug her... She looks wounded. But there's still so much tension between us, so I tell her, taking care to keep my voice soft, “You don’t think he’ll use you up and spit you out, like he does with everyone and everything else?”
“He's promised me—he said he... Bella.” She winces, stiffens. “Why do you hate him so much?”
I'm startled by the question. There are too many possible responses, so I pick the easiest, the most obvious reply, “Have you forgotten what happened to Betty because of him?”
“Of course not.” And with an ugly sneer on her face, Pam says, “But Betty deserved all of it. She stole from him, Bella.”
My vision blurs. The Pam I know, the Pam I grew up with, would never say something so casually heartless. Big-hearted Pam, Pam who makes me laugh so hard that I snort coffee out of my nose... She would never be so cruel.
“That's him talking. I know you don’t mean that,” I whisper.
Her shoulders sag a little, and she looks away. “Maybe I do.”
A deep breath, and then her eyes meet mine, challenging me to test her.
We stare at one another in silence. I’ve never seen her look so stubborn. I mean, Pam’s stubborn, but she’s usually stubborn for the right reason.
There’s no right reason here.
Everything is wrong.
The compassion I felt toward Pam a moment ago is gone. Suddenly, I’m furious, shaking with rage, and I have to leave; I have to go now. I move past her. I'm not really seeing or thinking straight, but my practical side reminds me that this might be the last time I'm in this apartment for awhile (or maybe ever), so I head into my room. I remove some clothes from my dresser and shove them into a duffel bag. Then I sweep some toiletries into the bag and pause, glancing around.
My eyes alight on the silk rose that Andrew threw at me. My mother's rose.
Beauty and the Wolf Page 16