Jingle Bell Hell (Bad Luck Club)

by Denise Grover Swank

  “What the hell was that?” I ask, turning around to watch the server lead them to an empty table.

  “Forget that,” Mary says, her gaze on the spread of food on the table. “What is this?”

  Each of the plates contains four one-inch-by-one-inch sandwiches. The offerings on the first plate look like they consist of cream cheese and avocado on white bread. The note says “calm.”

  Another plate has tiny sandwiches that smell like fish with a note that says “luck.”

  But it’s the sandwiches on the third plate that catch my attention, if only because both the bread and the filling are bright red. The note reads “cleansing.”

  The waitress I saw with Mary earlier walks past, and Mary flags her down. “Tina!”

  Tina walks over, her gaze lingering on me long enough to fully assess me before she turns her attention to Mary. “Aww…Dottie gave you her special.”

  “Is this the appetizer course?” Mary asks, sounding dismayed.

  “Nope. It’s the main.” Tina shrugs with a whatcha gonna do face. “Tiny cakes come out next.” She frowns as she looks down at the table. “This was supposed to come with tea. I’ll go get it for you.”

  She starts to walk away, and I call after her, “And some water?”

  She lifts a hand in acknowledgement.

  “So,” I say, knowing I’ll be starving as soon as I walk out the door. “We just pick them up and eat them? There aren’t any other plates. Or silverware.”

  “Jace,” Mary says, guilt washing over her face. “I’m so sorry. I heard they were serving lunch. I had no idea…”

  “Hey, it’s an experience,” I say with a sly grin. “What do you say we try them at the same time.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  “Which one do you want to start with first?”

  “Calm,” she says instantly.

  I laugh and pick up one of the calm squares, lifting it to eye level. Mary does the same, and I bump my sandwich into hers. “To new experiences.”

  Something flickers in her eyes, and then she smiles. “To new experiences.”

  We both stuff the squares into our mouths at the same time, and I’m amazed by the flavors bursting on my tongue. The look on Mary’s face says she’s experiencing the same thing.

  “That was not what I was expecting,” I say once I’ve swallowed. “I could eat like ten more of those.”

  “And that might equal one sandwich,” she says with a small smile. “But you’re right. It was good.”

  “Which one should we try next?” I ask.

  She lifts one from the plate labeled luck to her nose and makes a face, then sets it back down. “I’m not so sure about this one.”

  “You have to try it. They’re so small it’s barely a bite,” I tease.

  Tina arrives with an honest-to-God teapot and two mismatched china teacups. It’s like Mary and I are in nineteenth-century England.

  “Um, do you have any mugs?” I ask in a hopeful tone.

  A playful grin lights up Tina’s face. “No. You’ll have to put your pinky out like the rest of us.”

  Mary hides an irrepressible grin behind her hand, and it strikes me that she’s letting her guard down. Given what I still need to tell her, I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing.

  Tina sets a teacup in front of each of us, giving me the one with pink roses while Mary gets a more generic blue pattern. “You have to drink everything in your cup so one of us can read the leaves. Dottie was very specific about that.” She looks over her shoulder, then leans closer and whispers, “Just don’t let Josie do it. Her readings are famously dark.”

  “You’re kidding,” Mary says. “Don’t people get fortune readings looking for good news?”

  “You’d think, right? She’s actually developing a bit of a following for it. People come in specifically to hear the bad things she has to say.”

  Hence the squealing earlier.

  A couple of tables away, two preschoolers begin throwing crystals on the floor while their mothers continue a conversation about where to take the best Pilates class. The next crystal that’s thrown hits a customer a table over.

  The wounded woman turns around, rubbing the back of her head. When she sees the mothers are still deep in conversation, she snaps, “Excuse me.”

  The kid chucks another crystal and bonks the woman again, this time on the forehead.

  Now livid, the woman jumps up out of her chair and taps the shoulder of the mother closest to her, a woman with a long blond ponytail. “Excuse me!”

  The blond-ponytail woman looks up at her with scorn. “Did you really just tap me?”

