Thankfully, Burk seems to get the hint and goes about his own business while I focus on a steady stream of customers that doesn’t let up.
“I want the bag with the bumps on it,” a stylishly dressed woman tells me, pointing around the store as if trying to find one of our more popular styles.
“Oh, of course.”
She’s talking about the ostrich bags, their puckered skin creating small bumps across the leather. They’ve been one of our most popular items and hard to keep in stock.
“Those sold out last week,” I explain, “but we’ll be getting another shipment in at the beginning of the year.”
“After Christmas? I simply can’t wait that long,” she says, looking at me with pursed lips and expectant, almost horrified eyes.
“It’s just that those have been in such high demand, especially for Christmas,” I reply in my friendliest of customer service voices. “I can put you on the list for the next shipment, and we’ll call you as soon as it comes in. That way, you’ll get the exact purse you want,” I add, trying to make her expected wait sound more enticing.
She sighs, but it’s more like a huff. “I know how these things work. You try to make certain items scarce, thus increasing the desirability and the price. So, if it’s a question of price, just tell me your markup, and I’ll pay it.”
I’m not at all surprised by this woman’s behavior. There are certain people with a lot of money that simply can’t fathom the possibility they can’t buy everything they want with it. I’ll sympathize, empathize and let her have her little fit. She’ll call me something unflattering, and then finally stomp out of the store, swearing to never shop here again—it’s happened to me more than once.
“I’m sorry,” I begin, deciding to run through the motions just like I always do, “but they simply aren’t available, at least not from us. I can call around if you’d like and see if one of the department stores might—”
“No, I don’t need you calling around and sending me on my way to some other store. I’d like to get the purse here, right now!” she demands. “So, why don’t you take your perfect little young body to the back and get one for me? Red would be preferable.”
I’ve already got a response ready for her, something like, “Again, I’m so sorry, but we don’t have any in the back,” bracing myself for increased agitation and her basically throwing a fit like a two-year-old. But as I begin to open my mouth, I decide that I’m so completely and totally done. I’d tried my best to be strong after the breakup, but being strong is all relative when it means going home every night and crying myself to sleep. I’ve been teetering on an edge, and this bitch, complaining about not being able to get a particular type of dead animal carcass for her bag, is finally about to push me off.
“Hello! Hello!” she says, waving her hand in front of my face. “Like I said, run that pretty little—”
“You realize that the bumps on those purses come from ostrich skin, don’t you?” I break in. “Some people get queasy about that. They don’t like to think about the animal it comes from.”
“I don’t care what animal it comes from. I simply want it,” she says, unaffected.
“Maybe I should show you a video of them slaughtering those poor birds, how they lead them into this room and drive a bolt through their brains… poor unsuspecting animals that follow their handlers around like they’re their parents, so trusting until they’re locked into this horrible looking mechanical device and slaughtered so… so bitches like you can have purses with bumps on them!”
She stands with her mouth agape, and out of the corner of my eye I see Burk with the same expression.
“You, my dear, need to lose your job!” she crows at me.
“Oh, goodness!” Burk calls, running over. “I’m so very sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to her,” I say, my hands shaking and my heart galloping. “She’s a fucking bitch… she probably wouldn’t even care if the leather in this shop was from the skin of babies—”
“Emma!”
“She needs to learn how to take no for an answer!” I charge on.
“You fire her right now!” the woman demands, turning red and shaking as much as I am, as if her injustice at being denied a high-priced leather purse somehow trumps the suffering of the animals or low-wage workers these bags come from. “I’ve been a customer here for years, and I happen to know Patrice personally!”
“Yes, well, you see, that will be taken care of, but right now I’d like to figure out how we can make this right for you. Shall we give you a store credit?”
“Forget it, Burk,” I say, unwilling to back down, even if it means losing my job. “Don’t give her anything. I quit.”
“Emma,” he says, his voice disappointed and angry.
I don’t hear what else is said, if anything, and I don’t really care. I gather my purse and my coat and head out into the night.
It’s by sheer luck that one of the bouncers at Rampage recognizes me as one of Angela’s friends. He’d worked at one of the other clubs we used to sneak into, always turning a blind eye. Other than ogling Angela, I’m not sure what he got out of it, and he doesn’t seem to expect anything other than a quick scan of my body tonight either.
“Go in,” he says, looking me up and down. “We’re short on hot girls tonight.”
“Thanks,” I say, hurrying in so he doesn’t change his mind, blending into the mass of people and in search of a drink.
I’d gone back to the condo to change after darting out of Patrice’s. Mom was out, at a meeting I’d hoped. And now that I’m at Rampage, I want the very thing I’d implored her to resist.
A few guys offer to buy me drinks at the bar, but I politely decline and pay for my own. I quickly down two vodkas on the rocks and head out onto the dance floor. I’d missed this, the rhythmic beats of the music reverberating through my body, the vodka warming my insides, not numbing me yet and not making me forget, but I’m definitely on my way there.
