Page 47 of The Mood Board

Chapter 17

Bailey

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THE CAFÉ BY THE RIVERwas packed, even this late in the evening. This was the one place I had held on to from my college days. I had refused to give it up, even though I worried about seeing Russ or his friends here. But this place was sacred to me, so sacred it had even taken me a long time to introduce Liam to it.

I wasn’t even sure why it was so special, except that I had come here on some of my best and worst days. I had come here to think and to sketch when I was at my lowest, personally and professionally. I had realized who Russ was here and decided to leave him a few months later, sitting by the window, looking out at the rain on the pavement and the water.

Still vibrating from my encounter with Russ, I ordered an herbal tea—the last thing I needed was caffeine—and sat at a table outside, facing the riverwalk and the river.

The night was pleasant, the breeze gentle. People strolled by on the riverwalk, some talking, some strolling hand in hand, others in raucous groups that passed like freight trains, off somewhere loud and flashy for the night. Lights reflected in the river’s dark waters and from the bridge just down a stretch, bobbing and rippling with the waves and currents.

I settled back into my chair, pulling my sweater more securely around me, and wondered what Liam was doing. Without knowing much about prison life and routines, I imagined he was in his cell now. Was he sleeping? Did they do lights out or let inmates read? Liam couldn’t sleep without reading before bed.

Sans other bedroom things, of course.

Did they let him read? I couldn’t imagine Liam surviving without books—his library was immense, mostly fantasy and sci-fi novels, lots of programming guides, medical textbooks, and even a shelf full of tabletop and videogame guides and walk-throughs.

I stuck to romance and design magazines, but his enthusiasm for reading had drawn me in, and I had gone through several of the more well-known fantasy series on his shelves. It was a whole new world for me, but then again, that’s what Liam represented—love, safety, and a fresh start in a new world in which I was happy.

Except that now it was all crumbling.

Now I was thinking about prison and what Liam faced there, using words like inmate and cell and prison life. Words I had learned from TV shows and crime novels. Words I never thought I would have to use to describe a part of my life.

And all I wanted was for Liam to be sitting here, across the table from me, talking about something that happened at work, or an extraordinary moment at a hospital, or even one of his nerdy, fanboy conversations I knew nothing about but still loved to hear, because he was so enthusiastic and knowledgeable.

The river and the lights and the people blurred with more tears, and I wiped at them with the back of my hand, sniffling. I had cried more in the past few days than ever before, even when I had hit rock bottom with Russ.

This was terrible—it was all terrible, and I wasn’t sure I could handle any more. I had been so ready to rescue Liam, to take on whatever I had to—to prove his innocence. But seeing Russ, hearing his offer and thinly veiled threat, had shaken me to my core.

It also solidified for me the fact that someone was setting Liam up, and that person was Russ. He wasn’t just involved—he was at the core of it. And Janelle with him.

Reaching for my phone to call someone, I stopped and withdrew my hand—who would I even call? The one person I wanted to talk to was in prison and entirely beyond my reach except for visiting hours. I couldn’t tell anyone about Russ, and certainly not about Janelle. Not without all hell breaking loose. I was alone in this—entirely alone.

Everything was too much, the hurt, stress, and grief filling every space within me until I couldn’t draw in enough air to breathe. My chest was tight, the fingers digging into the sleeves of my sweater tingled, and more tears well in my eyes as people passed by, entirely unaware.

Shutting my eyes tightly, I wrapped my arms around my middle and dragged in great, deep breaths of air. The last thing I wanted to do was fall apart right here on the river walk with people streaming by. Given my luck lately, someone would catch it on video and post it on the Internet. Some gossip rag would get a hold of it and make the situation that much worse.

It’s too much—the words kept swirling around my head, drawing me deeper into my misery, and I couldn’t shut them out, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t escape the pain.

“Here you go.”

The cheery greeting broke through the despair, and I looked up to find one of the baristas standing beside my table, holding out my mug of tea. She had a friendly smile, her cheeks slightly flushed from running around behind the counter.

“Sorry that took so long,” she continued as I hastily sat up and brushed the tears from my cheeks and eyelashes. “That playhouse down the river just got out—they were having a concert or something, and we had a big rush. I called your name, but when you didn’t come get your tea, I thought I would bring it out to you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” I sniffed as I reached for the mug, hoping my voice didn’t sound too watery or strained, and hoping it was too dark to see how red and puffy my eyes were.

“No problem.” The young woman handed me a napkin and took a step to leave, much to my relief. But then she paused and stepped back.

“Hey, are you okay?”

She was watching me, her expression earnest. She looked young, maybe college age, her blond hair in tight French braids trailing down either side of her head and ending in a bun. Beneath her apron, she wore a white T-shirt under an open red flannel shirt and jeans rolled up at the cuffs to reveal scuffed black ballet flats.

It was charming and cheerful and reminded me warmly of my earliest college days and some of the people I had known in the dorms, all artsy and full of ideas and new perspectives.

“I’m okay,” I replied, my voice stronger now without the threat of tears. “Just some hard things going on at the moment.”