“I’m working right now. It isn’t a good time for me to talk.” And I was really, really angry, and trying really hard not to cry. Again.
“You left your coat at Annie’s.” He handed it to me, and I balled it up and dropped it in the space under the register.
“Thank you.Next, please!”
The woman next in line jumped to attention. Luke and I were putting on quite a show, and I saw Martha eyeing me, motioning to the door. I shook my head. No, I didn’t need to take a break now.
“If you’re going to fly off the handle because my sister and I are close, then that’s fine. I’m not sure how you can fault her concern, given how you feel about taking care of Charlie. I guess I’ll see you around.”
What was he saying—was he trying to make this my fault somehow? I didn’t turn around as he left. Good. That horrible, aching feeling in my chest wasn’t my heart breaking.
Cassie’s texts started a few minutes later. Where was the car,had I taken it? Did I know that now Mike couldn’t get around? He needed to go places!
Annie wasn’t at swim practice that afternoon. I borrowed Coach Sean's keys and organized and cleaned the team’s equipment closet rather than going for a run. See? Commitment. Engagement.
When we got home that night, Mike and Cassie were both furious with me. “I could have called the cops on you, Emily,” Mike fumed. “Joyriding is a felony! That’s serious jailtime!”
“You would know,” I muttered. I raised my voice. “I had to get your son to school. I had to get to work to support your wife. What did you need the car for?”
“Where’s the Eldorado?” he demanded.
“Scrapped.”
We stared at each other.
“I’ll drive Charlie to school tomorrow and drop you at work,” he said finally. Charlie’s eyes lit up. Great.
The week went by in a grey cloud. Cassie was looking exhausted. Charlie whined. I could barely bring myself to talk to either of them. I had to wake Mike every morning to get him out of bed, smelling like sour alcohol and smoke and perpetually ticked off that it was so early. “This is what time school and work usually start!” I wanted to scream. Instead, I zipped my lip.
When I came back from Roy’s on Thursday night, my bedroom door was shut. And locked, I found, when I tried the door handle. I rattled it. What the heck?
Cassie and Mike’s door creaked slightly as it opened andCassie’s white face peeked out. “Mike’s asleep in there. Don’t wake him up.”
“In my room? Why is he in there?”
“We had a fight.” I could see that her eyes were swollen from crying.
“Why didn’t he take the couch?”
“Because it’s nicer to sleep in a bed!”
I wanted to scream. “It’s my bed!” I hissed.
She shut her door.
By the time I made it to Roy’s on Friday (thanks to a lift from Diego) after a near-sleepless night on the couch, I was so angry and tired, I was near tears. Cassie’s next round of chemo was scheduled to start Monday and both of us were dreading it.She hadn’t called the nurse back to confirm her appointments, and I had thrown a fit. Mike had been AWOL all day with the car, so Charlie had to take the bus home and miss swim practice, and I had to wait for Martha to give me a ride home from work.
I tied on my apron and picked up my tray. There was nothing to do about anything. All I could do was keep going, and drag Charlie along with me.
I served, I pushed away unwelcome hands, I smiled at lewd comments. Nick Barnes came in and sat at a table with a friend. I brought them their drinks as quickly as I could and moved to the next table.
Then a mysterious figure entered the bar. A short, slight woman with a hoodie pulled down low, enormous sunglasses covering half her pretty face.
Annie Whitaker?
She sat down at a table and I hurried over. “Annie, what are you doing here? You should go.” I was sure she had never been in Roy’s before—hos and alchies definitely wasn’t her scene.
“Emily, I have to talk to you! Your phone isn’t working or something. I’ve called you a thousand times!” She paused. “What are you wearing?”