  “Your tyrant assaulted me with a crystal!” She points to the red lump that’s beginning to form on her forehead.

  “My little Apple would never do anything of the sort!” blond ponytail insists, just as her daughter throws another crystal that whacks the poor woman on the cheek.

  “Oh shit,” Tina groans, “I better handle this,” and hurries over to intervene.

  “You have to admit the kid has good aim,” I say under my breath.

  To my surprise, Mary chuckles. “That she does.”

  She picks up the teapot and fills my cup half full, then does the same to her own.

  I’m more of a coffee guy, but I pick up my cup and take a sip, surprised to find it’s not half bad. Then I gesture to the plate of fishy sandwiches. “I think we were about to luck.”

  Mary chokes on her tea, spraying it on the table and my lower arm. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

  I grab a napkin and wipe off my arm, trying not to laugh when I realize what she thought I’d said. “What got you so choked up, Mary?”

  She looks mortified, so I pick up the “lucky” sandwich and take a slow bite. Her eyes are watching my lips, and her skin flushes again.

  I shouldn’t do this. Hell, the moment I sat down, she told me she has an “inappropriate” attraction to me. Why am I tormenting her?

  Of course, I know exactly why, and I’m venturing into very dangerous waters.

  The mother of the tyrant is now screaming at the assaulted woman, and Mary’s eyes grow huge.

  “I saw a food truck in the parking lot down the street,” I say. “Want to check it out?”

  “God, yes,” she says in a rush as she digs in her purse and pulls out her wallet. She lobs a twenty on the table, grabs her coat, and stands. “Let’s go.”

  Then she bolts for the door as if Apple were hurling crystals at her.

  When I get outside, she’s struggling to get her arm in the sleeve of her coat, so I help her slip it on. Once finished, I realize she’s looking up at me in wonder.

  “Let me guess,” I say, trying to hide my irritation. “Glenn never helped you with your coat.”

  Her gaze drops to the sidewalk.

  “Excuse me for saying so, but it sounds like Glenn’s a real dick.”

  She meets my gaze, surprising me when she bursts out laughing. “You’re not the first person to tell me that since I’ve moved back to Asheville.”

  I’m about to reach for her hand, but I stop myself. This isn’t a date. I’m on the verge of telling her I’m an ex-con, for fuck’s sake. Something I should have told her half an hour ago, and should definitely tell her now, but she says, “Come on. I only have a half hour left, and I’m starving.”

  We head down to the food truck, which is serving street tacos. As we look over the menu displayed on the side of the truck, I ask her what she’s thinking.

  “That I should never have suggested Tea of Fortune for lunch.”

  I laugh, and as she turns to look at me, the wind catches her cropped hair, blowing several strands across her face. I shove my hands into my pockets to keep from sweeping the locks behind her ear.

  On the off chance she doesn’t lose her mind when she finds out about my past, I need to make sure I keep our relationship aboveboard. There’s Aidan to consider, after all. “I meant what are you thinking about for lunch?”

>   “Oh,” she says. “Fish tacos.”

  “Okay.” I approach the window and order for both of us.

  After I pay, I join her at the side of the truck, where she’s standing with her arms wrapped over her chest.

  “You didn’t have to buy my lunch. I would have gotten it.”

  I laugh. “You already paid enough when you dropped that twenty for a few bites of food and a sip of tea.”

  “Don’t forget the entertainment,” she said, her brow rising.

  “How could I?” I ask with a grin, staring into her hazel eyes. I could look at Mary all day and never get tired of it. But I’m back in dangerous territory, because she’s looking at me like she wants to kiss me. And damn, if she did, I’m not sure I could walk away.

  Tell her. You asked for this meeting so you could tell her.

  “Mary,” I say, more nervous than I’ve been in a very long time. “Mary, there was a reason for me asking to meet with you.”

  Some of the light in her eyes dims. “Of course. What did you want to discuss?”

  “My past.”

  She still looks confused. “You mean your nephew?”

