I sink into the cushioned back of the stool and sip on my drink. James is seventeen years older than me, and our age difference doesn’t sit well in a place like Rochester, Minnesota, a town of traditions and long held values. People who rock boats in this small town tend to find themselves tossed overboard, swimming alone.
I witnessed this with my own mother. She came to this city as a single and pregnant nineteen-year-old and never shook the stigma of shame. Women whispered and turned their backs on us as we passed by them on the streets. She would take my hand and smile reassuringly at me, but the pain in her eyes gave the sting away.
Those judgmental people didn’t see her for who she truly was. She was a great mother who loved me with all her heart and worked hard to put food on the table.
Speaking of food … I glance at the jeweled watch on my wrist and wonder where Emma could be. She was supposed to meet me ten minutes ago. I pull my phone out of my purse and check to see if she’s tried to reach me, but there’s nothing from her. All I have are the texts from James that started this morning.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good. No worries.”
“Call me if you have any issues at the club.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I can’t stop thinking about this morning.”
I don’t reply to his last text. I can’t stop thinking about it either, but my thoughts likely differ from his. Mine focus on Sin standing there watching me as I lay bound. I drain more of my drink in hopes it helps me forget the look in his eyes. Though, no amount of alcohol will erase my shame. I tuck my phone back into my bag and keep glancing at the entrance to the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of Emma.
I look down and twirl the olive-laden toothpick in my glass. On my empty stomach, the alcohol starts to loosen the tightness in my chest.
Behind me, I hear the clicking of heels drawing near on the mahogany floors. I lift my gaze and the smiling face of my best friend greets me.
“You made it.” I can’t hide the relief. It’s been weeks since we were last face-to-face. I’m hoping her cheerful enthusiasm will help turn this dark day around for me.
“Harlow. Sorry I’m late.” Emma hugs me so tight, I can barely take a breath. She pulls away just enough to look me in the face and focuses on my eyes. Her brows knit together and I glance away. She must not like what she sees.
“What the hell is going on, Harlow?”
I shrug my shoulders and keep my eyes trained on the wood floor. With tears threatening, I’m afraid to meet her eyes again. She moves my handbag to the bar top so she can sit down next to me.
“You know you can tell me anything. Please, talk to me. I’ve been worried sick about you and something is really wrong. Weeks have gone by and you haven’t even replied to my texts. We’ve been friends since we were five years old and we’ve never gone a day or two without talking. Not until you met him.”
She takes my hands in hers. Her gentle touch works as a trigger and my tears begin to fall. It’s like someone punched a hole in my heart and the hurt came tumbling out.
“I have missed you more than I can even say.” I sniffle and speak through my tears. “I hate to have a breakdown here in public.”
“Are you kidding?” Emma says, reaching beyond the counter’s edge to retrieve a few more cocktail napkins. “I think we both may need these.”
“Me, too.” I wipe my eyes and nose with the napkin. They’re high-quality and soft, close enough to a tissue. “I should’ve called you. I feel like the last four months have been a haze.”
“I know, Harlow. You’ve been through so much. I hate that I haven’t been there to help you. Obviously, things have been tough. You need to tell me about Dr. Elliott. James. What’s going on with him?”
“Where do I even start?” I scoff.
“Where it hurts.” Ouch. Everything hurts right now. “Let me order a drink. I think I’m going to need one.” She smiles reassuringly at me and signals for Paul’s attention. He’s waving his arms in the air like he’s telling some long-winded story to a patron at the bar.
“Okay. Just give me one of whatever you’ve been drinking. It seems to be working fine for you.” Emma winks in my direction as Paul approaches us.
“Two more please.” I smile up at Paul with what I’m sure is a loopy grin mixed with my red eyes from crying, but he doesn’t return it. Instead, he knits his brows together and shakes his head. I think he’s going to be a party pooper.
“How about ordering some lunch first?” I hate to admit it, but he’s probably right. I pluck my two olives out of my empty glass and pop them into my mouth.
“One serving of vegetables down.” Paul rolls his eyes at my silly display and it only fuels more laughs from me. I think they’re coming from my frayed nerves. “At least give Emma her first drink of the day.”
“Okay,” Paul acquiesces, but only after laying down a couple lunch menus in front of us, the “you need to eat something” message loud and clear.