by L. B. Dunbar
“Evie. Honey, are you okay?”
A shaky hand comes to my forehead, and I swipe a clammy skin.
“I’m familiar with the ridge.” It’s all I need to say before Letty glances at Roxanne and then back at me.
“I’m so sorry. I heard what happened up there.” Her voice quiets, and the deep set of sympathy fills her words. Thankfully, it doesn’t sound like pity. “I lost my brother when he was twelve. It’s not the same thing, but we were super close, and I was there.” It’s all she has to say. It isn’t the same thing, but somehow, Letty seems to understand the heartbreak and the difficulty of a place instantly.
“It’s a beautiful location. I haven’t been there in years.” At least six, if not more.
“It’s going to be perfect,” Roxanne says, a cautious smile on her face. “Letty and I were going to get some lunch at the Pub. We’d love for you to join us.”
I should decline. My first instinct is to say maybe another day as I had planned to find Presley. But the idea of seeing another face who remembers my past and then questions all the things about James suddenly doesn’t sound like how I want to spend my afternoon. Surprising myself, I say, “I’d really like that.”
If James and I were still together, these women would be my sisters-in-law. Perhaps sisters in crime would be more like it, as we’d have stories aplenty to share about Harrington men.
Roxanne excuses herself to tell an employee she’s going to lunch. “Grace,” she calls out. “I’m headed out with Letty.”
“Okay,” the voice floats from the back of the store.
“Grace Eton works for me. Do you know her?” I did, but her boys were younger than Michael would be.
“I wasn’t friends with her, no, but I know of her, of course.” Grace had a tragic story, widowed with five young boys years ago. When I look over at Letty, who leads us to the door, I’m reminded we all have a story somehow.
We cross the street as Letty explains how she has a son, but Elaina is babysitting for the day. “I really needed a day off.” She winces as she says it, glancing at me as she opens the Pub door.
“I remember days like that,” I say, hoping to convey it’s okay for her to speak about her child. I was in that position on the day I lost Michael forever. I’d asked James for a day off as Mom. I shake the guilt that normally eats at me and step into the dim pub.
Roxanne waves at someone—I don’t see who—and then points to a table. I follow her to seat ourselves at a high-top table in the center of the room. After we order drinks, Billy finds us. He’s sweet with his woman, and I wonder if Roxanne and I would have been friends if I’d been here when she opened her bookstore four years back. She’s quirky and a bit eccentric-looking with those seductive silver eyes and white-streaked hair. She’s beautiful in an unconventional way while Billy looks like a punk kid with a beanie cap on his head.
I wonder the same about Letty and friendship. She has an infectious laugh and a taller stature, matching her with Giant in physique but not expression. He’s always been a broody man. Although Giant’s first wife and I had been friendly, I wouldn’t say we were close friends. Letty immediately seems more like my person, if that even makes sense, and I long to establish new friendships with women. I keep people at arm’s length in Savannah, grateful that most I meet now don’t remember when I was the rebellious young woman I once was. Letty’s loud, easygoing, and talkative, and we settle into a round of beers in the middle of a Friday afternoon.
It’s nice.
A variety of burgers are ordered, as that’s still the top specialty item on the menu. The conversation flows. Letty shares about the wedding, and Roxanne talks about the bookstore. I explain my business in jewelry making. Thankfully, women can talk about anything.
Meals are served, but just as the waitress is setting down the plates, someone enters the bar. There’s a shift in the air, and my gaze is pulled to the front door. Three bikers dressed in heavy boots and leather jackets, tight tees, and fitted jeans wait by the front. Immediately, I recognize James among them despite the silver in his hair. It wasn’t there when I left, and it makes him look more distinguished. It also makes him edgier looking, and sexy as fuck, as the saying goes. My eyes don’t leave the movement of his body as he follows the other men to a booth near a window. Once seated, he glances up, and his eyes find me in the center of the room.
