by Karen Cimms
I could have shattered the bottle with my bare hand, I was gripping it so tightly.
Maybe that’s why she’d come by the other day, to tell me she was going back to work here. That at least made sense. She knew it would piss me off, knew I didn’t want her working in a bar even if we were divorced. The kids needed a mother who was home with them, not working until who knows when in a bar, dressed like god knows what. I flashed back on some of her favorite skimpy outfits—the skintight black leather pants, the little red sailor top that somehow managed to stay closed with a single tiny golden button between her breasts—not to mention the calendar. Oh god, the calendar. If Irena dragged that life-sized picture of Rain posing for that fucking calendar back into the bar …
The pain shot across to the other side of my head, working both temples. Definitely an aneurysm.
“So what hours is she working?” I was beginning to sound dangerously like some type of stalker. This kid should be calling the cops by now, but no. He just kept wiping glasses and holding them up to the light, more concerned about streaks than potential lunatics.
“I think she works until midnight tonight and on the weekends until closing, but I could be wrong. She might only be here on Mondays until eleven, come to think of it. She’s got a couple kids.”
I nodded. Some small concession. Still, a lot could happen between five and eleven, even on a Monday.
I paid my tab and stepped outside into a blast of hot, humid air, feeling far worse than when I’d walked in.
The whole thing was frustrating as hell. There was only one thing I could think of to do, and I wasn’t even sure it would work.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to her number. As expected, it went right to voicemail.
“Hey, Rain, it’s Chase. I was thinking about the repairs to the car. First of all, don’t worry about it, I’ve got it covered. I’ll give it a tune-up as well. I don’t want you to be worrying so much about money. I think I can give you an extra hundred a week. No, make that one fifty. Hopefully, that will make things easier, you know, so you don’t have to worry or take on a second job or anything. Okay? Okay. You can call me if you want. Or text me. Either way.”
That should do it. And if not, well, there really wasn’t a damn thing more I could do about it.
The message I’d just left replayed in my mind. Or text me? Crazy stalker, obsessive control freak, jealous ex-husband. Yep. That was me.
I rubbed my aching temples as I looked at the marquee.
How the hell would I ever get over Rain Storm?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
We sure as hell weren’t standing room only, but Blondie’s was pretty crowded for a Monday. Irena was crowing and couldn’t help but pat me on the back every time she passed. I hadn’t tended bar in a long time and was struggling to keep up, but Keith knew his shit behind the bar. And to be honest, while Irena was giving me all the credit, I think more people were there for the drink specials. But it didn’t matter. The tips were good, and the place was hopping.
Best of all, I wasn’t sitting home feeling sorry for myself.
“So, you’re not talking to me?” Diane asked.
I turned to see her seated on a stool at the end of the bar.
I dropped the phony smile I’d been wearing all night. “Of course I’m talking to you. Sorry, I just didn’t feel like talking to anyone in general.”
“Well, I can see you’ve been busy,” she said, taking in my new-old look. “Two days ago, you were mousy Mrs. Homebody. Now you’re the infamous Rain Storm, former blond bombshell. By the way, you look like a tramp.”
“Gee, thanks.” Maybe the crocheted crop top was a bit over the top, but she didn’t have to be so mean about it.
She sighed. “What are you doing?”
Good question. I’d accepted Irena’s offer so quickly, that I wasn’t exactly sure why I was here. Maybe it was something to occupy my mind at night when I was the loneliest. Or maybe I missed the attention. Or maybe it was the chance to take back a part of me I’d lost, although I wasn’t even sure I wanted it back. Since I didn’t know what the hell I was doing here, I went with the easiest answer.
“First of all, I’m trying to make a little money—although, it seems someone called me out of the clear blue sky this afternoon and left a message offering me an extra hundred and fifty a week so I wouldn’t have to ‘take a second job or anything.’” I used air quotes around Chase’s offer.
“Aww, doesn’t that tell you something?” She smiled hopefully.
“That tells me he’s still trying to control me even though we’re no longer married and he’s dating my former nemesis.”
“‘Nemesis’? Really?”
“Fine, not a nemesis. But you know she’s always hated me, ever since Jeff dumped her for me.” I wiped down the bar in front of her. “What are you drinking?”
“How about a cosmo?”
“Excuse me? Was that a Bud or a Bud Light?” I asked, dragging up my old line. Other than margaritas, I hadn’t made a mixed drink in five years and hadn’t had much time to practice.
“Fine, Bud Light.”
I drew her a glass from the tap, then checked to make sure glasses were full along the bar before coming back and hopping up onto the cooler in front of her.
“Talk.”
“Wally says—and by the way, he won’t be getting any sex for at least two weeks, not from me, anyway—Chase and Callie have been dating for a few months. They met around Valentine’s Day. He kind of remembers something about a blind date Lorraine arranged.”
I should’ve suspected Lorraine had something to do with it. She and Callie had been best friends in high school.
“You’d think since Jeff got me pregnant and then took off, she would’ve thanked me instead of stealing my husband. I guess she never realized the fate I saved her from.”
“Yeah, well,” Diane continued, “maybe it was payback. Who knows?”
