He rubbed a hand over his face, looking dazed as well as furious.
“Look,” she started, “this must be so hard to take in—”
“Don’t even try.” He cut her off. “How could you dare to try to comfort me about this? This secret you’ve been keeping from me while you were acting like you were my friend. Like you were even more than my friend.” His voice had risen as he’d spoken until he was practically yelling, and a family, two parents and a child, coming out of the store stared at them, looking shocked. The father picked up his little girl and they hurried away.
She had to get him to calm down, for his sake and for Davey’s. “Don’t yell. You don’t want people to think poorly of you,” she said. “These are Davey’s friends’ parents. Don’t say things you’ll regret.”
He glanced over at the retreating family. There was another family coming out of the store, too. She saw him breathe in deeply, saw him twist his neck as if it hurt.
When he spoke again, it was in a low, steady voice that was somehow worse than the shouting. “I never want to see you again. Get out of my life.”
“Oh, Paul...” She drew in a breath and nodded. This wasn’t unexpected. This was what she deserved.
“You’re not worth caring about.” He nearly spat the words.
Mechanically, she went back into the store to get her purse and her jacket, trying to keep hold of herself, trying not to cry.
Davey attached himself to her leg. “Miss Amber, stay with me,” he said.
She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shut out his cuteness. But she couldn’t shut out his high-pitched child’s voice. “Stay with me,” he begged again, with that telltale whine that meant he was getting tired.
She reached down and, as gently as possible, pulled his hand away from her leg.
He grabbed on again, harder.
Her throat tightened into an ache. More firmly now, she loosened his fingers and then held on to his wrists. “Davey, honey. I have to leave.”
“No, don’t go.” He started to cry. It was as if, somewhere in his perceptive young soul, he sensed the finality of this, and his quiet sobs broke her heart. Her own tears overflowing, she waited until Paul came in the door and started walking toward Davey, his eyes determinedly away from hers, and then she left in misery, passing Imogene on her way out.
She’d been through a lot in her thirtysomething years. Most notably, getting diagnosed with cancer, losing her mother and getting diagnosed with a recurrence. Those were horrible days.
But this day, in some ways, was the worst of all. Happiness had been at her fingertips, like a colorful helium balloon.
It hadn’t even floated away slowly; it had burst.
Happiness, her chance at it, was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MARY SCANNED the bookstore and sighed with satisfaction. The event had been successful, as evidenced by the fact that people didn’t seem to want to leave. The families milled around, talking to each other, eating more cookies and shopping for books for their kids. And Mary was fine with it. She was feeling great about the store and her work here.
Telling off Imogene had been hard, but worth it. Finally, she’d admitted to herself that there was nothing she, personally, could do to help Imogene fight her demons. She’d texted referrals to a couple of counselors and an online support group. Now it was up to Imogene to follow up.
She felt like she’d shed a huge weight.
From her spot behind the counter, she handed out free books to the families that hadn’t gotten them already. Everyone was so enthusiastic and grateful. She listened to the happy voices and sucked in the smell of chocolate and evergreen. Yes, she was getting into the Christmas spirit.
“Hey, everrybody.” It was Imogene’s voice, coming from the front of the bookstore.
Funny how one word from one person could put a damper on her mood. In the past, she would’ve rushed over to Imogene and tried to placate her, but she was through with that. Instead, she leaned forward, elbows on the counter, and watched as Imogene lurched around. It was pretty obvious she’d been drinking.
“Hey, listen up,” Imogene called out.
Mary’s insides twisted. Yes, she’d given up on helping Imogene herself, and yes, she felt good about that. But Imogene still had the power to hurt her.
“You all think Mary is so great,” Imogene said in a loud voice that had most people staring at her. “But did you know she’s involved with the mob? Where’d you think she got her money?”
Mary’s stomach was churning now as her customers stared from her to Imogene and back again. Other conversations had stopped, and Imogene moved to the center of the store, turning slowly around as if she wanted to look at everyone.
Then she spoke. “Did you know she’s had people killed?”
The words hung in the air and made Mary’s heart lurch. Yes, she blamed herself in many ways for what had happened to her daughter and Ben. But to think that there were people, at least one person, who thought she’d ordered the hit? That was beyond belief.
Everything seemed frozen to her—people’s shocked faces, Imogene’s sneer, the children’s confused questions. The Christmas music blared on, sounding tinny and cheap, and she reached down and shut it off.
“Someone should call the police,” a woman said.
Mary felt dizzy. Was one of her customers going to call the police on Mary, even after all this time?
“She shouldn’t be allowed to make a scene like that,” the woman continued, and Mary realized she meant she might call the police on Imogene. And then there were several of her customers clustered around her.
“It’s her fault, not mine,” Imogene yelled.
“Sit down.” Erica urged Mary onto the stool behind the counter.
Trey had approached