Quickly, I look away, uncertain how to respond to his presence, while my heart begins to hammer. My underarms sweat. I feel him looking at me across the restaurant.
“Oh, my. If he looks at you any harder, he’s going to drill through you to me,” Roxanne says, leaning closer and speaking only to me. “I know that look.”
My eyes shift to James, noticing him still staring in my direction. Hastily, I glance away again, wondering what Roxanne means, and then recall she’s living with a Harrington.
“How are things going?” Letty softly asks, and I wonder just how much she knows about me. Surely, Giant has told her about his brother, his estranged wife, and the death of their child. I take a deep breath, uncertain about how to respond.
“Everyone thinks I left him.” I don’t know why I admit such a thing, but it needs to be said.
“Billy thinks James pushed you away. He said that’s how his brother works.” Roxanne’s voice expressions caution in what she says.
“Giant thinks it was all James too. Like maybe he told you to leave him,” Letty adds.
My eyes widen at the relief that his brothers don’t think it was me. Not that I want to blame James, I just don’t want his family thinking I walked away when James needed me most.
“You don’t have to tell us anything,” Roxanne says.
“We don’t even have to talk about him. We can pretend he isn’t eating you up with that gaze like he’s a starving man.”
I turn toward James once more and then just as fast turn back to the two women watching me. “He is not,” I whine, slipping a hand nervously through my hair.
“I don’t know your complete story, Evie, but if you ever want to talk, I’m here,” Roxanne says, offering a comforting smile, and I decide Roxanne and I definitely would be friends if I still lived here. Which I don’t. Because I’m here for a divorce.
“Same,” Letty offers, giving me an encouraging smile. “I’m the new kid here. I need all the friends I can get.”
I laugh at that, remembering the feeling well.
“Billy and I had a rough start. We hated one another at first, but there was just something about him,” Roxanne offers as an olive branch of understanding when it comes to a Harrington.
“Giant and I didn’t make the best impressions on each other either, but we quickly got impressed.” Letty wiggles her brows. “We had a rough patch, too, though it was because I made a dumb decision.”
“It happens.” I hope to reassure her that I understand poor choices.
“I think it’s standard for relationships to have rocky roads,” Roxanne states, and Letty tag teams the sentiment with, “And bumps along the way.”
Try an entire mountain to get over. However, I appreciate their attempts to show they understand.
“So, are you here for the dedication? Milton Duncan has his circus ready . . . I mean, camera crew . . . all set for filming,” Letty states, redirecting our conversation, and a slow, steady trickle of quiet descends on the table.
I offer a weak smile and swallow the awkward lump in my throat. “Seems I’m the last to know, but what is this dedication everyone keeps mentioning?”
“Oh, boy,” Roxanne says as she’s the first person I heard it from.
“I—” Letty abruptly cuts herself off and glances across the restaurant.
“Perhaps James should explain,” Roxanne says, mimicking what Billy had said when it was first mentioned to me. At that moment, my phone buzzes in my bag, but I ignore it, allowing the annoying cricket chirping ring tone to chirp-chirp-chirp. I stare at Roxanne.
“You know, that’s the other thi
ng that’s been said. Once I’m asked if I’m here for the dedication, James is referenced. What does James know that I don’t?” It’s a question I probably shouldn’t ask of these two women I’m newly acquainted with, but I need some answers as James has not mentioned this mysterious dedication.
“We have a new Parks and Recreation supervisor. She’s Charlie’s new wife. We should have called her to join us.” Roxanne pauses with pleasure at Charlie’s recent nuptials. “Anyway, do you remember First Church, just outside of town? The community received a donation of a parcel of land, and they wanted to move their congregation to another property and build a new worship center. Janessa convinced the members to sell their old property to the town, as it’s a historical landmark, and it’s being converted into a community center. Milton Duncan and his crew will deconstruct, reconstruct, and film the process.”
I stare at Roxanne, still unclear in my understanding. “Film it?” I question.
