Page 32 of Emil

“Thanks for standing by me. I’m sorry if that puts you in an awkward position.”

The counters were already clean, so I moved on to making sure the empty sink was thoroughly scrubbed and shiny.

“Fuck them. If they want to believe his lies, I don’t give a shit what they have to say. And I’m more than happy to tell them exactly what I think about them falling for his bullshit.”

“Lacey, he’s still a VP at the company you’re employed at. You need to protect yourself. I’m not worth losing your job over.”

“Oh, you don’t know then…” She gave me a Cheshire cat grin before adding, “They took HR away from his mom. He can’t do shit.”

“Yeah? I didn’t know that. I wonder why?”

“I’d imagine it has something to do with the fact that she’s absolute shit at her job,” Lacey said with a laugh. “Okay, now that we’ve got all of that out of the way, tell me about this cozy little nest you’ve got going out here.”

“We already covered that,” I countered.

“I can’t prove it, but I think you might be holding out on me.” She waited for me to start protesting, then added, “You can get on with your life and be happy.”

“Are you trying to hint at something?”

“A hint? This feels more like I’m just telling you.”

“You being here does kind of remind me,” I said slowly, “that the world hasn’t stopped existing. I kind of forgot that it hadn’t.”

I paused long enough to sit with her at the table and help organize the files she was still pulling out. Almstead Island had a way of making me forget the other side of the rock. I still had a life that was in shambles. I had a car sitting in my mom’s driveway. I had a pseudo job that I wasn’t sure how long it would last. And on top of all that, I still didn’t have a permanent place to live.

“If it were me, I’d avoid the real world a little bit longer,” Lacey said. “This place looks good on you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I do. And if it were me, I’d look for ways to make your stay out here permanent.”

“Bye. Drive safe. Be careful.”

I waved Lacey out of the driveway and returned to the cottage. While she was here, I managed to keep my anger under control, but now that there was no one else around, I felt it doing more than simmering below the surface. How could they believe that about me? They knew me. They had known me for years.

The more I thought about my coworkers’ betrayal, the madder I got. I’d already cleaned the counters and the sink, so I headed to the bathroom to do a complete scrub. By the time I was done, everything was gleaming, but my anger was still there.

I needed something more. If I didn’t get this out of me, I felt like I was going to disintegrate into one million pieces. I had to pound something.

The cottage didn’t have it, but the main house did. I headed for the main house, slamming the cottage door behind me. Each step was a stomp on my way up the path. When I got to the main house, I pounded on the door until Emil came to answer.

He opened the door, but before he had a chance to speak, I ground out, “Can I use the kitchen?” When Emil only looked at me without saying anything, I added, “Please.”

I was sure I had made a mistake because he still didn’t let me in. He just studied me like I was a specimen, and just as I was about to turn around, he moved out of the way, opened the door wider, and said, “Help yourself.”

I brushed past him into the kitchen like a man on a mission. I headed to the sink to wash my hands, then set about gathering everything I needed: milk, butter, flour, sugar, salt, and yeast. I laid them all out on the counter in a militant, army-straight row, mixed them, and then worked them together with absolute precision to form my dough.

I waited impatiently for everything to rise, pacing the kitchen while I replayed the conversation I’d had with Lacey over and over in my head. When it was finally time to turn out the dough, I powdered the soapstone counter with flour and turned it out onto it. Flip. Punch. Repeat.

Each whack, each slap, each movement forced me to think about how pissed off I was that people I’d known for years would think I’d betray them, that I would use them, that I would make them the scapegoats for my bad behavior. And that I was a thief.

I was not a goddamn thief. How fucking dare they think that, and how fucking dare they listen to John, who had been nothing but a complete dick for as long as he’d worked there, treating him like some sort of soothsayer.

At some point, Emil had come to stand in the doorway. He didn’t come into the room, just watched from a distance, like he wasn’t sure if it was safe to move any closer.

“Can I help you?” I snapped.

“No. Just watching.”