Because the car shop was owned by Marg’s brother-in-law, who also happened to do my oil changes. He knew cars. He also, despite his age, remembered what all his customers drove, and if said customers worked at Margie’s, he took extra good care of them. So imagine his surprise when a man like Ash pulled my car—the front bumper damaged severely and the entire thing covered in mud and leaves—into the first open bay at five in the morning. Margie got the call before I managed to leave my house after struggling for forty-five minutes over the simple task of calling in a favor for a ride into work. The only person I knew who would even have the time was Rachel. Today was Saturday, and she didn’t have to open the Buoy for the lunch shift anymore. That was now Margo’s job.
When Rachel arrived, I was halfway down the steps, and she bolted out of her car, coming straight for me. She took me into her arms, squeezed me until I couldn’t breathe, and confessed that Margo had called her last night. News of my car wreck was now being spread by the Astoria rumor mill. Of course, at this time, I was still riding on the hope that Margie hadn’t found out. Much to my dismay, right around the time Rachel was crushing me in her embrace, Margie was on the phone with Tommy. So walking into work with a fake smile on my face, ready to cling to my routine before I lost my mind, was, indeed, a poorly executed plan.
Why hadn’t I thought to tell the Red Snake group to keep the incident to themselves?
Why had I been so enraptured by the need to talk to Ash, to seek his forgiveness, instead of worrying about my own life?
“You were in a car accident?” The question, a shrill, heated screech from Marg, came from across the gleaming kitchen…where Felix was prepping. His head snapped up so quickly italmost looked painful, but the look of concern on his face erased my own for him instantly.
“What?” he barked, setting down his knife.
Marg threw her hand out. “First, I get the news about Joann. Then I get a call from my brother to tell me about you.”
“Wait, what happened to Joann?” I asked, my stomach dropping. She was such a kind lady. A little bossy, but always kind. Felix’s eyes were on me, burning into the sore side of my head.
Marg gave me a soft look, her anger momentarily replaced by a kind of sadness I knew all too well. “She passed in her sleep last night, dear.”
“Oh,” I whispered. Joann and her little friend group came in for lunch every Tuesday and Thursday. “I’m so sorry, Chef.”
“She lived a long life.” She sighed, turning to me and folding her arms over her chest. “You, on the other hand? Your life has barely begun. You were in an accident. You need to rest.”
I winced, my fake smile faltering. “It’s not a big deal,” I said, trying to blow it off.
Was I slightly dizzy? Yes.
Was there any way for me to blame that on my blood sugar? No. My levels were steady.
“Not a big deal?” she quipped, putting her hands on her hips and marching around the prep table. “You spun off the road and went into a ditch.”
Pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth, I remained silent. Even the mere thought of lying to this woman already had my cheeks and ears heating. It was only a matter of seconds before I would resemble a ripe tomato.
“Hold on, hold on,” Felix said, waving his hand before pointing at me. “You—you—last night?”
Marg looked over to him. “Yes! Last night! The man who dropped her off said it happened when she was on her way homefrom work!” She looked back over to me. “I told you not to buy that pretty house on the top of that hill, but you did it anyway.”
Here we go again. “Marg—”
“That damn road is dangerous during storms. Always has been, and it’s a state road so even if you’re lucky, it won’t be fixed for another sixty to a hundred years,” she raged, flailing her hands about as she paced. “Honestly, I don’t know why your real estate agent even showed you that damn property. It’s out of the way, and now look at you! Look at the bump on your head!”
My hand shot up, my fingers grazing over the bump I’d tried to conceal with makeup only an hour ago. Pain sparked, shooting through my forehead and back. I bit down, grinding my teeth. “How did you even see that?” I questioned, wondering why I’d spent so much on a concealer that didn’t work in my time of need.
“I can see everything,” she retorted, huffing as she closed the distance between us. She reached up, and before I could even get my protests out, my face was in her hands. She gently pulled me down to her level, and with narrowed eyes, she popped on her reading glasses to examine my injury.
“I promise, I’m okay.”
“Have you been evaluated for a concussion?” Felix asked, coming to stand beside her.
My eyes flicked up, finding his guilty ones. His lips pinched together as if he was holding something back, and when I answered him, he took the blame.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
He sighed as he pulled off his glasses, running his hand over his shaved head. “This is all my fault,” he confessed, blowing out a breath.
Marg slowly turned to face him, her warm hands still holding my head captive. My purse slipped off my shoulder, and Iscrambled to catch it. She still refused to let go. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “You didn’t cause the storm.”
He shot me a pained look. “No, Marg…but I did tell Angel that I’m leaving Astoria.”
I was released from my hold, and it took a significant amount of effort to straighten my back, my shoulders and neck aching. “Marg, allow me to explain—”