“Milton has a television program called Rehab Dad. It’s on the Home Network. He rehabs old homes and buildings, filming the process of restoring them to their natural beauty while updating them with modern amenities and décor,” Letty explains.
I blink as a slow grin curls my lips. “That’s amazing. Good for Milton.” Milton is one of the Duncan boys, distant cousins to the Harringtons somehow, and a family who owns the local hardware store and a construction company. Last I knew, Milton worked with his brother Griffin while Kent Duncan runs Duncan Hardware in town. “Does Griffin work with him?”
“It’s a complicated story,” Roxanne clarifies. A heavy pause fills the table, and I sit straighter, taking a fortifying breath.
“So, the dedication?” I question, perhaps too cheerful, in hopes of gaining information. My phone begins to beep again—chirp-chirp-chirp—but I ignore the urgency of the sound. Instead, I pull it from my bag, check the caller ID, and turn the phone to vibrate mode before setting it on the table face down.
“The community center will have a baseball field and a playground for little ones with a train theme. There will be a walkway joining the old church to the center of town,” Letty continues.
“Isn’t that like a mile or more away?” I question, vaguely remembering the old church outside of downtown.
“Its intended purpose is to encourage exercise for the locals,” Roxanne adds, and I nod, still unclear about what any of this has to do with James.
My brow lifts, suggesting Roxanne get on with the explanation.
“Janessa isn’t from here, so let me add she had the best intentions when she made the suggestion. She wanted the community center to be dedicated to someone important to the town. There was a loosely led vote, and it was decided to name the new center for . . .” Roxanne swallows hard, anxiety in her silver eyes as she looks at me. “Michael.”
His name is a whisper in the room, yet it’s the only sound I hear.
“Wh-what?” I stammer as my damn phone begins vibrating against the wood table. In my numbed state of shock, I hastily flip it and notice three missed calls from James Harrington. My eyes leap across the room. James holds his phone to his ear, and mine pulses in my hand. Holding the phone high in my palm, I dramatically tap my finger on the ignore button. Then I click off the device and set my phone back on the table.
I glance up at a stunned Letty, and Roxanne looks up at me with concern.
“Just what the hell?” It’s like an echo in my head. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell.
What does this mean?
“The community center will be a place for locals to gather, and the Harringtons are such an important part of the community, Janessa thought it might be an honor. The naming will occur when the deconstruction begins in a few weeks with a groundbreaking event and the official opening ceremony next spring,” Letty defends.
My head turns to face James one more time. My heart races so fast I’m certain he can see it pounding in my chest across the room. His eyes narrow at me, but I twist away from his glare.
“When was all this decided?”
“There was a vote in August.”
I’m floored. I’m stumped. I’m in disbelief.
“Did James approve this?” I choke, wondering why he didn’t tell me or better yet, ask me if I wanted our son’s name on a building, a place dedicated in his memory for the entire community.
“I think maybe you should speak to James about all this, Evie,” Roxanne quietly states.
“You should have known about this,” Letty interjects, sensing my upset. My agitation is slow to surface, but I feel it rising within me.
A community center. In Michael’s name. Nobody told me.
I stand to my full height and forcefully tug my bag off the back of my chair.
“I’m not upset,” I blurt as if I’ve been asked if I am. My teeth grit as I force a grin. “I just need some air.”
From across the pub, I feel James watching me, but I don’t turn around. If I did, the only sign I’d have for him is double barrel middle fingers. I stalk around the table, muttering, “Excuse me,” as I dismiss myself and head toward the back of the room, hoping for an exit. Thankfully, I remember an emergency door near the restrooms, leading into the back alley, which holds a small parking lot. Immediately after pushing through the metal door, I allow it to slam behind me, and I plaster my back against the brick wall of the building. Tipping my head upward, I take a few deep breaths, coaxing myself to calm down.
Why didn’t he mention anything to me?
Why didn’t he ask me how I’d feel about this?
Why couldn’t he ever pick up the damn phone and call me?