Telling yourself you aren’t going to lose control and actually following through on that are two very different things. Having gone back to the bar twice in what I think is probably less than an hour, I’m seven or eight or nine drinks down and starting to feel less coordinated and like I might be sick. I practically fall into some guy’s arms who pulls me a little too close to him for comfort, his cologne overpowering… sickening. After ratcheting myself away from him, I find a wall to lean against and pull my phone out of my purse, sending a text and hoping to get a response.
Can you pick me up? At Rampage… kind of drunk.
My phone beeps back immediately.
Sure. Stay inside. Be there in fifteen.
I could have texted Mom, maybe even Dad or Angela, and I’m sure Jennifer would have responded to me, but I texted him instead.
“I’m glad you messaged me,” Denny says.
I’m sitting in the passenger seat of his car, having just downed an entire bottle of water he must have known that I’d need.
“Thanks for this, Denny… I’m such a mess.” I’m still drunk, but not drunk enough to have forgotten what I’d done at Patrice’s or the still heartbreaking fact that John had dumped me.
“I’m taking you to the house to sober up.”
“No!” I shout, horrified. “I can’t… not if John is going to be there.”
“It’s okay,” Denny says, offering me a calming expression. “He’s actually in Portland for the night. Something to do with school or that legal clinic he volunteers at… not totally sure which.”
“Oh.” I’m sad and relieved all at once. I start to wonder if he might be there with someone else, someone like Shannon. But thinking this only hurts more, so I do my best to block it out of my mind.
“Everyone misses you,” Denny says after pulling into a parking spot on the street. “The house is sad without you.”
“You don’t have to say that… you know?” I take a moment to suck in the sobering, chilly night air before walking towar
d the house with him, leaning on him so I don’t tip over.
“I’m not just saying it,” he replies, almost like he’s offended.
Walking into the house is like going back in time. I’d once been so happy to be here, but now it pretty much just hurts knowing I don’t really belong.
“Emma?” Angela jumps up from the couch. She’s in one of Stephen’s shirts again while he sits next to her in an undershirt and boxers.
“Hi.” I nearly stumble into the wall after taking a few more steps inside.
“Easy there.” Denny steadies me, the touch of his hand on my waist like that of a friend, nothing electric like it always was with John.
“You haven’t returned any of my calls,” Angela says after Denny has helped me into one of the chairs in the living room. “I’ve been really worried about you, and John’s a total ass by the way. Where have you been?”
“She was at Rampage,” Denny says. “You and Stephen weren’t home yet when she texted.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, swatting my hand at the notion I’m not. “But I think I quit my job earlier… actually I probably got fired.”
“From Patrice’s?” Angela asks.
I nod and feel bile rising up my throat.
“Here’s more water.” Denny hands me a chilled bottle from the fridge.
“Thanks.” I down half of it, which thankfully settles my stomach for the time being.
Stephen excuses himself, and Angela spends another fifteen minutes scolding me for going to Rampage alone and not calling her back and texting Denny for help instead of her. But even drunk, I don’t tell her that her name isn’t the first to pop into my head when I need help and it might never be, no matter how much she’s been changing for the better. I do, however, relay the entire story of what happened at Patrice’s, and she appears impressed. After that, she goes upstairs to join Stephen, the two of them lasting longer than John and I had.
“Are you sure you’re really fired?” Denny asks, sitting opposite me on the couch.
I shrug. “I’m not sure I care. I’ll find something else.”
“Don’t let this thing with John ruin your life. Be stronger because of it.”
“I don’t especially want to be strong. Sometimes it feels good just to let go.”
“John wouldn’t want that. It would break him if he was responsible for hurting you.”
I laugh. “Are you being serious, Denny? He dumped me. If he’s as concerned as you think, he wouldn’t have done that.”
He sighs. “I don’t know, Emma. All I know is he’s hurting, probably as much as you are.”
Not wanting to argue about what John does or doesn’t feel for me or how he could be hurting more than I could, I ask Denny to take me back to the condo.
“Why don’t you call your mom, and just let her know you’re staying here for the night.”
“That’s not a good idea, not unless I want some PTSD to go along with being drunk.”
Denny bunches his lips up. “Emma, you’re surrounded by friends here, and John won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon, okay? I’ll sleep better knowing you’re looked after.”
“You’ll sleep better?”
He nods.
“Fine. I wouldn’t want to fuck up your sleep cycle.” Acquiescing isn’t so hard, and besides I’m too drunk and too tired to argue with him.
He leads me up the stairs, all the while reminding me that he’s going to sleep on the couch while I take his bed. “And I’ll help you grab the rest of your stuff from John’s room in the morning, okay?”
“Sure, fine.” I stand just inside the door to his room, my arms crossed over my chest, my brain on the verge of spinning.
“I’m a guy who actually makes my bed every day.” He laughs, his smile proud as he pulls back his comforter. “I’ve got my own bathroom, and feel free to use it for whatever.”
