The hostess’s smile turned flustered. “Oh! How thoughtless of me. You’re right. I’m sure his ex-wife would disagree. I shouldn’t have said anything. Right this way, please.”
She’d missed my point, but I left it alone. I followed her past the bar, down a short flight of steps, and into the sunken dining area. Black-and-white photos of famous mobsters hung on both brick walls. The tabletops were constructed from old ship hatch covers. Rumor had it the slate floor had been imported from a ruined castle in France and dated back to the sixteenth century. I made a mental note that Hank was fond of old things.
Hank rose from his chair when he saw me approach. Ever the gentleman. If only he knew what I had in store for him.
“Was that Vee texting you?” Mom asked.
I dropped into a chair and propped up the menu to obstruct my view of Hank. “Yes.”
“How is she?”
“Fine.”
“Same old Vee?” she teased.
I made a consenting noise.
“The two of you should get together this weekend,” she suggested.
“Already covered.”
After a moment, my mom picked up her own menu. “Well! Everything looks wonderful. It’s going to be hard to decide. What do you think you’ll have, Nora?”
I scanned the price column, looking for the most exorbitant figure.
Suddenly Hank coughed and loosened his tie, as though he’d swallowed water down the wrong tube. His eyes went a little wide in disbelief. I followed his gaze and saw Marcie Millar stroll into the restaurant with her mom. Susanna Millar hung her cardigan on the antique coatrack just inside the front doors, then both she and Marcie followed the hostess to a table four down from ours.
Susanna Millar took a chair with her back to us, and I was pretty sure she hadn’t noticed. Marcie, on the other hand, who was seated opposite her mom, did a double take in the middle of picking up her ice water. She paused with the glass inches from her mouth. Her eyes mimicked her dad’s, growing wide with shock. They traveled from Hank, to my mom, finally stopping at me.
Marcie leaned across the table and whispered a few words to her mom. Susanna’s posture stiffened.
A tight feeling of impending disaster slid through my stomach and didn’t stop until it settled in my toes.
Marcie pushed out of her chair abruptly. Her mom grabbed for her arm, but Marcie was faster. She marched over.
“So,” she said, stopping at the edge of our table. “Y’all having a nice little dinner out?”
Hank cleared his throat. He glanced at my mom once, shutting his eyes briefly in silent apology.
“Can I give an outsider’s opinion?” Marcie continued in a bizarrely cheerful voice.
“Marcie,” Hank said, warning creeping into his tone.
“Now that you’re eligible, Dad, you’re going to want to be careful who you date.” For all her bravado, I noticed that Marcie’s arms had adopted a fine tremble. Maybe out of anger, but oddly, it looked more like fear to me.
With his lips barely moving, Hank murmured, “I’m asking you politely to go back to your mother and enjoy your meal. We can talk about this later.”
Not about to be deterred, Marcie continued, “This is going to sound harsh, but it will save you a lot of pain in the end. Some women are gold diggers. They only want you for your money.” Her gaze locked solidly on my mom.
I stared at Marcie, and even I could feel my eyes flashing with hostility. Her dad sold cars! Maybe in Coldwater that amounted to an impressive career choice, but she was acting like her family had a pedigree and so many trust funds they were tripping on them! If my mom was a gold digger, she could do much—
“And Coopersmith’s, of all places,” Marcie went on, a note of disgust overshadowing her cheery tone. “Low blow. This is
Hank squeezed between his eyes.
Mom said quietly, “I picked the restaurant, Marcie. I didn’t realize it had special meaning to your family.”
“Don’t talk to me,” Marcie snapped. “This is between me and my dad. Don’t act like you get any say in this.”
“Okay!” I said, pushing up from my chair. “I’m going to the restroom.” I sent my mom a quick look, hinting for her to join me. This wasn’t our problem. If Marcie and her dad wanted to go at it, and in public, fine. But I wasn’t going to sit here and make a spectacle of myself.
“I’ll join you,” Marcie said, catching me off guard.
Before I could figure out my next move, Marcie looped her arm through mine and propelled me toward the front of the restaurant.
“Mind telling me what this is all about?” I asked when we were out of earshot. I shifted my eyes between our linked arms.
“A truce,” Marcie stated pointedly.
Things were getting more interesting by the minute.
“Oh? And how long is it going to last?” I asked.
“Just until my dad breaks up with your mom.”
“Good luck with that one,” I said with a snort.
She let go of my arm so we could pass single file into the ladies’ room. When the door fell shut at our backs, she did a quick check under the stalls to make sure we were alone. “Don’t pretend like you don’t care,” she said. “I saw you sitting with them. You looked like you were going to vomit out your eyes.”
“Your point?”
“My point being we have something in common.”
I laughed, but my laugh was of the dry, humorless variety.
“Scared of taking sides with me?” she asked.
“More like wary. I’m not particularly fond of getting stabbed in the back.”
“I wouldn’t stab you in the back.” She flicked her wrist impatiently. “Not on something this serious.”
“Note to self: Marcie is only a backstabber on trivial things.”
Marcie boosted herself onto the sink’s ledge. She was now half a head taller, looking down on me. “Is it true you can’t remember anything? Like, your amnesia is real?”
Lines of concentration formed on her forehead. “If something happened between us … you wouldn’t remember, right? It would be like it didn’t happen. In your mind, anyway.” She watched me closely, clearly intent on my answer.
I rolled my eyes. I was growing more irritated by the minute. “Just spit it out. What happened between us?”
“I’m being completely hypothetical here.”
I didn’t believe that for a second. Marcie had probably humiliated me in some grand way before I’d vanished, but now that she needed my cooperation, she hoped I’d forgotten. Whatever she’d done, I was almost glad I couldn’t remember. I had a lot more on my mind than worrying about Marcie’s latest offensive strike.
“It’s true then,” Marcie said, not exactly smiling, but not frowning either. “You really can’t remember.”
I opened my mouth, but I didn’t have a comeback. Lying, and getting caught in the act, would say a lot more about my insecurities than just being up-front.
“My dad said you can’t remember anything from the last five months. Why does the amnesia stretch back that far? Why not just from when you were kidnapped?”
My tolerance had reached its limit. If I was going to discuss this with anyone, Marcie wasn’t first on the list. She wasn’t on the list, period. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going back to the table.”
“I’m just trying to get information.”