My head screams with these thoughts as I lightly tap it against the brick, cursing the likes of James Harrington.
“Hey.” I hear his voice after the click of the metal exit door when it opens. The softness of his masculine tenor grates on my nerves like the brick catching my hair behind my head.
“No,” I growl the second he closes the door and steps closer to me under the overhead balcony. “No!” I shout again, turning toward him and lifting a finger, pointing at him. “Get away from me, James.”
“Hey.” His tone turns sharper as he steps even closer, not heeding my warning. My body vibrates with the need to lash out at him, possibly strike him in my anger. In all the years, anger wasn’t something I felt toward James. Sadness, despair, and confusion had been my emotions. Anger at God, but not James.
I was hurt, hopeless, and heartbroken, but I wasn’t ever fully angry with him. It wasn’t his fault. I said it so many times that it haunted my dreams. It filled my nightmares, but I believed it. He wasn’t to blame. It was an accident, but this, and all the other things afterward, have all been James’s doing. His neglect of me. His dismissal of me. His withholding from me.
“What is this, Peach?” he states, stepping close enough that I return to pressing myself into the brick. Only this time, it’s to get as far from him as I can. He’s invaded my space, and I need him to back away.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap. “And why didn’t you tell me about the dedication?”
James’s eyes narrow in on my face. “Who told you about that?”
“Everyone,” I yell. “Everybody seems to know this thing I knew nothing about. Roxanne explained it to me.”
“Damn her,” James mutters without conviction.
“No, damn you,” I bark, and James’s head lifts. “Damn you and your secrets and your push to keep me out. He was my son, too, and I deserved to know.” Tears fill my eyes and swell my throat. It’s hard to be tough when you’re about to sob, and I’m so tired of crying over this man. I blink rapidly, but a traitorous tear leaks, and I let it ripple down my cheeks, watching James as he watches with so much pain etched in his expression.
“I didn’t know how you’d react. Hell, I didn’t react well myself. I wanted to punch Charlie and his princess for this suggestion, and I disagreed with it from the start.” James is somehow closer to me. His face only
an inch from mine as his hand cups my jaw. His thumb rubs up and down the edge of my face in soothing strokes.
“Tell me,” I demand.
“Charlie’s new wife got the harebrained idea to name the new community center after Michael. I didn’t think it was such a good idea. Then Justice, that damn fool, had to volunteer the club. He offered a ride in Michael’s honor to raise funds for the place, and Giant stepped up to match the club’s donation through the brewing company.”
James’s palm at my jaw lowers to my throat. He continues to stroke my skin, the attention becoming more pronounced, like rubbing the pad of his thumb on my neck is somehow calming him.
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this before?”
“Because you want a divorce,” he says, brows lifting.
“That’s a cop-out,” I snap. “This was decided in August. It’s September. You know I deserved to know. I might even be able to support it once I get over the shock of being blindsided by it and finding out from someone other than my husband.”
“Glad to see you remember who I am,” James mumbles back.
“I’m not the one who wanted to forget,” I yell, and the air around us stills. James’s chest heaves. His leather jacket crackles as it drags over my sweater covered breasts. He’s pressing against me, heat radiating off him as his legs straddle my thighs, forcing his lower body flush with mine.
“I remember”—James hesitates—“stepping out into this alley one night, so hungry for my wife I couldn’t make it to the truck. I was so desperate to be inside my wife that I couldn’t wait to get home where she needed sweet and tender in our bed. Instead, I pressed my wife against this wall and fulfilled a fantasy of hers.” He mimics what he did, thrusting his hips in a way his current excitement is undeniable. “I remember when she let me fuck her in an alley against a brick wall where anyone could have seen us.”
I remember that night. I’d been the one who had a little too much to drink, but not enough that I couldn’t perform. And I was horny. I’d been handsy all night with him in the bar. Teasing him with a swipe of my finger up his zipper. Straddling his thigh as he sat on a barstool. Kissing him publicly on the neck and whispering in his ear what I wanted from him.