“I’m fine,” Amelia said, a detour of her own because there was nothing insightful to say.
“I know what happened between you and Emory last night. If you want to talk about it?—”
“There’s nothing to talk about. He made that clear.”
Emory’s empirical argument had been flawless and left no room for rebuttal. He’d neatly tidied up his heartbreak while Amelia’s pillow soaked up tears throughout a sleepless night. Done and dusted, that was the end.
“This is a lot farther than you said. You’re sure Emory is okay with this?”
Mirabelle flicked off the radio. Big black sunglasses obscured her eyes, but her lips pursed with prickly affront.
“I told you he was. I don’t need his permission for everything I do. Besides, Thomas is with us.”
Amelia peered out the rear window at Thomas’s sedan behind them. She’d already discerned the strata of Emory’s trust—those who had his ear, his heart, his suspicion. Thomas had been with Emory at Richard’s party. Surely, that meant he belonged in the trusted cadre of reliable men.
“You know Em took care of things, right?” Mirabelle asked. “While you two were together, he dealt with the rat. Does that bother you?”
Mirabelle took off her sunglasses and glanced at Amelia. The woman had clearly choked on her share of bitter pills and seemed to relish administering the same hard medicine to others. Amelia had no illusions left to shatter, though, so she shrugged, far less scandalized than Mirabelle might’ve hoped.
“Makes sense he’d want revenge.”
“I meant that he handled business while he was with you. These men will whisper sweet nothings one minute then order an execution the next.”
Amelia didn’t respond. She’d gnawed on that morsel until her stomach ached. It wasn’t what she saw of Emory that concerned her, but what she couldn’t see. He lived in plain sight, but the eclipse came with phone calls taken in the hall and meetings in the basement lounge. If she wanted the man, she’d have to accept the chief.
Off the highway, Mirabelle navigated the streets of a tiny desert town where shops and restaurants dotted the main drag. They parked in front of a storefront with a sign reading “La Boheme”in vibrant Tiffany glass.
Mirabelle’s friend, Natalie, met them at the door. A sapphire chiffon dress overwhelmed her petite frame, but the gold chain around herwaist accentuated an hourglass figure. Like Mirabelle, every detail of her appearance was polished.
“You must be Amelia,” Natalie said and offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You as well. I feel underdressed.” Amelia stared down at her cut-off shorts, a raglan shirt, and blue Chuck Taylors. The outfit served for the advertised purpose—a quick trip down the road to pick up a dress.
Natalie dismissed the comment with a wave. “Oh please. You look gorgeous. I’d be right there with you if it wasn’t for this.”
She gestured to the boutique. The place hearkened back to the muted delicacy and floral femininity of the art nouveau era. Everything was lush in its beauty, soft and swirling in its lines, right down to the patterned wallpaper and antique furniture displaying the merchandise. With leather and lace, gossamer and denim, it was a mashup of vintage pieces and modern staples.
Mirabelle plopped down on a velvet settee and beckoned Amelia with a pat. Natalie settled in a wingback chair across from them.
“What’s with Rambo?” she asked and jutted a thumb at Thomas standing watch by the door.
“Shit’s been a little hot and heavy lately,” Mirabelle said rather seriously but quickly diverted with a red-lipped smile. “Enough of that. Tell meeverything.We need to catch up.”
Per usual, she expertly dodged the darkness and steered toward levity. Amelia didn’t know if the quality was worthy of admiration or concern.
The afternoon wore on as they tried on clothes that smelled of vanilla and incense. Mirabelle and Natalie giggled over gossip and inside jokes. That was the point of the outing, Amelia realized, as a lightness returned to Mirabelle. It wasn’t about the dress, but a reminder that an ordinary world existed with normal people living mundane lives.
For Amelia, the excursion into normalcy only made her more aware of life carrying on without her in it. Outside, even the desert sky she’d grown accustomed to looked different and she feltlost again.I want to go home,she thought.Whether her home or Emory’s, she didn’t know anymore.
After a while, they reached a natural end, the perfect time to say goodbye and head back. Instead, Mirabelle ordered food from a Thai restaurant up the street, and the conversation continued with small talk over a meal too late to be lunch but too early for dinner.
“Tell me again how you two met,” Natalie said with curious eyes roving between Amelia and Mirabelle. “You both breezed past that part.”
Amelia cleared her throat and answered with purposeful ambiguity. “Through Emory.”
“And how did you meet him?”
Mirabelle glanced at Amelia, a quiet cue to tread carefully. Deflecting would only get her so far, though. If she and Emory had any kind of future, they’d have to tell the tale with either an adapted truth or coordinated lie.
