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But since Travis’s confession two days ago, since I ran to the bathroom and heaved over the bowl, my rationality is gone. Once again, it feels as if my power has been stolen.
She looks like you.
Silverware clangs on the floor as I jump back, withdrawing from an unexpected hand on my shoulder. Stomach in my throat, my heart bangs against my rib cage.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
One breath at a time, my vision clears, and an apologetic Oliver comes into view. The concern in his eyes does nothing to soothe my building anxiety.
I press the heel of my hand to my breastbone, close my eyes, and count to ten. On a steady exhale, I open my eyes, skim my hand up, and finger the small crescent moon resting at the hollow of my throat. Clutch it between my fingers and slide it back and forth on the chain as I compose myself further.
“K, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Hands hovering over my arms, his basil-green eyes dart between my alarmed steely blues. “Can I?”
Before I register what is happening, his arms wrap around my shoulders. He hugs me to his chest and forces the air from my lungs. And as much as I want to loosen his hold on me, I snake my arms around his waist and hug him back. I rest my forehead on his shoulder and close my eyes. Breathe steadily in his embrace, knowing I am safe.
“Thank you,” I mumble, fisting his shirt once before releasing him. I step back and attempt to smile. “I needed that.”
“You’re welcome.” He squats, picks up the silverware, and tosses it in the dirty bin. “Sorry I startled you in the first place.”
An unwelcome twinge stirs to life beneath my diaphragm, a fresh wave of paranoia hitting me hard in the chest. My eyes sweep the restaurant and find it empty. Not a soul in sight, only evidence that they were here not long ago. A half-glass of water and dirty plate on one table, balled-up napkins on plates, and coffee-stained mugs on another.
How long did I zone out?
Tentatively, Oliver reaches for my arm. With a gentle squeeze, the corner of his mouth tips up in a half-smile. “I’ll get the tables if you finish roll-ups.”
I nod and we get to work.
Oliver switches the background music from café acoustic to alternative rock and cranks the volume. Silently, I thank my friend for knowing exactly what I need right now. Distractions. Something else to focus on other than my endless, unsettling thoughts.
She looks like you.
Shaking out my hands, I take a deep breath. “Worrying won’t help,” I chastise myself. “So stop it.”
Head down, I focus on my task.Knife, fork, spoon. Roll, roll, roll. Secure, next.I repeat each step in my head. Give myself a focal point. A way to limit the intrusive words from days ago.
I wrap the last roll-up minutes before Oliver finishes the tables. Emptying the pockets of my apron, I tug the strings apart, pull it off, and toss it in the dirty hamper near the office in the back. Oliver steps through the swinging kitchen doors, apron balled up in his hands as he shoots it toward the basket like a basketball. It flies past me with a whoosh and lands on top of mine.
“Five points,” he declares.
I clap and make a muffled hissing noise, mimicking a cheering crowd. “And that’s the game, folks.”
As we do one last sweep of the restaurant, Oliver pipes up. “So…” He falls silent as he double-checks the lock on the front door.
When he doesn’t continue, I parrot, “So…”
“What did I walk in on the other morning?”
A fool, I am not. Oliver is talking about the shitshow starring Travis and Ben.
After their pissing match and Travis’s confession, I shut down. Went into protection mode as I processed his admission. The irrational part of my mind commanded I keep his truth locked up tight. The stone-cold truth is something I want contained.
Yes, the gossip mill whispers this fact more than anything else related to the woman in the woods, but I won’t validate it. Won’t flinch under their longer inspections. Won’t add fuel to their chatter fire. Best to save any breakdowns for home, when I am alone.
Thank goodness, not everyone in Stone Bay believes the town gossipmongers.
Which is why I play stupid as I answer Oliver. “The other morning?”
Sidling up to me, he rolls his eyes and knocks my shoulder with his. “I know you know what I’m talking about. The testosterone fest between our favorite Stone Bay policeman and a certain out-of-town construction worker.”
