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“I gotta think about this,” he says and stands up. “While I do some more reading.”
He taps the book then shoves it under his arm and strides out of the bar.
After he’s gone, none of the three are in any hurry to start talking. I do really want them to slip up and tell me whatever it is Joker doesn’t want me to know yet, but I stay silent too.
I do hope Joker decides to let me in on the secret soon, though. Because it’s only been a couple of hours since I last saw Ariel and I’m already itching to go see her again. And I don’t know if I have it in me to keep fighting that itch for much longer. Discipline has never been one of my virtues.
18
Ariel
Ruin left after a long lunch in a small Italian restaurant at the edge of town. With his rough good looks and tattoos covering most of his arms and hands, he looked so out of place in that fancy place, surrounded by lace edged tablecloths, pretty dried flowers in tiny vases and waitresses that couldn’t stop smiling. But at the same time, it was perfect. I didn’t want the day to end. I wanted to make a night of it and see if maybe those dark clouds of my bad memories would stay away long enough for us to try kissing again.
But there was no making him stay.
Once I was alone, I just drove around, retracing the routes we’d taken on the back of his bike. I kept the windows down and drove fast, but I still couldn’t recreate the magic of the rides we’d taken together. I think not having my arms wrapped around him had a lot to do with that.
The sun has set, but I’m not ready to go home yet. I’d call my sister, see if she wants to hang out, but I bet she’ll just shower me with well-meaning, but annoying questions about my state of mind.
I don’t really have any friends outside the circle of the new old ladies club, as they sometimes refer to themselves. It’s so jarring to think of them as that, young as they are. But they’re still more Veronica’s friends and I don’t have their phone numbers.
I drive down Main Street, hoping to spot one or two of them, and seeing if they’d like to hang out. Most of the shops are already closed or in the process of closing and since it’s not yet time for the evening rush of the bar-hopping crowd, the street is pretty much empty. But the light is still on in Eden’s bookstore. She’s probably the best company for me, seeing as she’s no one’s old lady and knows everything there is about love from all those romance books she reads.
I park across the street from her store, quaintly named One More Chapter and jog to it. I catch her just as she’s turning the sign in the door from Open to Closed.
She opens the door wide. “Ariel.”
There’s a lot of breathless concern in her voice and I hope she won’t follow it up with any kind of concrete questions about my well being.
“Are you busy?” I ask. “I’m bored and I don’t want to go home yet.”
She smiles and steps aside. “Not busy at all. Come in.”
She locks the door after I enter.
“I have beer upstairs,” she says. “I can also make us some tea if you want. Or did you want to go out?”
She giggles at the shower of questions she just hit me with, and I can’t help but love her innocence. I hope nothing ever takes that away from her.
“Actually, some tea would be great,” I say. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
All those months I spent in a dark room, kept stoned out of my mind had made me appreciate a clear head.
“Yes, I noticed,” she says and giggles again. “I mean, because I don’t drink much either and I don’t stand out so much now that you’re around.”
She blushes, her cheeks turning the nicest shade of apple red. “I’m sorry for blabbering on.”
“What? No, don’t say that. Do you need some help making the tea?”
She shakes her head and rushes into a small room behind the cash register, talking as she goes. “I’m all set. Are you in the mood for something fruity? Or herbal? I also have a very nice jasmine white tea.”
She’s standing by the register, her arms bulging with all sorts of tea bag packets in all the colors of the rainbow. I never really appreciated how sweet Eden is. Probably because I’m always so stuck in my own head. I have to correct that mistake.
“Fruity, I think. Maybe something with strawberries,” I say.
She grins. “I have just the thing.”
Then she disappears back into the small kitchenette from which a divine scent of vanilla and strawberries rises a few moments later. She comes out with two mis-matched mugs full to the brim. one has the logo of her bookshop printed on it and the other is covered by black dots and pink hearts.