  I take a breath and shove my hands in my pockets again. “Kind of.” Then I shake my head. “But not really. I want to talk to you about why he’s no longer in my life.”

  Her lips part. “Were you in an accident together? Is that how he died?”

  It’s my turn to be confused. “What?”

  She thinks Ben’s dead?

  The cashier calls out my number, and I pull my hands out of my pockets in frustration. I’m the one who started this conversation—I can’t stop it now. But first I grab the baskets of food plus the two bottles of water I ordered and gesture for her to sit at an open picnic table.

  Her skirt makes it difficult for her to sit on the bench, so she perches on the end. I sit opposite her and place her basket and water on the table before getting my own lunch situated.

  “Ben’s not dead, Mary,” I say.

  “Ben? Is that your nephew?”

  “Yeah.” I shove a hand through my hair. “He’s alive, but I haven’t seen him in six years.”

  She frowns. “I don’t understand.”

  “My sister cut me out of her life, and that meant losing Ben too,” I say, holding her gaze.

  “Why would she do that?” she asks in a whisper, catching on that whatever I’m about to tell her is bad.

  “Because I went to prison for three years,” I say. “She refused to communicate with me while I was there, and when I got out, she told me I was dead to her. So I moved to Asheville.”

  Her face has paled, making her eyes even more vivid. They look green now—a deep moss green. “You were in prison?” She swallows. “Was it for a white-collar crime? One of those cushy federal prisons?”

  “No.” Part of me wants to lie, but she’ll find out, because I know the first thing she’ll do after she walks away from me is pull up my file. Considering that she’s an attorney, she’ll likely have access to documents the general public doesn’t. “I served at Davidson Correctional Center for felony theft.” Forcing myself to hold her gaze, I add, “I stole a car. But North Carolina doesn’t have grand theft auto on their statutes.”

  She gets to her feet in one fluid movement. While embarrassment might make her clumsy, it would appear anger gives her grace.

  “You’re a convicted felon, and you were with my son?” Her voice rises, drawing the attention of the people around us.

  I stay seated. To stand would make me taller than her, and the last thing I want is for her to feel threatened or intimidated. “I’m not dangerous, Mary. I paid my dues.”

  “You paid your dues,” she shouts, “and then you decided to volunteer to work with young children?”

  Several men nearby turn their attention to our conversation.

  I could protest. I could argue that stealing a car when I was twenty years old doesn’t make me a child molester, but Mary has only just begun to work herself up.

  She points her finger at me. “You stay away from my son.”

  I hold her gaze and try to hide my disappointment. “Of course.”

  “If you come near him again, I’ll have you arrested!”

  She’d have no grounds for that, but I don’t argue. There’s no way I can change her mind, so I don’t even try. I’ve learned that the hard way.

  Everyone around us is staring at us, at me, and the judgment I’ve always felt since my arrest is magnified tenfold. These people think I’m a child molester, and a few of the men look like they’re about to make sure I’m rendered physically incapable of touching a kid again.

  With nothing left to say, Mary turns around and stomps off, and I get up to leave, if only to make sure I walk away unscathed. I hand our untouched food to a homeless couple on the corner, then get the hell out of there before the crowd takes matters into their own hands.

  As I leave, I tell myself it’s for the best. I shouldn’t have applied for Butterfly Buddies in the first place. But I feel like my heart has been cut out of my chest and stomped on.

  Chapter Seven

  Mary

  This is what I get for taking a chance. Heck, I’ve been taking chances left and right lately, willy-nilly, as if they couldn’t blow my world into even smaller bits, and now here I am, worse off than when I started.

  I should have run a criminal background check on Jace the moment Butterfly Buddies assigned him to Aidan, but I let the school’s trust in the organization lull me into a false sense of security. That, and I ran the idea by Molly, and she rolled her eyes at me and reminded me of all the money I’d wasted running security checks on old boyfriends (hers, mine, and Maisie’s).

  I’d trusted him with my child. My child.