“Does it matter?”
It was the middle of July. If they’d been dating since February, that was five months. I’d been having fun tonight. Now I felt sick to my stomach.
“I still think you should tell him how you feel,” she insisted.
I shook my head.
“I tried that before, Diane. I begged Preston to choose me, and he didn’t. That was one time too many. Besides, even if I wanted to, it’s too late.” The memory of Chase staring at my face the other night floated before me. He’d known it was the last time. A silent, passion-filled goodbye.
“I can’t believe he thinks he could replace you with Callie Stankevich.”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe he’s not thinking of me at all?” I pointed out. “Just of what’s best for him.”
“Then he’s thinking with his dick, and we know how well that always works out.”
“Right,” I said, hopping off the cooler. “That’s how he found me.” I walked away before she could scold me. I already knew what she was going to say, and I had paying customers at the end of the bar.
“How late you working?” she asked when I returned.
“Just until eleven, since I have to get up with the kids for school and work. On Fridays and Saturdays, I work till closing.”
“So you’re giving up your entire weekend now?”
“Why, because I have so many better offers? I’ll get plenty of invitations from right behind this counter now.”
She frowned. “Just the kind you want, right?”
“Nobody says I have to accept them. You want another beer, or are you heading out now that you’ve put me in my place?”
“I’ll have another please.” She pushed her mug forward. “I’ll hang out until you’re done.”
“Won’t Wally be getting worried?”
“He knows where I am. Besides, I told you, I’m mad at him. He can be whacking off in the bathroom for all I care.”
I laughed and tried to erase the visual. Diane and Wally fought like cats and dogs, but I didn
’t know of any two people more in love.
Not too long ago, I’d thought Chase and I were just like them.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Rain never responded to my message, and although it wasn’t on my way home, I drove past Blondie’s anyway, curious to see if word of her return had had any effect on the patronage. Just as I’d feared, the place was packed. My heart sank. Of course, that didn’t prove she was there. She could easily have called Irena after she got my message and quit.
Yeah, right. Because now that we were divorced, she was going to fall in line with what I wanted. I couldn’t tell her what to do now any more than I had when we were married. I didn’t even have a right to an opinion anymore. I’d forfeited that right when I moved out.
I needed a drink, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to go into Blondie’s, so I drove to Mondo’s. There was one car in the parking lot. Blondie’s was going to be putting a hurting on the other neighborhood hangout.
I pulled up a stool and sat down. Mondo immediately poured me a beer and slid it toward me across the counter.
“I’ll have a shot of Jim Beam too.”
“Rough day?” he asked with a lift of two furry white brows.
“You can say that.”
“Tell me about it.” He poured one for himself as well. “You’re my first customer. Looks like you and me might have the same problem.”
“Rain’s not my problem anymore.”
“You keep telling yourself that.” He drained his glass and poured another. I was right behind him, pushing my glass forward for a refill.
I sat there for a good hour, feeling sorry for myself and commiserating with Mondo. I was working on a full-blown drunk when my phone vibrated.
Where are you? Dinner’s getting cold.
“Shit,” I grumbled. I’d forgotten about Callie. She made dinner for me on Monday nights since she was off Mondays and Tuesdays.
Be right there, I typed back. Stopped for a drink. I looked at that second part. She might assume I went to Blondie’s, and I really didn’t feel like listening to snarky comments about Rain tonight. I deleted what I’d typed. Was kicking back with my brother. I’m on my way.
I settled up with Mondo, assuring him that the rush to Blondie’s would be short-lived, although I don’t think either of us believed that. I was in no shape to be driving, but I took a few deep breaths and then blasted the air conditioner all the way to Callie’s.
As soon as I walked in the door, my nose was assaulted with an unconventional blend of spices—ginger, curry, and sage maybe, and something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, and the bitter scent of burned garlic. My stomach clenched.
“What are you making?” Whatever it was, I hoped it wasn’t as disgusting as it smelled. Callie was a nice enough girl, but she couldn’t cook worth a damn.
She lifted up onto her toes and kissed me, then made a face.
“Have you been drinking?”
I shook my head, although I was pretty sure if I wasn’t drunk, I was only about a half a beer away. “I had a beer with my brother. I’m just tired and I have a headache. Actually, I’m not really hungry.”
She pouted and wrapped her arms around my waist.
“C’mon, hon, I made this just for you. It’s a new recipe I found for chicken cacciatore. You’re going to love it, I promise.”
She pulled me toward the dining room table, which had been set with her fancy dishes and a vase filled with flowers. I sat down as she lit the candles, handed me a glass of wine, and then raised hers in a toast. “To us!”
I forced a smile and we clinked glasses. A second later, I was gagging.
“What the hell is this?”
“You don’t like it?” She seemed shocked. “It’s Manischewitz. It’s a little on the sweet side, but I used the other wine in the chicken.”
I fought the urge to vomit on the dining room table. Just the smell of it, coupled with the smell of the chicken, was more than enough to do me in.
