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“You’re as amazing as your dad said. Such a sweet girl, not running around town chasing after boys, but dedicated to your career. Even though I’d love grandkids, I applaud you for taking care of yourself first.”
“Thanks.” I sit at the table near the bar so I don’t appear rude. My dad’s trained me well.
“Not a morning person, huh?”
“No.” I shake my head, letting my lips rub the edge of my cup.
“Well, I’m so glad to get to know you finally. Your dad gushes on and on about what an upstanding citizen you are, and how you don’t just play the role of the perfect daughter for his campaign. You truly are wholesome. That’s wonderful.”
Guilt ravages me even though I’m ending the thing with my brothers.
She lowers her voice and leans closer. “Mary, that photographer last night, gave me a heads up when I told her I loved The Business Buffet weekly mailer and how it is such a wonderful outlet for keeping up with what’s going on in the area. She said there’s a social media group where people keep each other honest about theotherparts of their lives.”
Did she use honest to describe social media?
“The name is pretty atrocious…Smorgasboard or Buffet Board, no that’s not it…I can’t remember. It’s a play on the Business Buffet name.” She lifts her phone, presumably looking for it.
Strong coffee is no longer enough. I rub my temples. Mary loves the SmorgasSmut group. In fact, I’m wondering how Pam got her name. Mary’s best known for her boudoir work, which thankfully she uses absolute discretion with. Did Pam do a… I’m not going there.
I also shove aside mental musings about Mary keeping up with the naughty happenings in town and the fact that she does bedroom photography. It’s too easy to draw conclusions.
“I’m not sure what Mary told you, but I don’t think that’s the kind of group you’d enjoy. People share each other’s private business on there.”
“Live a wholesome life, there’s nothing to worry about. Anyway, I signed up for it, figured that would be a good way to learn about the locals since I haven’t lived here forever like so many of you. As the mayor’s wife, I’m guessing people might not be honest with me. Exactly the opposite of the way I live my life. The way I’ve raised my boys.”
The last thing anyone in this town needs is my dad’s wife on SmorgasSmut. She’ll probably get sick of it like I did. But she signed up? If I scream loudly enough, will everyone come running into the kitchen and save me from this hell? This is my wakeup call that I have to end things now.
Her phone dings and her face lights up then she sets her phone down as if it offends her. “That’s it…SmorgasSmut. Such a terrible name. But good news, they’ve approved me.”
“Yay,” I don’t even bother to fake enthusiasm. I sip the last of my anti-ogre juice and get up for another cup.
She’s rambling on when her phone dings again. She taps on the message alert.
A dark picture appears. Disinterested, I step past her to return to my warm seat at the table.
“Oh, dear! What is this? It can’t be true. Ari…” The panic in her voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand. Maybe she’ll get tired of SmorgasSmut faster than I did.
This could be the perfect opportunity to get her out of the group. Then I notice that the look of horror on her face adds a level of concern that feels much more personal. My stomach knots.
The photo on her screen was dark, it couldn’t be pool party pictures.
It’s dark, and there’s no one out here.Vance’s reassurance from the parking lot the night we met haunts me. I step back to the bar, slide her phone over, and the world drops out from under me.
I could argue that the photo is unclear because it’s dark. The woman’s face is in the throes of orgasm, which I’ve never seen on myself until now. The three men surrounding her obscure her body.
But it’s me. And I would imagine she has a knack for identifying her sons, even from behind. I can vaguely make out the bar’s sign in the background.
My throat is full of cotton, my heart and stomach disintegrate, and I can’t move. I’m cognizant but not functional. Sometimes we get patients at the hospital who take drugs that cause this. It’s awful. Why would people subject themselves to this?
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if my new stepmom wasn’t looking at a photo of me being ravished by her three sons.
The chickenshit who posted the picture did so anonymously. But there was only one person out of place that night, the biker with the yellow patch. None of the local bikers would do this.
Sheer will to get the photo out of her vision must break the spell. My hand moves slowly, taking her phone, pulling it to my chest. The poor woman doesn’t move. She’s sitting there disgusted, her manicured fingertips touching her chest.
I report the photo then remove Pam from the group, not that it matters now.
“Is that why you didn’t think I’d like the group?” Her tone is soft and controlled.