“Thanks, Denny.” I grab for him as he walks past me and, impulsively, I grip his arm and lean into him. For the briefest of moments, I can picture John standing here. I miss him so damn much.
Denny is still and slowly puts his arms around me.
It’s nice being held, nice being wanted.
“Why doesn’t he want me?” I ask, speaking into Denny’s chest.
The sound of him swallowing and his Adam’s apple bobbing up and then down is magnified at being so close to him, as is his galloping heart.
“He’s not in his right mind,” he says in a low voice. “That’s the only answer I’ve got for you.”
“You are though, right?” I ease back and look up into Denny’s eyes.
He tugs them away from me before allowing them to settle back on mine. “Are you asking… are you wanting… ?” he stammers.
“For you to take pity and sleep with me?”
His face turns a shade of red I’ve never seen before.
“No, Denny… you deserve better than me. I’m just pitiful and lonely, and I’m sorry I’m putting you through this.”
“You aren’t putting me through anything.” He brings his hands to my upper arms, holding me firmly and looking deep into my eyes. “I’m here because I’m your friend before I’m anything else, okay?”
I nod, and then the tears come with a quickness I’d not been prepared for. “I miss him so much,” I whimper, clutching to Denny. “And I’m sorry… I’m sorry for being such a mess.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says, one of his hands around my head, the other around my back.
I don’t say another word. I just lean into him, allowing whatever comfort he can give me.
JOHN
“Emma was here last night… in your room?” I’ve been livid from the moment Stephen told me, and I’ve been itching to confront Denny about it for hours.
“Jesus Christ, it’s not what you think,” Denny says, dropping his messenger bag at the base of the kitchen counter and grabbing a beer from the fridge.
“Then tell me what it was exactly,” I demand, leaning against the counter, not having felt this frenzied since I’d snorted meth all those years ago. All that keeps playing through my mind is the thought that Denny slept with Emma.
“She was drunk and needed a friend to pick her up from Rampage, which I did,” he says, popping the cap off the beer and taking a long drink.
“And then what? You take advantage of her?” Even the thought of it torments me. But why should it surprise me that Emma might want to be with another guy or that plenty of guys would want to be with her?
He shakes his head and looks at me with disappointment. “You know, I’ve been willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and consider that there’s something more to your breakup with her, but you can’t even do the same for me?”
“Just tell me.” I’m basically pleading, unable to form any logical response to him until I know for sure what went down last night.
“She needed someone to hold her,” he says with what I think is a wistful smile. “She misses the fuck out of you, and I let her cry in my arms until she’d exhausted herself. She slept in my bed and I took the couch. That’s what happened.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. Ask Stephen and Angela. I think they would have noticed if something else happened.”
I walk into the living room, drop into the couch and bury my face in my hands.
Denny sets a beer in front of me before sitting down in the chair just opposite of mine. “Why’d you really break up with her, man? You’re obviously miserable, and so is she.”
“I’m trying to protect her.” I grab the beer and take a long draw off of it, knowing I’d need a hell of a lot more to ease the pain I’m feeling. “But maybe I’m just hurting her more.”
“You doing this because of your parents?” he asks. “They threaten something?”
“Possibly,” I say, too ashamed and embarrassed to discuss the details—Court and Meg have apparently had some crisis of conscious and decided not to share what Madison told them with Denny.
“I
t must be bad if you’re willing to break Emma’s heart for it.”
“I don’t know anymore,” I say. “She’s in pain now, but she’ll survive it, won’t she?” I look at him, desperate for an answer, but he looks just as confused as I do.
“If you really think she’s better off in the long run, then yeah, I think she’s tough enough to get through it.”
“And you’ll still watch out for her? She doesn’t want to hear from me, but I need to know she’s okay. You do that for me?” I’m a dick for asking after throwing accusations at him, and beyond that it hurts knowing I can’t be the one to protect her, but I refuse to just lose sight of her and not have a clue to what’s going on in her life.
Denny looks at me for a long while without saying anything, and I don’t especially find it odd because I know that he’s thinking, considering my request. He may have wanted Emma from the first night he met her, but I’m now convinced that he only wants what is best for her, even if it’s not him.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he says in a sure voice. “I helped her move the rest of the things she had in your room back to her mom’s earlier. I’ll check in with her later tonight to see how she’s doing—you know, she talked to Angela this morning over coffee. It won’t just be me watching out for her, okay?”
“Thank you.” I let out a breath, feeling some sense of relief even with the twisted, sharp stab in my gut, knowing I have to leave Emma’s well-being in someone else’s hands.
“And John?”
“Yeah?”
Denny puts up a finger, silently telling me to wait a moment while he goes to the kitchen and pulls something out of one of the drawers. There is a sullen expression on his face when he returns and stretches his hand out.
“She wanted me to give this back to you.”
I stare at the thing in his hand. The lump in my throat is so big that I have to remind myself to take a breath when he hands me her engagement ring.
“Sorry,” he says.
Sorry.
Not anywhere near as much as I am.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Broken by Love (The Basin Lake Series Book 2) Page 25
