“Then I’m leaving. Thanks for being so helpful to a person left for dead on a secluded trail. You’re doing a hellava job here, guys.”
So much for thinking the police are going to figure this out. Clearly, they’ve decided it’s me, and they don’t believe they need to look for anyone else.
I want to say this will all turn out fine because I’m innocent, but I know the truth isn’t that easy.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jamie
My mind spinsas I try to figure out what to do. All my best laid plans lie in smithereens. My daughters and I have become modern day lepers. All of this because of Connor, the one who’s never done a damn thing to help Cassandra and Danielle other than pay for their gymnastics lessons. I’m the one who’s schmoozed the coach and the other mothers so our girls can be sure to succeed.
Nobody understands what I’ve had to do. Was Connor the one who sat there listening to those horrible women trash people and had to paste a smile on his face when the whole time he wanted to stand up and scream, “You women are awful bitches! Why does anyone talk to you?”
No, it was me. Was it him who worked all the bake sales, car washes, and every other event that came down the line from school and gymnastics? Of course not. He has a real job, as he likes to remind me. He works all day so we can have everything we want. He practically hangs himself on the cross for that every time I bring up helping with anything.
Well, who told me to not work when the girls went to school full-time? I wanted to get a job so we could afford to go on vacations and do all the things we want to do without pinching pennies. It was Connor who shot down my idea, even when I suggested I could get a part-time position somewhere. He claimed it was because of all the times the girls have off from school during the year since neither of us would have wanted to leave them home alone, but I got the sense that it was more about his ego than anything else.
What would the world think when they saw his wife working? That kind of thinking is ridiculous nowadays. It’s not the fifties, for God’s sake. Women work outside the home now, and if I had gotten a job when I wanted to, our lives would have been so much easier by now. We’d be able to travel and buy whatever we wanted if both of us worked, but because he decided I shouldn’t work, the girls and I have to listen to him complain almost daily about how much the things we want cost.
All of this marches through my mind as I drive to the coffee shop after dropping the girls off at school this morning. I hated seeing the look of dread in both their beautiful faces when I stopped to let them out of the car. They shouldn’t fear anything at their age. I pretended like everything is going to be fine, but I don’t know if that’s true.
By the time I pull into the parking lot, I can’t deny I’m filled with dread too. What if one of the mothers from gymnastics is there? I don’t think I can handle any more snubbing.
God, how did my life turn into this?
With every step I take toward the coffee shop front door, all I can think of is how much I’d like to see someone who thinks this entire mess of Connor’s is all a mistake. Why are people so damn quick to jump to conclusions? Our neighbors and friends have already decided he’s guilty, despite the fact that they’ve known us for years and know he couldn’t hurt a fly.
What a mess.
I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and fling open the glass door before walking in, immediately scanning the café for anyone I know. How awful is that? I’m actively hoping not to see people I’ve known for years.
The server walks up to the register as I take my position in front of the counter to order, and I nervously scan her expression to see if she’s hating me today too. She doesn’t seem upset to see me. To test that, I give her a tiny smile, and she immediately returns it.
Relief washes over me that at least one person today doesn’t appear to be unhappy I’m around. I’ve never really paid much attention to this young woman, but now that she seems to be the sole person who doesn’t hate me, I notice how pretty her blue eyes are. They remind me of that light shade of blue my bridesmaids wore.
After ordering my iced latte and heated cranberry-orange scone with butter, I smile again and say, “Thank you. By the way, your eyes are a beautiful shade of blue.”
For a second, I worry I overstepped my bounds because she stares at me without saying a word, but then finally, she flashes me a big smile. “Thank you! That’s so sweet of you to say. They used to be darker blue, but my grandmother told me that blue eyes fade as we get older. At this rate, my eyes will be the palest blue possible by the time I reach her age!”
We share a laugh, and for a few moments, I don’t dread my life. This person I’ve never paid much attention to before today will probably never know it, but her kindness is exactly what I needed this morning.
“Give me a minute or two, and I’ll have your order up for you,” she says before spinning on her heel and heading over to where she makes customers’ coffees.
Just as I’m relaxing, I hear the door open and instinctively look over to see if I know who’s coming into the café. Not a second later, dread fills me again, but only for a moment until I realize I don’t recognize the woman walking in with a baby in a stroller.
This emotional rollercoaster is going to make me sick. I don’t understand why people are treating my family and me like this. Even if Connor did do something to that man, and I have a difficult time believing that, what does it have to do with me and the girls?
When the young barista serves me my items, I smile again and walk to a table back in the corner where hopefully no one will notice me. Lost in my own misery about all that’s happened, I don’t see Kelsey until she clears her throat.
Looking up, I smile at her, noticing she’s wearing a really cute sundress, and instantly hope she hasn’t heard the terrible rumors. “Hey, how are you today?”
She always looks very serious, so I hope her expression now isn’t an indication that she’s heard what happened up on that trail and thinks my husband is a murderer. Kelsey gives me a tiny smile, though, and once more, I’m relieved to think there’s yet another person who hasn’t decided I should be run out of town on a rail.
“I’m okay. You look like you’re hiding out back here. Everything okay?”
Once more, I try to decipher from the look on her face and the tone of her voice if she knows anything, but I’m not getting the feeling she’s about to tell me she thinks I’m scum. How quickly that’s become something I expect.
“Well…you know how it is. Sometimes the day just gets to you,” I answer, knowing all too well it’s not even ten o’clock in the morning yet.
