Luke looked apologetically at Leah. “Congratulations, again. Glad I made it.”
“Me, too,” Leah told him.
He began to pop the rest of the pastry in his mouth when Holly noticed. “Don’t ruin your appetite. We’ve got reservations.” Then she pecked him on the cheek. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Right.” For an awkward moment Luke stood there, looking around for a trash can.
“Let me,” Leah said. Before he could object, she took the plate from his hands. “Holly’s waiting.”
Leah watched them leave, as Holly slipped her arm into his and as Luke held the door for her on the way out. “How is it?” Brad came up beside her, looking at Luke’s half-eaten pastry.
“I don’t know. It wasn’t mine.”
It was a success and it was over. Leah should’ve felt pleased, but by the time she locked up it was seven-thirty and what she was feeling was restless and frustrated. All evening, customers came up to her commenting on how wonderful it was to have a café in the bookshop, how nice it was to bring their grandchildren to story time, their friends to a Paint and Sip. While Leah registered these interactions as the gifts they were, they just didn’t make it to her heart.
Between Luke and Holly’s burgeoning relationship, andGreg’s request to get back together, Leah felt like the punching bag at her old gym; swinging between blows and forever chained in place. She needed a reprieve.
Instead of going home, she decided to take a walk. At the corner of Main Street she took a hard left into the thick of the village and the tourists. She passed the residence of a children’s author, whose tidy little roadside barn boasted a set of transom windows, each one filled with curiosities and old toys, a wooden sign that readIMAGINEaffixed over its sliding doors. The night was still young. It was good to lose herself in the crowd; the long line outside Buffy’s Ice Cream shop, the couples holding hands, the late shoppers with their bags. When she got to the doors of the Chatham Squire, she went in.
At the narrow bar by the front windows, Leah grabbed a stool and ordered her favorite summer drink, a Painkiller. How apropos, she thought. The tropical concoction went down too easily; she ordered another. The barstools faced the street, proffering up the perfect Americana view of the boutiques and galleries across the way, the sidewalk strollers, the window boxes teeming with flowers. The restaurant was noisy, filled with sunburned families and mouthwatering aromas. This time when the bartender inquired, she ordered a half dozen oysters, a bowl of New England clam chowder, and another Painkiller.Chatham is heaven,she thought, stirring her clam chowder. How lucky she was to be here. How lucky she was to have her little shop, despite the constant grind.
Between courses and cocktails, however, she found her resolve wavering. Soon the season would end, and the summer bustle would wrap up. The sidewalks would still. Almost all theshops and galleries closed down for the winter, and the village became a bit of a ghost town. No doubt it would impact revenue at the Sandy Page, which was barely a fledgling. Brad would go back to school, and Lucy, too. She pictured herself and Eudora sitting in the empty shop with Alfred the dog. She might have to take up knitting. Winter would be lonely and long. What if the shop faltered?
When the bartender came by to offer the check, she asked for another drink. And a basket of bread. Why not?
She’d resolved to keep her phone off for the night, but as the Painkiller’s initial buzz handed the reins over to a fresh wave of despair she pulled it from her bag. Greg had texted, again.Leah, we can do this. Think of the life we planned. It’s still ours for the taking.
For the taking. Hadn’t he taken from her, when she was at her lowest? Greg had always been a stand-up guy, a loyal partner. She even believed that Greg hadn’t sought out Rebekah; she was just a piece of his past who happened to reappear when times were tough. The fact Leah wrestled with most was that when things got ugly for her, Greg hadn’t been gutsy enough to see her through. He hadn’t been there for her.
Still, she could not deny the years they had together; they were good years. They had a secure future, even without her old job at Morgan. Boston afforded them cultural stimulation that the sleepy Cape could not: theater, museums, restaurants, Fenway. What had she done since returning to Chatham except slave away in the bookstore? Here she had no friends, no personal life outside of work.
However, to even consider Greg’s request meant to consider letting go of the Sandy Page. Questions spiraled through her head. Was she willing to walk away from everything she’d just begun? No, Greg would have to come to her, at least at first. That thought gave her further pause; did that mean she was considering Greg’s offer? Leah took another swallow of her drink.
As it always did, the Squire got busier as the evening went on. The empty stools around her had filled. Surrounded by the commotion of families in the restaurant and patrons at the bar, Leah was still alone. It made her wonder. It made her worry. She pushed the unfinished cocktail away from her. She needed to go home. The long walk back to her car at the shop would sober her up, she figured. When she stood, the bar swayed sharply in front of her. Leah sat back down hard. She’d had more to drink than she’d realized, those damn Painkillers. To her mortification, the bartender leaned in. “Would you like me to call an Uber?” he asked gently.
She could feel her cheeks flush. “My friend is coming,” she said, forcing a smile. She texted Brad to please come get her. When she looked up, a tall glass of water and more bread sat before her. “Thanks,” she said, feeling sheepish.
When she’d finished the water, and still didn’t feel any better, she checked her phone. Brad had not replied. If anything, she felt woozier than before—how she’d like a straw to suck out the last two drinks as quickly as she’d sucked them down. When she called Brad it went straight to voicemail. She’d have to get an Uber. But first, she needed to use the bathroom.
Leah took one look at the line of little kids outside the restaurant restroom and cut through to the tavern, on the other side.It took all her concentration not to wobble. Live music met her in the dark hallway between the two establishments, and the crowd shifted instantly from parents holding toddler hands to college-age kids gripping pints of beer. Once upon a time, she used to be part of this crowd. It was louder and the noise denser over here, but at least the restroom line was short. On her way out, a young woman bumped against her and almost knocked Leah down. “Sorry!” the girl said, reaching out. It was embarrassing, but it was nothing compared to the shame she felt when she looked up. Coming out of the other restroom at the same time was Luke. He’d seen the whole thing.
“Leah. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but her slurred words were obvious even to her ears. She needed to get out of there.
“Are you here alone?” he asked.
Leah propped herself against the wall, hoping to appear less drunk. Clearly it had the opposite effect. “What makes you think I’m alone?” she asked, glancing past him for any sign of Holly Houston. She didn’t like the implication. She liked even less that he likely was not.
At least Luke looked appropriately reprimanded. “Nothing. I’m only asking because I want to make sure you get home safe.”
“Who says I’m going home?” It had been so long since she’d been in this bad shape, she’d forgotten how stubborn it made her.
Luke glanced behind him and sighed like he was between a rock and a hard place.
“Looking for someone?” Leah asked. Somewhere in that crowd Holly Houston was standing alone with two drinks.
“Do me a favor.” Luke placed both hands on her shoulders. “Stay here, be quiet, and don’t move, alright?”