  As if that weren’t bad enough, I’d started to…

  Oh God. It’s embarrassing to even think about it, but tears sprang to my eyes when he helped me with my coat, his touch so gentle yet strong. And then he told me Glenn was a dick. I mean, Glenn is a dick, but it felt like he was telling me that because he liked me. Not in a romantic sort of way—again, he probably dates women like Nicole—but like a person. A friend, maybe.

  Nicole would scoff if I told her that. No, she’d smirk and suggest, A friend with benefits?

  Because there is no denying the way my body reacted to him—like my lady bits were a lockbox and he had the key. But there would be no friendship, no benefits, and what am I doing looking for companionship with people like Jace and Nicole anyway? I’m a dolphin swimming with sharks.

  No, Mary, you’re a freaking minnow.

  By the time I get back to the office, I’m practically hyperventilating. Luckily, the office is closed for lunch, and there is only one person inside. Unluckily, it’s my boss, Hilde, who takes one look at me and hands me a paper bag. I take it, even though it probably held her lunch and she always eats tuna fish, because I’m just that desperate. Usually, it would embarrass me to be this out of control, but I’m far beyond that. She trails me to my office, where I drop into my chair, stoop over my legs—the pencil skirt doesn’t let me get far—and try to regulate my breathing on my own so I don’t have to resort to the tuna fish bag.

  The fear of tuna stench is enough to set me straight, it seems, and I sit up in my chair.

  Hilde is, understandably, staring at me.

  “You said you were going to Tea of Fortune, huh?” she says. “Did you go for Dottie’s cleansing line? I’ve heard it has a powerful kick.”

  She should be annoyed with me, maybe even angry—after all, no attorney should fall apart under pressure, or under the influence of Dottie’s strange red sandwiches—but it didn’t take me long to learn Hilde isn’t anything like the other bosses I’ve had. She gives her staff Christmas trees and incense, and just yesterday, she sent out an email about setting up an office Secret Santa. (Not that I believe in Santa, of course, she added in a postscript, nor do I condone honoring one tradition over another, but it is a bit of fun.) I
t felt weird at first, working for an attorney who was so warm, exactly the kind of person who Glenn would deride as (a) “not professional” and (b) eccentric.

  But oddly, that’s why I like her.

  “Something like that,” I mutter, still feeling my heart racing in my chest. Then, gathering myself, I say, “Hilde, I need to do some research on a personal matter. I should probably take the rest of the afternoon off.”

  We have an understanding that I leave early on Mondays to bring Aidan to occupational therapy, and also that I sometimes have to pick him up from school early after a particularly bad meltdown. Or that one time he kept poking the kid in front of him with his pencil. This is not one of those occasions, so it feels wrong to ask, but…

  “Of course,” she says. “I was going to recommend it, actually. My neighbor had one of those cleansing platters at Tea of Fortune, and she didn’t leave the bathroom for the rest of the day.”

  Goodness.

  She waves a hand. “As long as you’re ready for court tomorrow, you have my blessing to do whatever needs to be done. Stay here, if you’d like. I know it’s closer to the school. We have two bathrooms, so it’s no trouble at all.”

  My face flushes again. Really, if I stay in Asheville, I’ll never need to buy another compact of blush.

  “I’m not feeling…I won’t.” I clear my throat and sit up straighter. “Thank you, Hilde. Yes, I’m ready for court tomorrow.” It’s the kind of case that would make Maisie’s and Molly’s eyes glaze over, because it doesn’t involve stolen cars or anything, well, exciting, but the company we’re representing in court tomorrow was badly mistreated by the other party, and I’ve enjoyed gathering the details to build our case.

  “That’s the spirit,” Hilde says with a smile. Her gaze drops to my naked tree, but if she’s disappointed by my lack of holiday spirit, she doesn’t say so. She settles for, “Remember, this judge collects everyone’s cell phones before court. She’s very strict about that. One time, your predecessor snuck in the smallest cell phone I’ve ever seen in her bra, and two minutes in, it started playing ‘Shake It Off.’ The judge fined her twice—once for breaking the rules and again for her choice of song. So remember, no Taylor Swift.” She winks and steps out.