I leaped up and dashed straight out the front door, leaned against the side of the house, and let go of everything in my stomach. I wasn’t such a lightweight that I couldn’t handle a few beers and a couple of shots, I assured myself. Of course I’d had a couple of beers earlier this afternoon, but still. I’d had a lot more to drink in the past and it barely slowed me down. I took a few deep breaths, and realized there was no way my stomach was going to tolerate that awful-smelling chicken.
I went back inside and tried to make my apologies. Callie wasn’t falling for it.
“Are you all worked up over Rain? Because if you are—”
I pulled her close, maybe so I wouldn’t have to look at her as I lied. “Of course not. I had some funky-tasting tuna salad for lunch, and I think the mayo was bad. Would you mind if I took a rain check?” I looked down and kissed her. “I’ll take you to dinner tomorrow night to make it up to you. Wherever you want to go, okay?”
She was still putting on the pouty face, but I could see her mind working.
“How about La Petite Auberge?”
Of course she suggested the most expensive restaurant between here and Manhattan.
“Sounds perfect.” I gave her the kind of kiss she expected and squeezed her ass for good measure. “You make a reservation and let me know what time to pick you up.” She nestled into my T-shirt and didn’t even complain about the smell of oil and gasoline.
“Okay, but I’ll miss you tonight.” She ran her hand along the inside of my thigh. “I love you.”
“You too.” I kissed her once more and then headed for home with the windows open, praying the breeze would help blow off whatever had come over me.
When I got home, I stripped down and climbed into bed, but before lying down, I set the clock for ten thirty. Like it or not, I had to see for myself if Rain had gone ahead with the job.
When the clock went off a couple of hours later, I lay there wondering why it was still dark outside and hit the snooze. When it went off again, I rolled over, saw the time, and remembered why I’d set it. I climbed out of bed, slowly, giving myself a chance to adapt to my still tender stomach and wobbly legs. I’d be sorry later, but I brewed myself a cup of full caf in the Keurig, then headed out to the truck.
When I got to Blondie’s, Dorinda’s van was parked at the end of the row next to the building. I found a place to park that would give me a clear vantage point of the parking lot without being seen and congratulated myself on becoming a first-class stalker. It went well with my status as a first-class asshole. The coffee did its thing, and by eleven I was wired.
When Rain came out, she wasn’t alone. It was hard to tell who was with her at first, although given the color of her hair, it had to be Diane. Rain had bleached her hair again. I swallowed hard. It was a very sexy look for her; I knew that too well. There was a guy with them. I strained to make out who he was, but he didn’t look familiar. He was tall, maybe even taller than me, and from here, it looked like he had tree trunks for arms. He and Rain walked Diane to her car, and once she had pulled away, he walked Rain to hers. I was tempted to climb out and tell him to hit the pike, even more so when they stood outside her car talking. My blood pressure climbed, probably helped by the caffeine I’d been chugging. When Rain turned to unlock the car door, he leaned over and it looked as if he was going to kiss her.
I put my hand on the door handle, struggling with the voice inside me that tried to remind me that this was none of my business, that I shouldn’t even be here. I wanted that voice to shut the fuck up.
I couldn’t tell if he kissed her or not, but I still wanted to pound him. After she climbed into the van and pulled away, he went back into the bar.
I waited a few minutes, then pulled the truck further into the parking lot, locked up, and went inside. I scanned the bar for the mountain who’d walked Rain out to the car and spotted him in the back room shooting pool. I could tell by the collection of flattops in the group that they were likely staties. Irena was either still catering t
o troopers from the nearby barracks, or they were back because of Rain. The nausea from earlier returned with a vengeance.
There was an empty stool near the back room. I settled onto it, hoping I might be able to hear any interesting bits of conversation that might relate to my wife—ex-wife.
Irena stood before me, her eyes narrowed. “She’s gone already.”
“Who?” I asked, fooling no one.
She shook her head, opened a bottle of Heineken, and set it on the bar in front of me with a loud thunk. “Na koszt firmy. On the house.”
I raised it to my lips—this had to be my eighth or ninth beer of the day, and Irena tended to be a bit tight-fisted with the free drinks. “On the house, huh? You must’ve had a pretty good night.”
She leaned forward. “Great night. Best night in four years.”
“That’s just swell.” I took another sip. A free drink was little consolation for the crater I was sporting in my chest.
I sat for a while, nursing a second beer, which I had to pay for, and eavesdropping on the pool room conversation. Although part of me wanted to join the game to get a better idea of what they were doing, the remaining sober part of me wasn’t interested in getting my head bashed in.
When it was clear I wasn’t getting anywhere but lower, I took out my phone.
Sorry about earlier. Feeling a little better. Can I come over?
You bet, Callie answered. I’ll be waiting with the porch light on and my clothes off.
Yeah. That was what I needed: to forget. To lose myself in someone else. I tucked my phone back in my pocket, threw some money on the bar, and walked out.
If I wanted to keep my sanity, it was definitely time to move on.
Chapter Forty
August
A few weeks after I started back to Blondies, I lucked into a Thursday afternoon with a few precious hours to myself. I had finished work at the restaurant around two, Zac was spending the day with his friend Paul at the town pool, and Izzy was at Emily’s. Chase was picking them both up around six to take them camping for the weekend.